Yesterday we visited the town that Elder Daughter now lives in, and after a trot around the delightful shops in & around the pretty medieval High Street, we walked down to the Castle Garden Centre, which boasted the Christmas Display that’s been voted the best in the UK. It was indeed glorious! Much bigger than we’d expected and brilliantly done. There was a smashing big working model railway layout, animated animals, & assorted little dioramas amongst the acres of lovely and very reasonably-priced decorations on sale, in all sorts of styles, from the traditional glass & tissue paper decs, the down-home American ones in gingham & string, through highly individual illuminated ceramic cottages, to the intricate & beautifully-made German wooden woodland scenarios, many of which lit up or were animated. And the whole space was also beautifully lit, with miles of different LED chains, that you could also find to buy. Absolutely magical, free to enter – and not even a hint of a hard sell, which instantly made it necessary to find something to buy!
As we went in, the very first diorama was a lovely Nativity scene. Quite big, and absolutely traditional, complete with the new parents, the baby in the manger, shepherds & sheep, gently lit with flickering candles & elegant mirrors. The lady of the couple who had entered alongside us looked at her husband and said, in loud disappointed tones, “Well, that’s not very Christmassy, is it?”
Oh dear… I think they may have kind of missed the point!
With a bit of luck & a following wind, in the next few days I’ll be posting a top-level page showing this year’s Christmas “makes” which were inspired by an earlier visit to the National Trust’s Stourhead. But just in case life gets in the way once again, I’m wishing you all an utterly enchanted Christmas and a happy & prosperous New Year!
Yesterday I had a small revelation. Washing my hair, an undetected jagged fingernail caught my scalp, and suddenly I was 8 years old and lying in the hairdresser’s chair with my head back over the basin, as her scarlet talons dug viciously into my scalp underneath the steaming, scalding spray. I knew that in moments, she’d be wrapping my head in a towel twisted so tightly I could feel my hair ripping out, and possibly even snipping into the tops of my ears, which happened more than once. Always passed off apologetically as an accident, a moment’s inattention, perhaps I’d wriggled…
No wonder I hated having my hair “done” which, sadly, my mother saw as the ultimate luxurious treat. For years I’ve wondered whether my total indifference to the art of coiffure was as much down to some “mildly autistic” trait, as to being “blessed” with thin, fine baby hair that’s never grown down past my shoulders and can’t hold a style for more than ten minutes. But that unpleasant memory, & others like it, was added internally to that of the young gentleman who in 1977 plastered my scalp with eye-watering “perm” solution, then wandered off to the next-door bookies for half an hour or so, leaving me to go off to university for the first time in a strange country, topped with brittle greenish frizz and a scalp that was gently leaking blood in several places.
No wonder it takes wild horses to drag me into a salon now! I’m very grateful that my darling daughters will occasionally consent to snip an inch or so off, though sometimes I’d like it to be more, but they’d rather like me to keep it longer. And I have braved the hairdresser’s chair once or twice lately, just for a trim prior to one or other of my older boys’ weddings. But I’d really rather ignore the stuff altogether to this day.
Looking back, I see now my mother’s earnest wish to treat me & get me interested in matters of style & personal appearance, rather than scrambling up trees and braiding grasses. The hairdresser who likely saw the “rich, spoilt” kid from the big house couldn’t have known that we were actually pretty much penniless & that Mum would have fed us baked beans for a week rather than “let the side down” by ever appearing in public without her hair carefully coiffed, lipstick applied and her stockings & panty-girdle on. To her, and probably the vast majority of her fast-disappearing generation, keeping up appearances was literally a matter of life & death socially, rather than a statement of who you really are. I can’t watch the old sit-com “Keeping Up Appearances” without wincing sometimes!
I think what I’m trying to say here is that sometimes, what we see as a huge treat, and possibly even a necessary rite of passage, is actually an ordeal for the “lucky” recipient, for reasons that we’re not aware of. I’m very glad that in some ways now we are more willing to let children be children, rather than trying to turn them into miniature adults “for their own good” or our own social standing, and to try to make them fit a mould they may not be suited to. And I do hope that we have at least begun to learn the lesson that there’s a huge difference between “socialising” children and the kind of in-their-own-interests cruelty that led eventually to, say, foot-binding, or FGM.
And I can begin to forgive that hairdresser who seemed so sadistic to the child who was me. She must have seen a child who absolutely failed to recognise how privileged she was, to have a mother who could pay for this “treat” and was interested enough to do so (IIRC the poor girl had been raised in a children’s home) and who was not in the least bit grateful for her undoubted artistry. I’d never realised the burden of distress and anger I’d been holding onto for so very many years, which has led a daily comb-through being about as much as I can stand.
Not that that’s likely to tempt me back into a salon any time soon…
Pic of Jinxi in a vintage “vanity” case as cat tax!
My teacher told me I have two left hands”… Madam, you are around 70 now; that long-gone teacher has been sitting inside your head, telling you you’re useless, there’s no use even trying, for over 60 years… Obviously, I can’t say that! But I can, and do, think it, all too often. Some of my teachers did that to me, too, though ultimately it didn’t stick. (Which is probably why I was beyond furious when my eldest’s DT teacher slapped him down for daring to think outside the box and come up with a entirely-workable alternative to the standard “tumbling acrobat” project. Luckily it doesn’t seem to have blighted his creativity, as has been done to so many children over the years.) Why do we so easily believe it, and as parents, put up with it?
I’ve just done another one of those events where we are basically challenging people to think about how they choose their clothes, and what effect their choices will have on the world our descendants will have to live in. Last year, I did really well at the same event; lots of people were open-minded, willing and able to access their innate creativity. But this year, many attendees just seemed to want to buy the handmade/re-made/upcycled look, so although I was delighted to sell a few handmade trinkets, most of my lovely vintage fabrics remained on the stall. It was still well worth my while, and a delight to be trading alongside so many talented makers & menders, but ultimately a little discouraging, in the sense that so many people don’t seem to see any point even trying to make, mend or re-make their own garments no matter how much they love them, or originally paid for them. A button missing, a hem coming down, and it’s off to the Tip or the ragman, via the charity shop – who do not mend things, or put anything damaged out for sale.
I clearly hit a nerve with one or two, who reacted as if I’d suggested they became a slave for a day; how did we come to associate creativity – sewing, cooking, gardening, for example – with drudgery? From my point of view, making stuff is a delight, something I’m very lucky to have time to indulge in, even if I can’t afford brand new equipment or supplies. (That said, by now, I simply wouldn’t want to – I prefer to work with things that have had a previous “life” and clearly come with stories attached.) But I can understand how frustrating it can be for some, if they try and continually fail at whatever they wanted to do; at least they did try. Because normally, if you don’t do well at something on the first try, you should try, try and try again, as someone who appreciated spiders as much as I do once said. None of us will be masters the first time we try something; making mistakes is how we learn. Things get easier; you learn tips & tricks, you talk to people ahead of you on that path and learn from them. You try things out (easiest if you haven’t spent a fortune on supplies) and go with what works, remembering what doesn’t, and working out why.
Sadly people tell me they just don’t have the time. I sigh for them and agree, but can’t help thinking of a young Eastern European single Mum I’ve come across, who makes & sells stunning macramé items in the evenings, after she’s finished work, cooked the supper, and her child has gone to bed. She learnt to do this from YouTube videos on her phone, initially using garden string. She just tried, with whatever came to hand, persevered, & succeeded. It won’t make her a fortune, she’ll probably never be able to ditch the day job, but she does make useful (quite possibly essential) pocket-money from doing something she enjoys and her customers genuinely appreciate. And no-one would have blamed her for just sitting down & watching TV…
Making & mending with textiles, yarns & fibres is not for everyone, I do know. But I also feel that there’s a vast tranche of people out there who could, and would, if only they had the confidence to try, and it wasn’t so very much easier not to…
Woven mostly during a Dorset Guild of Weavers, Spinners & Dyers workshop with the lovely Riita Sinkonnen-Davies, my “Weaving New from Old” project was woven on a little old Dryad 4-shaft loom, still with metal heddles and tied together with various rather random bits of string.
(Spot the error where one shaft had dropped…)
The fabrics I chose were all old duvet covers, three of them pure cotton but the other two 50/50 polycotton. I wasn’t sure that the rainforest print, with the orange/turquoise/green colours, would work with the dominant pinks & purples of the other fabrics, but in the event, it brought the mix alive. I’d intended to make a simple table runner, something we didn’t have & would use.
Although I warped the loom as I would my knitters loom, by running round the dining table and a tucked-in carver chair, it somehow ended up several inches longer than the 6′ table! So I decided to cut it & use two thirds for the table runner (now about 4′ long) and one third to make a bag; I can always use another bag. The table runner is already in use, although I have yet to back it. Every mealtime I spot another mistake, but I love it anyway. As do the cats, needless to say… On the bag, I have “laced” in the row where one of the shafts had fallen out of play, hence only half of the warps are there; it will get hard use carrying various projects around, and that would form a weak point, so I decided to lace it down in a different colour to the two warp yarns. (I’ve used the same colour (blue) to stitch the handle on.) Once the table runner has a backing, I will probably stitch a pattern quilting-style over the weave to stabilise the other place where this had happened, and a few places where the shuttle had skipped a warp – it’s likely I was nattering, not concentrating!
(Spot the “corrected” error…)
The bag is lined with some old canvas that I’d rescued, probably originally part of an outdoor cushion cover, thinking just to stitch a tough bag from that. There is, of course, a pocket inside. The handle is finger-woven (or braided?) from the duvet fabrics, ripped in 2″ strips as I would for a twined-weave project. The “fastening” is finger-woven from narrow strips left over from the workshop, and I’ve used an old mother-of-pearl bead from a broken pair of ear-rings, secured by a little ribbon rose found by my sewing machine. These were fastened on with old button thread, even though it’s not the best colour; my aim was to use what I already had rather than buy new, which seemed most appropriate.
Finger-woven edge/handle…
I’m very happy with the results, however many blunders I made and however dubious my choice of colours, and can’t wait to tackle more projects – or to find a bigger loom (again) now that we have a little more space…
Poppy & Jingles appreciating my efforts, and wondering if it’s teatime yet…
A couple of days ago, at the recycling warehouse, they had a number of large (2.5m x 1.45m) !KEA pure linen curtains in a mustardy brown colour; I paid 50p each for five of them. Four were pretty much pristine & went straight off the next morning with a re-enactor friend (“A perfect medieval colour! This stuff is about £27 a metre new!”) But the fifth has some biro marks in the centre, which haven’t washed out. So I’m making myself a Japanese-style cross-over apron from it, with BIG pockets, decorated with some shibori I did on a course last year that’s been waiting for the right project.
Needless to say, there’s a reason why I’ve never done anything much with linen before; it’s tricksy stuff. Quite open-woven, with tendency to fray like mad, and it creases in seconds unless starched, which would be a bit OTT for a working apron. (But I know that with use, it softens & drapes like almost no other fabric woven from natural fibres does. And under the right circumstances, it can outlast entire dynasties – see the pleated linen dress/smock in the Petrie Museum.) I was also not sure that I’d really got my head around how the aprons actually work, so I drew up a pattern on brown wrapping paper & made up a rough toile from an old curtain lining that was just hanging around in the sewing room (actually the spare bedroom) waiting for something useful to do. The various “patterns” & instructions garnered from other makers’ blogs & Y0utube do actually work & make sense, it’s just I can’t always “see” things in 3D straight off.
Anyhoo, after idiotically forgetting to cut the “pattern” on the fold, deciding to overlock the edges & accidental centre seam for saftey’s sake and sticking pins into myself several times trying to place the pockets to best effect, I did have a wearable apron. But I wasn’t completely happy with the way that it hangs… partly down to my own shape, but partly because there’s not quite enough “body” to the fabric.
So I thought, should I have lined it? Which would be a considerable faff, making up a lining… hang on, where’s that toile? Needless to say, even adding in a pre-made lining isn’t going to be that easy… put that on hold for now.
Luckily there was plenty of curtain left to cut out another one. I removed the shibori pocket from the first effort & adjusted the “pattern” a bit; made it a little longer & a bit narrower over the shoulders. Then fetched my 505 spray – this is a light spray-on glue, much loved by quilters for stabilising layers while you work – and smoothed the rest of the old curtain lining onto the linen, then cut it out, remembering to cut on the fold this time. I decided to leave the pockets on the first iteration and cut out some more from the left-over layered bits. Hemming the bits just seemed far too much like hard work, so I edged them with some herringbone tape left over from another project. I also stitched a few lines around the neck & straps, to keep the layers reasonably well together, knowing the pockets would sort out the lower half. Some beads & stitches found their way onto the shibori pocket, too.
So, here’s my new work apron:
Which looks better on than hanging, but my assistant is off working on her knitting machine… So now, of course, I need to get that toile stitched into the first iteration, and I’ll have a fine work apron for my second allotment…
Second allotment? Yes, a half-plot has come free on the site just up the road from our home. It’s small but enchanting; it was a flat-dweller’s garden previously. There are some beautiful things there & I’ll try to keep as many of those as I can, although some are too big & hungry to continue grow alongside food plants and others will need to be moved into little areas set aside for pollinators. I’ll struggle to fit everything I want to grow in, BUT it has a wonderful half-greenhouse/half-shed that will allow me to grow far more of the tomatoes & chillis that we love, and it’s only a moment’s walk from our house. The other plot is a good mile away, which means driving if I have things to carry, and a twenty-minute walk each way when I don’t. Not to mention the constant onslaught of very determined agricultural weeds (brambles, blackthorn suckers, nettles, creeping buttercup) and pests (rats & rabbits, mostly) from the field boundary & ditch along the long edge. Also not mentioning my raspberries, which have gone feral & spread like a (very tasty) plague… So although I will miss that space, and have some crops in the ground (garlic, onions, beans) & perennial plants over there that I will miss, I will gradually wind that one down & eventually hand it over to someone with more grit!
New challenge!
Although I have yet to sign the lease & pay the rent, some of that rosemary will be flavouring our dinner tonight…
So, we’ve reached the turning of the year once more. 2023 was an odd one for us… I do feel we’re on the cusp of great changes that have been brewing for a long time, but are not quite there yet. (Possibly not unrelated to the number of inhabitants of this house steadily falling into the normal range?!) Hoping for a wonder-filled, marvellous & brilliant year, for us and for all my family & friends, and for all of you out there too!
There were some wonderful things to celebrate, such as DS1 marrying his lovely fiancée, but towards the end of the year we lost the use of both of our vehicles at the same time; my beloved van had developed an intractable fault which would have cost me the best part of £1K to get sorted. I’d already faced the fact that I needed a vehicle that did considerably more MPG with my 97 y.o. mother sliding gracefully downhill 42 miles away, so it was sold on. Simultaneously, my Other Half’s 16 y.o. Citroen suddenly “died” because of little rusty shreds mangling the gearbox, having just cost us £500 in new tyres and £400+ in EGR valve replacement. The secondhand car market has evidently gone insane, apparently because of supply chain difficulties, and finding a suitable, affordable replacement took weeks because everyone else was also looking for a vehicle that’s adaptable, economical to run and has a big boot, just like us! Cars were being sold online within hours of being listed, long before we could go to see & test-drive them. Can’t help feeling that people are prepared to take an awful lot on trust now…
We were lucky enough to have the use of DD1’s car as she & her partner are off travelling in South & Central America for a couple of months; it would have been an even more expensive nightmare otherwise as we’d have been limited to the local garages, in a very prosperous area where 10K might buy you a 10 y.o. little runabout. We also discovered that at 65, the “finance” offers are no longer as easily-available as they previously were, despite the fact we’re still working, fit & healthy. But we did find a reasonably-priced, reasonably economical vehicle with a reasonably big boot in the end.
At the same time, we found that the back had essentially fallen off one of the two sheds that I’d been keeping some of my less-constantly-relevant stock (and a few other items, like DD1’s 8-shaft sample loom that’s not in use but hasn’t sold) in. Rain and leaves had been pouring in through the gap, for weeks if not months. Quite a lot of stuff had to go straight to the tip, but I was able to rescue some of it. I would normally have taken most of that to the Scrapstore, but I had no transport, and they have had to close until mid-January anyway because of a problem with their building. So I offered it on Freegle straight away, and most of it was collected very quickly, but a few of the better bits have added to the chaos in my sewing room.
A coiled-rope basket…
The last few weeks I’ve been making coiled-rope baskets, using up scraps & following YouTube tutorials. They are very easy, given a sewing machine with a decent zig-zag, some cotton washing line and lots of scraps, which I certainly do have, and the process is strangely addictive! They make great presents & look good enough that I might even be able to sell a few. It’s not doing much to reduce the nightmare muddle of my sewing room, though. I’ve finally realised that I need to get rid of the day-bed in there, which takes up a whole lot of space that could be far better used for a cutting table/space to keep the overlocker out on. A sturdy old gate-leg table would work very well & I suspect I can find one of those locally for pennies, as it doesn’t need to look good, just be functional; I hope I’ll be able to fit one into my “new” car! And find a good home for the day-bed, which has been used just once in the years that we’ve owned it.
One of Pembrokeshire’s many beautiful beaches…
DD2 & I enjoyed a week in May and another in October house- & pet-sitting for our eldest in glorious Pembrokeshire, before the van started to play up so badly. The charity shops of Haverfordwest proved to be a very fertile hunting ground for materials for “upcycling” - which reminds me, I have far too many projects lined up already; did I mention the mess? – though I did make a couple of rugs whilst there. One in twined-weave (which now lives there) & the other giant-crocheted for a small-but-absorbent mat for our shower room.
It’s not been such a bad year at the allotment – assorted beans especially did well! – or in the garden; preserving & fermenting the results has kept me well busy.
The freezer is still full-to-bursting, even after feeding the hordes over Christmas. So a frugal January is indicated on the grocery front! And one of my main resolutions for this coming year, apart from de-cluttering, and being a little more regular with the blog posts, is to dive further into the marvellous art of fermentation; amongst this year’s successes have been a tasty Salsa Verde, using the tomatillos in the picture above, grown from a packet of “free” seeds from a magazine, and Tepache, a delicious zingy drink made using two 50p pineapples from the market.
Salsa Verde ready to ferment…
Wishing you all all the very best for 2024 – because we’re worth it!
Six months between posts? It won’t do… but there you go. I just didn’t feel I had anything interesting to say, but I did have far too much to do, as usual. And here we are, at the end of a cold winter that seems to have ground on and on; my head thinks it’s time to start planting this year’s food, yet my heart misgives me, as another, vastly more talented, writer once put it. Instinct tells me we’re not quite there yet… though the signs of spring are slowly increasing with every passing day. My propagator is full of things that need a long growing season, like tomatoes & chillis, but it’s still too cold to transfer them to my little greenhouse.
All sorts of interesting thoughts have wandered across the wrinkled surfaces of my mind in the last six months; most of them have promptly exited stage left, never to be seen again. (Can you tell we went to the theatre last night?!) Today’s random distractions are the scenes depicted on old Japanese china, some of which has ended up in this household; I’m not in the slightest bit interested in financial value, and these battered old bits probably don’t have any. But what are these guys (and gals) doing? How are they doing it, and why? Are there well-known & familiar stories being depicted on them, or are they just pretty scenes dreamt up in the artist’s imagination? Enquiring minds (well, this one, anyway) wish to know! More images will follow…
Who are these guys? What are they up to? One of three pictures of them on this broken vase.
What else has happened? On the creative front, I’ve made a number of items; from new-bought material this time as I’m struggling to find secondhand stretch fabric that’s sturdy enough for re-making. I was very fed up with not being able to find tops that fitted & suited me, in fabric I liked, so when I found a pattern that had the right neckline, the right mount of simple shaping, and variable length sleeves so a sensible result was actually possible, I leapt into action, visited the fabric shop down West, purchased some good-quality stretch cotton jersey, and have duly made myself two ¾-sleeve tops, and two short-sleeved. Plus three simple nighties that might last longer than a couple of months, cut out round an existing one that fitted well but was long overdue for ragging. Three straightforward vest-tops from the (ample) offcuts; the nighties were cut from the edge or the fold & there was a lot of fabric left in the centre. All the fabrics I used had enough left over to make some more “underthings” too. I’ve started another rag-rug on the twining loom, using up an old favourite duvet cover that had worn very thin. I’m continuing to reduce the mess in my sewing room; I shouldn’t have “rescued” so much stuff when my mother went into her care home two years ago, as I still haven’t managed to sort it all out & move it on!
Padded jacket from old curtain fabric…
I’m currently working on some “visible” mending projects and have made another simple jacket from an old curtain, a cheap throw & a duvet cover. So yes, still busy on the upcycling front, and back trading every now & then.
Embroidered bees hide stains on a beautifully-soft child’s pure wool jumper.
Off now to hunt for some more intriguing scenes from old Japanese china! Here’s one from a lovely necklace created by a friend:
What’s going on here? Are those “prayer flags” hanging from the “washing” line, on their way to Heaven? Is the presumed supplicant asking the probable-scholar to write a prayer for him? And – which volcano is that, erupting in the background?
Suddenly I seem to have some time to myself again. I could, maybe even should, spend it catching up with 30-odd years of neglected housework. Or there again, I could do something creative…
Creativity wins hands down! I went down to the recycling warehouse, thinking I quite fancied making a Japanese-style padded jacket out of old shirts, in the spirit of make-do-and-mend (see also my “Great Shirt Project“) to keep me warm around the house this winter, as the heating will only be on for a short time each morning & evening to keep the house from becoming damp, thanks to the enormous rise in fuel costs. I was rootling through the bins full of discarded clothing when a piece of red chintz quite literally bit me; it was an old curtain pelmet, complete with tacks still in place, as my poor scratched hand can testify. Underneath it I found another piece of pelmet, and two cut-off curtain ends, each about 18″/45cm by 6’/180cm. These had clearly been part of beautifully-hand-made and very expensive interlined curtains, probably in the 1970s; the cotton “bump” interlining was exactly what I needed for my jacket padding. But the chintz also spoke to me, and has ended up being the jacket lining & details, such as the cuffs, belt (I know, not in the original!) and pockets.
It wasn’t difficult to make; there’s no tailoring involved. I kind of followed the “Hanten Jacket” pattern from Susan Briscoe’s inspiring The Book Of Boro, but the cotton bump was lightly stitched into the curtain ends & pelmets, so I left it that way and just stitched the pieced-shirt outer onto it. The thread came from my existing stash. Flattering it isn’t, and it’s a bit big for me, but warm it most certainly is & I’ll be very happy to wear it around the place, at the cost of something around £3; 50p each for 5 shirts and another 50p for the curtain bits, and there are still plenty of oddments to use up. Now I know it’s not hard, I’m planning at least one more, from an old linen curtain, a cotton duvet cover for the lining, and a lightweight blanket as padding, which I’d picked up intending to sell on, before I noticed the stained fringe. I could just have cut that off & sold it anyway, but it’ll make great padding that I’d otherwise have to pay for!
The finished article, made entirely from “thrifted” bits for very little money!
Now I’ve started, there are at least 20 more ideas for creative recycling projects jostling for space in my head. Not to mention other simple ways to add to our comfort this winter, with fuel prices through the roof. Though we do now have double-glazing, some of our curtains aren’t lined; now there’s another use for redundant sheets and duvet covers! So the poor neglected house may get a look-in and a spruce-up too. Watch this space…
In a lull between the heavy, thundery showers that are our lot for this week – and don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for the rain! – I dashed out for a walk this afternoon. I’ve signed up for Step Up September 2022, because no-one should have to choose between heating & eating in a civilised society, and yet so many do, even here in our apparently-prosperous community. I’m privileged to have a warm, dry roof over my head, enough to eat and the means to grow some of what we need; many are not so fortunate and if by giving up a little of my time & energy I can help, it’s the least I can do. In the end I walked beside the river for an hour and a half, because I’d been busy yesterday & the day before, and at the only times I could have slipped out for a walk, it wasn’t so much raining as monsooning. So I hope I’ve caught up with myself today.
Two worlds… seed-heads and reflected storm clouds.
I was lucky and the rain held off; the fields are full of seed-heads, the hedgerows bowed down with fruit for the birds and the air’s still warm despite the brisk wind. I may have caught a couple of glimpses of the otter who’s often seen under the bridge, but can’t swear to that; just a few flashes of fast-moving brown fur amidst the ripples, too far away to be sure & far too quick to snatch a pic.
And on my way back over the bridge towards home, I spotted that the roadside apple tree on the southern side has excelled itself this year; it’s literally dripping fruit. Sadly the ponies who used to live in that field and munch the apples (which are tasty enough, but rather dry) have moved on now & it’s obvious that no-one fancies eating the apples from a tree so close to a busy road. Though to be honest, most people have probably never even noticed them, except as a wasp-attracting nuisance. I adore random roadside apple trees; my family can attest to my squeaks of delight whenever we’re travelling and I spot the billows of pink blossom in spring or the autumnal blobs of ripening fruit in shades of yellow, green, orange, pink and red, like early Christmas baubles, festooning a sea of green foliage. Wherever people have randomly dropped or flung their lunchtime apple cores, Nature takes over and produces diverse & often delicious fruit!
Random roadside apples, growing unnoticed alongside a bridge, on a main road. More power to the pips!
My walks tomorrow and on Friday will be around our little town, getting in food for the next week in the local shops or at the market, and the weather forecast is for yet more heavy, thundery showers. But it looks to be brightening up for the weekend; perhaps I’ll get a chance to go out foraging & look for more random apple or crab apple trees…
Somehow I carved out time for my first foraging expedition of the season today, after a hot, busy & chaotic summer when it feels like I achieved absolutely nothing of any lasting importance. I took myself off to the drove roads and forest tracks up behind Badbury Rings, in what might or might not be the last of the summer warmth, to hunt for crab apples from the two big trees down the side of the wood. It’s early yet, but the apples in our garden are coming down thick & fast, and we’re perilously close to running out of chutney; remedial action was required! And there were some down already, possibly enough, and clearly plenty more to come. I was also keeping an eye out for sloes, elderberries, hazelnuts & blackberries, bearing in mind that we’re forecast heavy rain – not before time! – this weekend, which will probably cause ripe berries to rot off.
There’s an early-autumnal feel to the air, the cooler mornings re-inforced by the fact that many of the trees are already turning colour & shedding leaves. But apparently this is caused by the horrendously dry summer we’ve had; they’re ditching excess leaves early because they can’t pump sap up to them. And most of the passers-by who stopped to exchange pleasantries as I was berrying were keen to tell me, “Thin pickings this year!” or “Not worth bothering with, are they? They’re tiny!” I reassured them that though generally quite small, they’re full of flavour this year – not diluted & squishy as they sometimes are after a rainy summer. And a big sigh to the grandparents who tried to tempt their Harib0-clutching grandchildren to try the abundance of the hedgerows; the inevitable squawks of “Yuck, that’s horrible!” were sadly quite predictable!
Thin pickings?
There were not many sloes up there, but I do know where there are, and they won’t rot in the rain, so there will be sloe gin this Christmas. And there were so few elderberries I didn’t bother picking any, just left them for the birds. But I did get a respectable 2½ punnets of blackberries; half are in the freezer already but the other half will be cooked up with windfall apples & bottled, or water-bath canned, as we seem to be calling the process now.
Windfall apples…
Results at the allotment have been very sporadic; I lost two complete plantings of runner beans and squash plants before realising that the well-rotted horse manure I’d carefully dug into a nice trench for them was probably contaminated with a weedkiller. The poor little plants turned pale within a day or two of planting out, and seemed “blind” in that they just didn’t seem to know which way to go; no amount of gentle encouragement helped them to go up the poles. It was only when I noticed that their leaves were curling in & turning brown that I realised what had happened. But the third plantings, although late, are finally coming into full production now, and assorted plantings of French & pole beans have kept us going in the interim. Best of all, healthy runner bean shoots appeared in two places from last year’s roots, a foot away from the manured trench, which I’d left in last autumn to help build healthy soil. They are now producing lots of lovely beans, and the very late “Painted Ladies” I chucked into a spare bed in late July are flowering prolifically too. Just as many of my fellow-allotmenteers are ripping their beans out – “It’s September, they won’t do anything worthwhile now!” as my old allotment neighbour used to say. But I’ve usually been lucky enough to carry on picking decent beans until the end of October; we’re generally very mild down here.
Last year’s runner beans, this year!
We won’t mention corn-on-the-cob; there’s always going to be some disappointment. But I’ve been experimenting with growing some things at home, in 30-litre tree-buckets, and have to report great success with potatoes – mind you, they’re coming up all over the allotment anyway, far more than I actually planted! – courgettes, aubergines & even a cucumber.
Courgettes-in-a-bucket…
And my chilli crop is magnificent, but that’s largely due to our local supermarket reducing plants on their sell-by date to 50p despite the fact that they’re laden with fruit just waiting to ripen up in my garden! 3 chillis in a plastic packet for 85p, or 15 on a slightly-wilted plant with plenty more flowers for 50p…? Don’t mind if I do! I’ll try to nurse the plants through the winter in the greenhouse, too, which I did manage to do with 3 of last years, which are also producing well now.
This year’s chillis from last year’s plants…
So despite the feeling that I’ve not managed to achieve anything worthwhile yet this year, and despite the awful, relentless economic bad news and the fact that our leaders have evidently abdicated all responsibility for us mere voters, never mind the fact they’ve completely lost any shreds of common sense they ever had & are far too busy squabbling amongst themselves to help the sick, the starving and the desperately broke, there are still some reasons to be cheerful…
A recycled lifestyle... 