My Autumn Harvest.

Oh My God.  The Puppy has just done a wee in the garden.  This is a First after two weeks.  Meanwhile the house is awash.  Sorry, I just had to let you all know.  The Blurb, which I now wish I hadn’t read, at least got that bit right.  Dachshunds don’t understand the purpose of gardens.   They think it’s for chasing the cat.

My Harvest, mostly from neighbours. I only managed half a dozen poxy Tomatoes and one half decent Quince.  The Squash Plants died.

Thirteen Marrows.  There is a limit to what one can do with Marrows.  You can’t give them away because everybody has got too many already.  You can’t dump them in the communal bin because the neighbour who so kindly have them to you might see them.  And I can’t be arsed to stuff them.

A big bag of Peaches, some of which were gratefully received by my friend.   Thank you for helping out.  But she didn’t want a Marrow.  Not even one.

Three large, round Courgettes.  They haven’t gone off yet.

About five kilos of Italian Tomatoes, so five jars of excellent Tomato Sauce.  They simmer down quite a lot, but at least that was fun.

Two Butternut Squashes, both hardened off.  They will keep for a bit while I think about it.

Three kilos of very large Chestnuts.  Very expensive to buy when in fact they are lying around on the ground for the taking here.  I have this theory that Brittany survived on Chestnuts during The War.  You can even make flour with them.  I bet you all didn’t know that.  Not that I am intending to try.  But loads of Chestnut Stuffing at Noel.  They will be used.

About three kilos of Walnuts, ditto expensive.  I am allergic to them to some considerable  distress digestively.  I even hoped I might die one dark night.  But Robin Dominic eats them, and they will keep for a while.

Apples.  Don’t even think about Apples.  Unless you know how to make Eau de Vie, which I don’t.  And the Travelling Still doesn’t come around anymore.  Those were interesting days, seeing  old coggers, often women, wheeling large containers of Cider to the Still when it parked up.  60% alcohol, and that was on a bad day.  Terrible stuff, but marginally more drinkable if you soak Prunes in it first, and if you are desperate for a drink.  Always carried around in plastic bags because it is illegal to sell it on.  But everyone knows what it is and who’s got any.  Sons are no longer allowed to inherit Daddy’s Licence to distill , so it is becoming scarce.  A bit sad really.  It was a way of life once upon a time.

The Still itself was a hoot a minute.  A beaten up wreck of a trailer, held together with bits of old rope and wire, and belching smoke.  I sometimes wondered how it didn’t actually blow up.

However, I do suspect that there are a few illegal Stills kicking around in the odd old barn.

All in all, a good harvest again, given with generosity and not much effort from me.

I do so love this place.

4 Responses to “My Autumn Harvest.”

  1. Elizabeth Says:

    Oh, sounds so lovely! Quite envious really…..

  2. elenamitchell Says:

    We still have communities here, Liz. Lucky we are.

  3. The Jannie Says:

    “held together with bits of old rope and wire, and belching smoke.”
    Wasn’t that the still operator?

  4. elenamitchell Says:

    Him as well, Jannie, although I have to say it went with the imagine. He didn’t actually Belch. More a steady stream of fag smoke and the odd cough.

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