A week in the life (through bleary eyes)

Tomatoes as big as Holly :)

Nothing will ever be the same - we know that now. The days pass in a blur of early morning moving swiftly into midday, afternoon and back to night and morning that comes again all too quickly and abruptly. There is no night anymore - no designated sleep time, no designated holy rest for a weary body. Night time becomes morning very soon after midnight and so too does the cue for the 2am feed that is barely finished before the 5am feed, that demands the 7.30am feed that leads to the 8.30am feed to the.....you get the picture. There is only one guaranteed sacred quiet time that remains - and that is the time between the grown-ups' dinner time (just about 9pm - more Mediterranean than Irish I know - I blame the Bajan in him ;) ) and the last feed of the 24 hour clock before she is packed up in bundles of pink blankets and lain down through fits and starts for the one three hour of session sleep that she has gifted to us everyday so far in all of the first three weeks of her life. 

These days, instead of having lists of 'things to do' and realistic ambitions of a suite of tasks that must be done for the world to go on (as I previously knew it) - I have basically reduced my expectations to 'getting one thing done in any given day' and that makes me feel like I am still even slightly my own person and therefore not totally and utterly surrendered to the needs of our beautiful daughter, Alannah. One thing every day. And you know what, I am glad to get that one thing done even if I don't get it completely done, if I at least get it started or if I manage to get a thought of it (which is a start in itself if you recount that all of the greatest achievements in life begin with a thought?). Let me give you some examples of the 'one thing' - successfully making dinner from start to end despite having to rock Alannah with one left foot while chopping onions (Monday); baking bread from a start of getting the dry ingredients together early in the day to baking it later that night along with the head chef's dinner creation (Tuesday)....

Chocolate beetroot cake, oh my!
Light and fluffy and chocolatey divine

....complete execution of divine chocolate beetroot cake - it was a push! (Wednesday); hoovering and dusting the first time in four weeks and an article for the Yoga Therapy Ireland magazine (Thursday); helping with the shopping with her in a cosy sling (Friday) and (finally) enjoying the sunshine yesterday and getting around to picking very ripe tomatoes and those nasty weeds along the garden path that have been jeering me for the last two weeks (Saturday). Sunday will be publishing this post - I hope (I think). That is 'one thing' on top of at least twelve feeding sessions, between ten and twelve nappy changes, a wash for Alannah, one shower for me - usually lasting 2 minutes - a short walk with Holly dog and a few cold cups of tea in between (forget about actually finishing a cup of tea while it is still hot). 

And that is how it has been for the first three weeks. What a learning curve and what a dramatic change in existence. We've all been experiencing the change - not least Alannah herself. What must it be like in a world where everything is blurred and you must rely on others around you entirely for your life support. How helpless she is, and how humbling it is to be the ones that are keeping her warm and dry and fed and safe and contented and secure. For that is the most important of all things now and that is the 'one thing' that has engulfed and overshadowed all other seemingly important 'things' that pre-dated Alannah's arrival in the Holly Cottage.  

Muse in pink 

And so, through bleary eyes I draft this on a Saturday night before the last feed and the collapse into warm and cosy bed for three precious hours of dreamtime. Holly is curled up sleeping in her bed, head chef has hung up his apron for the night, and Alannah - like Holly - is lost in her own dreams of who knows what. For how can they be dreams as we know them without colour or shape or form or name or direction? If only she could tell us. But she is giving us a smile every now and then, and that in itself is more than enough reward...

Planting the Spuds

While in the vet's yesterday with our little Holly dog and in the midst of a waiting room of maybe 15 canine companions, the vet called for Spud next, please. Spud turned out to be a fairly capable and sturdy Doberman, not quite as his name might suggest - I was thinking small and cheeky looking Terrier. Anyway, in the midst of all that fur and aroma of canine, I got to thinking about spuds, and I got to thinking that the word itself - spud - and the sensory evocations that come with it is such a truly Irish tradition. 

March snow keeping us on the move

Of course, another Irish tradition is to have the spuds - the earlies - in the ground by Paddy's Day. Well, we missed that - not for want of the impatient spuds being chitted in the front room for the last month, and not for want of any eagerness on our part. The delay was 100% with the snow and the frost that has been following us around for the last of March. We woke up Wednesday last to another snow scene - it's lovely really once you don't need to go to a meeting with your manager say, an hour's drive away. Ho Hum. We got out for a walk in it before any dreadful white knuckle driving. And Holly frolicked in the snowy woods. The snow is still lingering on Irish hills and the more northerly extremities on this terminal day in March but we decided to dare it to defy our will, and yesterday we got down and dirty and planted the spuds. 

Spuds to the ready for planting

Of over 120 potatoes now shivering in the March attacked soil, we have 40 earlies - Orla variety, and 40 Setanta and 40 Sarpo axona, the latter two being maincrop. Now, to be fair, there is a particular 'spud-speak' and potato lingo that takes a little bit of getting used to, so let me explain. Even I, daugher of a mother whose father grew fields of spuds for a living, am just getting the hang of it in this, my fourth decade on the planet. The earlies are the early potatoes - fairly self explanatory that, and usually ready for the eating when Wimbledon is on and school exams are over (June for those not in this general area of NW Europe). These are usually deliciously sweet, smallish spuds that ask only for a bit of butter and sea-salt, a sprinkle of parsley and a spray of freshly cracked pepper - these simple delicacies are more gourmet than masterchef itself. This was the crop that my parents looked forward to every year - they are still lovers of the British Queen variety - and every spring there were trays of spuds chitting under our childhood beds. I never understood what was going on, and why, but now I do. It's a little bit like a rite of passage when you start to buy your own seed potatoes and you start to talk about your own preferred varieties. Weird in a good way. The maincrop spud is usually in the ground until later, harvested in autumn and can be overwintered for use for as long as you're storage technique allows.

Our own experience has been pretty mixed. The first year (2011) we were supplied with seed potatoes straight from one of the key scientists that is co-ordinating spud breeding for blight resistance in Ireland. Thanks Denis ;) We had spuds that year from June to the following April - stored nice and dry in the front room and delicious to boot. Then last year (2012) - well, let's not speak of the blight. Our over-zealousness and lack of experience led us to losing the guts of our own British Queen, and Duke of York (both early) crops, and the Roosters and Golden Wonders (main crop). What a disaster, and how depressing to see the stalks black and rotting away. 

As pretty as a potato flower can be 

This year is going to be a great year - in more ways than one. Despite the cold spring, we have three sure-thing blight resistant varieties currently nestling in the good earth of the Holly Cottage garden. And all the weather prophecy men say it's gonna be a scorcher of a May, a mixed June, a wet July and a sunny August. I'm just glad to see sun mentioned in the mix at all! Onion setts are in the ground - red and white onions this year for all that red onion jam, yum ;) There's peas and broad beans sown in the greenhouse that survived the December storm and one or two other things - all slow to stir in the March winds. Poor daffodils are struggling this year, but they are braving the snow storms and their bright yellow is such a vivid delight in contrast to the pure snow white. And there are tantalising signs of tulips in the making ready to brave those April showers, and sun - we hope. 

Happy Easter to all - as I write I am perched at the kitchen table - cold wind is outside, spuds  are warm in their perfect drills and no need to go out into it save for the late walk in the woods with Holly - it'll be bright until 8pm tonight. AND, I am currently being treated to the aroma of a Wilkie's Organic Hot Chocolate in the making. Now, it doesn't get much better than that. Easter Bunny go get your own! 

Winter Thoughts (and a beetroot chocolate cake!)

Leaves undone

It's official. Winter is truly, deeply and darkly upon us. The darkness is winning over the light, and the light - when it comes - is filtered only through a thick blanket of cloudy grey and eerie frosty mists that may or may not lift on any given day. But the sun is always there - we see it every now and then - strong and giving and golden and welcome. A reminder of what has been and what will come again. It's just that the other side of the world is feeling it's loving more. For some months now the tilt of the Earth and the seasonal change in day length will halt further growth and we must wait until spring time to get digging in the garden. The beech trees that had clung to last summer's leaves are now delivered into stark winter nakedness. How can that feel? Only the ivy, the holly and the yew hang on to their glossy dark green leaves in defiance of winter. 

I spent the last week in Austria where winter has an edge on our dark and damp Irish version. In Austria the snow was just about to land. The Austrian alps were already covered but lower hills and ski slopes waited keenly for the promise of their winter white blanket. The experience of winter there is more white and bright than grey and damp. As I write here at the kitchen table in Holly Cottage, my eyes are drawn to the cold grey rain outside our sheltering windows that has been falling through the night. And I draw the blanket closer about me as if to shield me from its cold creep, and keep my own inner fire bright, un-dampened, protected.

Holly guarding the beetroot

It's not easy, this kind of winter. But it's what we have been given. It stops us in our tracks. It demands slow down. Stop digging. Think about when and where you need to drive. Rest. Time for looking outwards is reduced to daily walks on frosty paths or muddy fields. Or a run in the dark of an early morning. Doors are only opened for necessary seconds now, saving precious warmth from its escape. Time for looking inwards now. Time for taking the ashes out daily. Time to tend the fire so that it will burn through the short days and cold nights. All through this winter, and this seasonal night. 

But it's not all dark and brooding ;) More time to enjoy the gifts of summer past. This week's gift is dark and sticky, sweet and sating beetroot chocolate cake - yum! I found this recipe  in a Rachel Allen book while waiting on the homeward bound train in Heuston one cold dark evening. It is the perfect fit for the last of the beetroot that really should be a staple in every Irish garden. From relishing it, to roasting and boiling it. It's a gift in itself. 

Made for each other ;)

Take 10oz of raw beetroot and boil for about a half an hour until cooked. Then rub of the skins, chop into pieces and pop into a blender until its finely chopped, smooth. Melt 9oz of chocolate - use the best available. For example Shana Wilkie's ;) www.WilkiesChocolate.ie Cream 9oz of butter, add 11oz of caster sugar and blend until smooth and creamy in texture. Gradually add three beaten eggs, making sure to beat in-between adding the eggs. Then add in the beetroot and the melted chocolate. It might look a bit psychedelic - enjoy it! Then sift and fold in 3oz of flour and 2oz of cocoa. I used a 8inch round tin with a removable base - make sure to line it with parchment paper. Then into the oven at 180 degrees until firm to touch - Rachel says 30-35mins but we left it for a good 50 mins. Allow to cool in the tin before taking it out. 

Winter Path

A word of warning. This cake is absolutely divine. You may feel the need to eat it all in one sitting. But don't ;) Take a decent sized slice and have it with vanilla ice cream - we also tried it with banana and chocolate ice cream easily sourced from Lidl. What a wonderful accompaniment to those winter thoughts.....it can only make them better.