The pace has eased off a little this week and I have been the orchestrator of my own evening time which has been welcome. The moon is slowly getting fuller and brighter, the sheep are still randomly blurting out their calls in the dark and making me jump out of my skin, particularly in the morning when I am half asleep passing their field. The two rams always look expectant and apart from carrying fine sets of dynamic curled horns they both sport resplendent chest wigs. They could bring the curly perm back into fashion. I think the reason they appear expectant is that the ewes are in the opposite field. And Jerry the farmer has recently been over and grabbed their undercarriages to pronounce them in fine working order which would unsettle any male on the receiving end. Jerry seems like a nice bloke (if you aren't a ram) so I introduced myself. He is our staunch supporter locally "Huzzah for Jerry!" and sits on our Council to represent the village of Ashton, our nearest neighbours. Not everyone loves us so. One particular female detractor who lives "across the valley" claims our outside lights resemble Junction 27 of the M5 (specifically) and constitute frightful light pollution. She is a journalist for a particularly unsavoury tabloid, I won't mention it by name but it rhymes with gravy snail. So anyway, Jerry has enlisted my willing help for sheep shearing in the summer. I've told him I have never weilded the necessary tools before but this matters not. Once more, "Huzzah for Jerry!".
I have been scurrying round in the garden a bit and working with my first small groups of volunteers and I am learning a thing or two already. A chilli and lemon verbena harvest has produced some amazing and unintentionally festive decorations hanging in the dining yurt as they dry out for use in the kitchen. Christmas seems far away, however we did have a group outing to Teignmouth for fish and chips last night smacking us back into the reality of December. Sort of. We piled into the minbus and I carted us all down to the seaside. We introduced Jaro (Spanish) to haddock and chips and tried to re-introduce Yan (half Greek) to haddock and chips. The first time was all batter and no cod apparently. A shocking representation of English fayre. The shop was decorated with twinkly stuff and the seafront had Chrismas lights shaped like waves. We tucked in (Jaro drew the line at mushy peas) and threw down an ice cream too. Fat junkies the lot of us after all the organic produce we nibble daily. Everyone was happy with the food and we trotted gaily down the seafront and watched the moon on the sea and someone started a game of off-ground touch. Some stupid photos later and we trundled home. Highlights of the journey back were local farm's Christmas lights, a humpback bridge and an artfully placed bench strategically erected to enable admiration of the A38 below. Splendid.
In other news, I am now transferring to my cabana. It turns out it is under not one but two oak trees. I can see the sunset over the hills and watch little cows in silhouette mosying along the ridge. I have swept the floors, lit the fire and scrubbed at the windows with cider vinegar. I smell like a dusty dream. It is an amazing space and I feel very lucky. When I go in and sit down I lose time and find it hard to leave. There is a cob bench built in beside the woodburner and a sink and stove. The mattress is even orthopaedic. I can't believe it. Vic's awesome hurricane light was sparked up tonight (German made) to send its glow about the place. No electric you see. But totally cosy and soon to be set up properly as home.
The apple pressing has finished now. We hauled the last of the half rotten contenders into water barrels yesterday and through the chipper they went to be squeezed of their goodness. Then down to the old oak whisky barrell to fill her up. We've got stocks to last us some time. Jaro told me to climb the barrell and listen at the top. Seemed strange but up I scrambled and lo! the lively, crackly fizz of the old boys breaking down into cydery goodness. I knelt with my cheek on the barrell, listening. Sweet cydery sounds for a girl from Somerset. There was nearly a tear in my eye. We are angling for a "last of the apples" cyder party, yet to be confirmed. My palms are black from the tanins and will remain so for some time. The hedge monkey returns.....
I have been scurrying round in the garden a bit and working with my first small groups of volunteers and I am learning a thing or two already. A chilli and lemon verbena harvest has produced some amazing and unintentionally festive decorations hanging in the dining yurt as they dry out for use in the kitchen. Christmas seems far away, however we did have a group outing to Teignmouth for fish and chips last night smacking us back into the reality of December. Sort of. We piled into the minbus and I carted us all down to the seaside. We introduced Jaro (Spanish) to haddock and chips and tried to re-introduce Yan (half Greek) to haddock and chips. The first time was all batter and no cod apparently. A shocking representation of English fayre. The shop was decorated with twinkly stuff and the seafront had Chrismas lights shaped like waves. We tucked in (Jaro drew the line at mushy peas) and threw down an ice cream too. Fat junkies the lot of us after all the organic produce we nibble daily. Everyone was happy with the food and we trotted gaily down the seafront and watched the moon on the sea and someone started a game of off-ground touch. Some stupid photos later and we trundled home. Highlights of the journey back were local farm's Christmas lights, a humpback bridge and an artfully placed bench strategically erected to enable admiration of the A38 below. Splendid.
In other news, I am now transferring to my cabana. It turns out it is under not one but two oak trees. I can see the sunset over the hills and watch little cows in silhouette mosying along the ridge. I have swept the floors, lit the fire and scrubbed at the windows with cider vinegar. I smell like a dusty dream. It is an amazing space and I feel very lucky. When I go in and sit down I lose time and find it hard to leave. There is a cob bench built in beside the woodburner and a sink and stove. The mattress is even orthopaedic. I can't believe it. Vic's awesome hurricane light was sparked up tonight (German made) to send its glow about the place. No electric you see. But totally cosy and soon to be set up properly as home.
The apple pressing has finished now. We hauled the last of the half rotten contenders into water barrels yesterday and through the chipper they went to be squeezed of their goodness. Then down to the old oak whisky barrell to fill her up. We've got stocks to last us some time. Jaro told me to climb the barrell and listen at the top. Seemed strange but up I scrambled and lo! the lively, crackly fizz of the old boys breaking down into cydery goodness. I knelt with my cheek on the barrell, listening. Sweet cydery sounds for a girl from Somerset. There was nearly a tear in my eye. We are angling for a "last of the apples" cyder party, yet to be confirmed. My palms are black from the tanins and will remain so for some time. The hedge monkey returns.....
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