Hands-on experience...

For the last few years I have tried, with my New Year’s resolutions, to either learn something new or do something positive. Wanting to learn new things means that, often, I succeed in my objective. That’s not to say that doing them is always easy, that would be a bit pointless, but the will to do something is a great way of helping things along. Learning to knit was one small success, improving my spoken Polish wasn’t.

During the summer, at Halifax Agricultural Show, we were talking to someone in the goat tent, asking lots of questions about goats and their upkeep. One of the questions she asked us was: can you hand milk? We both had to say no, and were then advised to learn. Asking around, we found somewhere not too distant and where they were willing to let us loose on the small, but productive herd of Toggenburg milkers.

So it was 7.30am on a Sunday morning when we arrived at Charnock’s Farm and were immediately given a stainless steel bucket, a ten second ‘how to’ and let loose on one of the goats. They were so patient, and over the weeks we’ve been doing it, we have got better and quicker, although there are still a couple of the six goats we milk that think kicking the bucket over or standing in it, is better than let us work away at their teats. It’s been an interesting few weeks and I hope we can become more proficient before the goats dry up naturally later in the winter.

I also get to work with the small flock of Polled Dorset sheep; rounding them up, tagging the lambs, inoculating and general management. It’s a steep learning curve, but a real bonus. It’s just a shame that, with all hands full, we don’t get to take many photos. I am also pleasantly surprised that Agnieszka still gets up, at 6am on a Sunday, to come with me and we learn together. I knew she was special, but now I know she is extra-special.

Quitte, quince and pigwa...

Some years ago, in Germany, I was given a very strange dessert. They called it ‘Quitte’ and said they were very hard fruits that you had to boil for a week before they were soft enough to eat. I suspected at the time, and later confirmed, that they were quince and in recent months there has been a plethora of articles, both written and on television, about these sadly neglected fruits.

On the way down to Dorset, we stopped at an orchard and bought a few pounds. They sat in the cottage for the week and every time we went past we sniffed them as the aroma is gorgeous. On the way back home, we bought some more and then a week or so ago, we were given a huge bucket of them for nothing. So far they’ve been made into jelly and cheese (like a thin Turkish delight, but sweeter), a quince and apple cake, an experimental liqueur, and a quince and apple crumble. They are absolutely wonderful. We still have some left and plans are now to add some rosemary from the yard to make them into a savoury jam.

If anyone has any other ideas of what to do with them, let me know, but they are disappearing fast!

Down in deepest Dorset...

There come times during the year where you just feel so knackered that you feel like everything is getting on top of you, all the hills you have to climb seem insurmountable and the crappy bits seems to be happening more often than the good bits. Colds, headaches, general feelings of malaise, all contribute and wear you down. This happened to us this year and we decided that we needed a week away from home (two weeks would have been better but neither of us has the holidays left), somewhere quiet, out of the way and in the country. Somewhere we could do very little except sleep, eat and chillax. So after some searching, and shouts of ‘how much!’, we settled on a week in a thatched cottage in Burton Bradstock.

It was just what the doctor ordered. Plenty of walks, good food, lots of sleep in the darkest place I have been in a long time, time on the beach and hardly any of it using the car. We used the local buses to get along the coast before walking back along the cliffs, or just wandered out. We went to West Bay for ginger and honey ice cream (and later some fantastic fish and chips), Bridport for the market and smoked mackerel, Lyme Regis for amazing bread, Dorchester for a disappointing detour, the Cerne Abbas giant to marvel at his manhood, Chesil Beach to get windswept, and Beaminster to say ‘good morning’ to just about everyone there.

It was a tonic. No wonder people who live down there live longer than anywhere else in the country. Not only is it a beautiful landscape, rolling hills and warm golden buildings, the people are actual quite nice. At least they will talk to you, not like Farnworth where the first thing most people say is unprintable.

On both outward and return journeys, we stopped at Charlton Orchards in Somerset to stock up on strange varieties of apples: Red Pippen, Orleans Reinette, Kidd’s Orange. We decided not to go for the medlars after I asked what they were like and the bloke compared them to ‘uncooked cake mixture’.

It was lovely to spend time in a village in the country, but made us realise how much you need a car and how important a village shop is. In some ways we have it easy in the town but, as MC Escher said, ‘Simplicity and order are, if not the principal, then certainly the most important guidelines for human beings in general’. It’s that simplicity and order that appeals.