Productivity (of a non gardening variety) has been restored – somewhat – on the old homestead. Keith went off a couple of weeks ago to enjoy a lads’ weekend with Lachlan, pruning and tying up the rose around his door (and visiting the pub next door every hour or so as far as I can gather) and so I made the most of my sole custody of the kitchen to make a few batches of soap. Thus far I have batches of (i) coffee, citrus and avocado (for the hipsters), (ii) hemp, cedar and pine (with added dripping) for the manly types and (iii) lavender and oatmeal on the drying rack. The return of the native has put a crimp in my progress, but a scheduled football match tomorrow should afford me a chance to make some rose and geranium and, possibly, cucumber and tomato and experimental plum, depending on glut levels. As a result of all this, Christmas is no longer cancelled and Santa’s Elves can breathe a little more easily.
That weekend also brought my long awaited (feared) terrestrial TV debut (aside, that is, from an outing on Scottish Parliament TV giving evidence to a law reform select committee, a performance which was denounced by Lachlan as “the most boring thing I have ever seen”). Well, the spin round the garden talking b*llocks for Border Life could have been worse I suppose (and Lyra and the cows did look lovely). However, I don’t feel there will be hordes of producers at my door looking to replace Monty Don any day soon. Apparently some friends in Wales tracked the episode down on catch up and were somewhat confused to find lots of lady weightlifters on screen (the previous item). David noted that he “did not have Karen down as a weightlifter.” Well, all I can say is that he has not seen me wrestling up the back track with the big barrow full of mulch…
We are now moving into peak produce. The mirabellas threw down the gauntlet a few weeks ago and, despite picking kilos of the little yellow fellas, the back lawn is still covered and there’s an intense fruitiness, now morphing into booziness as they start to ferment, on the drying green. Mostly they have been frozen for later jam/curd making when the Aga is back in service (it’s off now till things get cooler) but Keith and I each have a kilner jar of bobbing yellow eggs in hooch (he is doing plum brandy and I’m doing a vodka based liqueur). Next up came the Victoria plums, larger and more stately and so numerous that the poor plum tree has lost a few branches due to their weight. Early picking, to lighten the load, has largely filled a freezer drawer with candidates for jam and there are soooo many more to come. It’s not really crumble weather alas – so I have been forced into more innovative plum recipes. So far I have I made a plum and bramble bakewell of sorts (recipe here) and a rather good chicken and sumac thing which worked well the first time and not so well the second so I need to try a third time where I pay some attention. I’m sure I also have, somewhere, a recipe for Georgian (in the sense of Tbilisi rather than Samuel Johnson) sauce, so the hunt is on for that… All other suggestions will be received with gratitude. After a slow start the figs are ripening fast and salad is now mandatory with all meals. Given the domestic surplus you would think that foraging was unnecessary, but Mum and I can’t help ourselves and most walks are interrupted by extensive bramble scoffing and (if Lyra is feeling patient) gathering. My jar of bramble and crabapple vodka is half full already…Further foraging scheduled for Saturday when Lyra will be off terrorising the kittens of Auchencrow.
A friend’s son came a couple of days ago to help us out with logging up some of the giant sections of tree trunk that have been leaning against the fence at the back seasoning since Storm Arwen (and the results of a couple of subsequent tree fellings). Keith, not wanting to be eclipsed in lumberjack vigour, has worked manfully alongside Jamie and even eschewed his usual hourly tea breaks. The lads were joined by all four cows for the celebratory bonfire built to get rid of the leftover brash and our woodpile is now set fair for the winter. The bold boy headed off for home this afternoon together with a spare plum tart and a contribution to the university beer fund. Keith (ex lumberjack) has declared the rest of the day dedicated to relaxation. He is somewhat astonished by the absence of aches and pains, but you can’t be too careful.
