Jam, Set and Match

It's a jam thing 

It's all about strawberries these days in the Holly Cottage. We've been watching them since February, minding them, more watching them, feeding and netting them, and so on it goes in the gardening way. And now that it's all happening, we're finding it hard to keep up with the harvest and keep ahead of the host of centipedes, slugs, ants and blackbirds that have suddenly appeared in a feasting army to unleash the magical strawberry elixir. Even Holly has been caught raiding the strawberry beds in previous years - she's being extra good this year though, although maybe we just haven't caught her in the act yet ;) 

What to do with this bounty? Well, the obvious delight is the jam thing - the easiest thing in the world since cutting a slice of homemade brown bread or a delicious fruit scone and making a cup of tea, all the things that go so well with the sweet, sticky magic of strawberry jam. And all while one is partaking in the entertainment that is Wimbledon and tennis - they take their strawberries straight - no mixers - with cream there (hence the Jam, Set and Match spin). Take a kilo of fruit, a kilo of sugar, all in the pot - melt the sugar down on gentle heat, then bring it all up to a boil and simmer until setting point is reached. The setting point can be a make or break moment, but if you really get it wrong - how bad? Strawberry sauce in a jar to pour over vanilla ice cream in the depths of winter - mmmm. If you have a lot of rhubarb to play with, like we do, then make a half and half batch of both fruits - its a really nice combination especially for those nervous of the rhubarb variety. 

dreamy, creamy, cheesy, strawberryyyyy....

The other creation of the day is a strawberry cheesecake, based on a blueberry cheesecake recipe by Rachel Allen. Take your favourite biscuit base - digestive and a melted butter was easiest for us this evening. Top this with freshly picked strawberries and leave to chill while you making the topping. For the top - now this is a half of the recipe since it's just the two of us - 225g cream cheese, 75g castor sugar, 2 eggs, half teasp vanilla essence all whizzed up together until smooth and creamy, mmmm ;) Pour this sweet and cheesy creamy promise over the biscuit and strawberry base and into the oven at 180deg for 40mins.....the result is waiting for us as we speak! It always shocks me really when I see the price of a slice of cake in shops and cafes especially when they taste so good straight from your own oven, and I guess what you're really paying for is service and atmosphere. Take my favourite cafe of the moment in Dublin city - Keoghs on Trinity Street - there's always a buzz of people coming in and grabbing coffee to go or one of their amazing selection of scones (brown raisin and cinnamon, and vanilla and pear deliciousness). And there is always a strange and eclectic mix - from the Samuel Beckett quotes on the wall to the cross section of native Dubs having their morning sugar fix. I like to think my odd splurge there is helping a bit to sustain places like that, however small that might be, but these small shops are the remedy to the one size fits all type of franchise cafes that seem to be squeezing out the last of the  brave, individualistic types. 

Shades of summer 

Having said all that and nodding my head to the buzz and vibrancy of an early morning coffee on the streets of Dublin city, there is such enormous satisfaction in being the master or mistress of your own sweet selection, and savouring each mouthful as you watch the sun gradually descend in the sky on the last day of June. Especially in the knowledge of: i. passing your practical yoga class exam the day before (phew), ii. having all the rooms in the Holly Cottage painted, iii. having all the outside windows and sills cleaned down and painted, iv. all the rubbish and clutter built up over the longest winter cleared, v . the array of colours in the garden - purple seems to feature a lot! vi. the first potatoes of the season dug and officially the best tasting spuds ever (again) and blissfully clear of blight (yay) and vii. it's lovely calm Sunday evening again ;) 

It's the simple pleasures that we bask in here...and oh yes, there is that deliciously creamy, dreamy, homemade strawberry cheesecake waiting to be to cut into as well.......

Standing to a Rain-Still

Before the rain - Holly on the go-go

It's a quiet and calm Sunday evening in the Holly Cottage. Quieter and calmer than the usual mellow Sunday as chief noise maker - Holly - has gone to visit her cousins in Cork. She's a bit of a wandering dog and seems to love nothing better than leaping into the back of the jeep or the front of the noisy van to head off out into the unknown. As long as she knows the food has been packed as well of course ;) She's never been beyond the island's limits in her tender three years, but she's probably been in more counties than some proud Irish natives. I guess it comes from her pair of nomadic guardians who seem to be rarely in one place  in any given week apart from those cherished non-driving weekends. 

During - somewhere between
Nawlins and Memphis it rained...

And so I am guardian of the cottage and it's stately 0.25 acres of (now) tamed front garden and flourishing vegetable patch out the back. And somehow, with Holly's departure, the sunshine has faded and I am banished to the indoors as the rain has come and put a stop to all my dry weather plans. Oh well! I can't say I'm that disappointed really, as my knees were starting to rebel against the endless  weeding and transplanting, the thinning of carrots, turnips and beetroot seedlings, the tying of wandering peas and beans and the general tidying and admiring that one tends to do when the sun is browning our Irish necks. 

When the good weather was with us (I won't say when the summer was with us, as there is still a future in this summer of 2013), we were flat out with all those jobs listed above and then there was the sheer joy of seeing the sun that we just had to make the most of every moment. The BBQ was out every evening for all sorts of delicacies marinated by the Holly Cottage head chef (also sorely missed this evening), the lakes were visited, the woods explored and ice-cream finally tasted as it should - think 99 with syrupy raspberry 'stuff' and other treacly green 'stuff' topped with 100s and 1000s and the prime seat of that stunted piece of Flake chocolate - WOW! (I've provided a link for non aficionados of the 99 phenomenon...nom, nom, nom, nom). 

And so, the rain has come to remind us that there is also a time for indoors. And a welcome chance to catch up on all the words that have been rattling about in my head as the sun lulled us into any other activity than that of writing indoors mode ;)

During - handy to have a spare shoe
in case it might rain in Catalonia...

The Irish rain of course is not for the faint hearted or the weak of spirit. It is different than any other kind of rain. Different from the downpours of Barbados and Madagascar that can wash entire roads and hillsides of exposed soil away in a couple of hours; different from the pounding rain in Cuba when even our acclimatised horses had to take shelter in a friendly farmer's shed out in the tobacco fields; different than the warm rain of New Orleans where you could even call it pleasant to stand in a heavy shower for a break from the summer's heat; different from the blocks of ice that fell from a Roman sky in June; but similar enough to the rain in May that fell far from the plains of Spain...just to remind us of home as we splashed our way (in flip-flops) through the streets of Girona. 

The rain in Ireland is different from the rain in all those other far and exotic places around this blue green planet. Different because unlike all those other demonstrations of nature's prowess and force, the Irish rain is soft and steady and certainly lasts longer - think Duracell bunny but multiplied by a factor of 1000. I often wonder how the streams of tourists cope - as they bravely manoeuvre the narrow roads of the Burren in the the soft Atlantic mist or the bogs of Mayo in the horizontal pounding of a July's rainy day. What must it be like to them? Of course there's half the rain in Dublin city so that makes it easier for them and the locals to enjoy a cappuccino on a busy cobbled alleyway off Grafton Street. Even the capital is not without its 800mm of water falling out of the sky in any given year and/or in any given season. But, double and sometimes triple that amount and we have the western shores....and somewhere in between is where we lie - here in the Holly Cottage HQ, and it certainly feels that we are more western than eastern, most of the time. 

But what would we do without it? When would the stories get told, the songs written, the analysis over the late pints attended to? The great literary works written or the great humour and wit unfolded? Or the  chocolate made or the designer fashion crafted? I'm far too easily distracted by the sunshine to bring my pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, and I'm sure I'm not unique on this front. 

So, I welcome the rain for what it is...a chance to slow down and grind to a physical halt. A chance to empty the thoughts onto the pages, and document the time unfolding and rapidly passing before our eyes. And lest we forget the rainbows...

...And after -  Galway painting al fresco

We come to the longest day next weekend, and really - where did the time go since we celebrated the passing of the longest night? Time to slowdown, time to be rained to a standstill after all that running. If it brings a need to play one of your more preferred songs by U2, then you and I are in the same boat - Running to a Standstill has been the theme to the week - the theme to the arresting force of the rainclouds when we were forced to stand in the stilling power of the rain, when we did what we could between the showers, and the welcome reminder that music at anytime - even just the melody playing in your mind - can ease the restless hurry of time. And when you're six and a half moths pregnant and there's less and less time between you and that impending event they gloriously call labour, well - you're certainly happy to slow it down anyway you can...

Letting the light back in

We held our breath for such a long time here in Ireland. We waited, we hoped, some prayed, others took to soul searching. Some took the approach of positive outlook while others grumbled and were ready to take the pain, again. Whatever the outlook you can never be sure until the moment has truly and finally arrived. What is that I hear your curious minds asking. Well, summer of course!

Evening summer sun -
it has to go to come back!

It all started about a month ago really - around the last time I wrote to update on the floral developments in the Holly Cottage garden. At that time - about four weeks ago, a lifetime in some ways - I was embarking on a bit of a tour of Ireland. There was Mayo for wonderful wilderness and Dublin for trashing out EU policy for Biodiversity, and then Cork to catch a plane off this rich and green island. That second week in May was cold and wet in Mayo, with torrential showers mixed with hard winds. I was dressed to the last in winter wet gear. It was great though - you can't beat a trip to Westport and lingering looks across Clew Bay in the morning light. But, yes, it still felt like the wintery summers of the last four years. Then a skip, hop and a jump to the capital and it seemed like the residents there were starting to warm up - people eating on the street and not shying from buying and wearing summer t-shirts and sandals. It was looking good. I spent two days in the regal Dublin Castle with a gang of heads from all over Europe - it seems strange to be setting research targets for biodiversity conservation and restoration inside a cold and regal building - not a butterfly or wildflower in sight - but I guess needs must?

My kind of motorway ;)

That was when we abandoned ship in the bid to find summer elsewhere. After tucking Holly in with two new friends - a cantankerous chihuahua and a less threatening looking King Charles, we boarded a cheap flight in Cork and set off for the foothills of the Spanish Pyrenees. After a worryingly wet first day in Girona for the festival of flowers, we were quickly reminded of how summer used to be in Ireland. The hedgerows near our rented house on the back roads half an hour from anywhere were filled with poppies and borage, wild grasses and plantains, and butterflies frolicked in the quiet back roads and tracks that criss-cross the Catalan Hills. It brought me back to childhood days when it was time to bring the hay in and the only shelter from the heat of the Irish summer was behind three bales stacked in wig-wam style and thirst was quenched by bottles of orange flavoured water out of mi-wadi bottles. Now that was summer ;) More on the wonders of the Catalan countryside and coastline for another day but let me give you a flavour of what happened on our return...

Well, summer happened! For the last two weeks morning begins at 4.30am when the darkness in the room begins to lift and the birds outside in the hedges and gardens and across the road in Charleville Estate provide us with a cacophony of dawn chorus - deafening in ways, but rivalling any Vivaldi piece on summer. From about 5am onwards, we are blessed with blue skies and early twenties in temperatures up until at least 11pm at night. And we have the longest day yet to come! There's no more heavy fleece getting into the car to go for work, no more socks (happy feet!), no more bracing the wind at the morning walk in Lough Boora and the promise of food cooked outside on the BBQ every evening, nicely charred and wonderfully flavoured and appetising with the taste of the summer evening outdoors. 

And all that glorious light is reaching every part of us that has been covered in darkness and cold for the longest winter in a long time. And we might even forget the difficult cold and damp days, and the struggle to keep our heads up and spirits lifted. The light has a way of doing that, it brings us back to ourselves and everything is illuminated. A time for revelation. There is of course a time for the dark of course - and I welcome that too, but everything in balance! 

The garden is coming on in leaps and bounds everyday - early spuds are flowering, broad beans are scaling lofty heights and packed with flowers, peas are looking a lot greener than last year's sickly yellow, tomatoes are tucked into their cosy growbags, cucumbers are trailing, basil and herbs are packing flavour and aroma in every corner, rocket has..well, rocketed, and lavenders are providing a sweet hang-out for bees and all sorts of things creepy crawly. The strawberries are not quite there yet but we will definitely have to make some room amongst the bags of frozen broccoli to preserve their sweetness for the year ahead. There's talk of a polytunnel to help bring things forward a bit next year, but we'll have to see....

Lilac dreams

And what about Holly? Well, true to form - having recovered from the shock at being dictated to for a week by a dog the size of her head (the chihuahua) - she is just basking in the glory of the summer heat and taking every moment as it comes. We still get to walk in the cool green of the Charleville woods every evening until late, and the bluebells and wild garlic are still packing a punch in the colour and fragrance departments. Long may it linger!

There's still work to do here (apart from the day job of course) - cabbages and sprouts to be transplanted and sunflowers to be re-housed, a spot of weeding (just discovered the back saving attributes of a hoe!) and of course everything to be enjoyed. More to come on our Catalan adventures and a few nuggets of wonder from Mayo and a day in Kerry where luck crossed my path in the shape of Rua the leprechaun...there's magic in Kerry you know! In the meantime, have a great weekend and be sure to soak it all up - word is there's rain on Monday, but just enough to refresh the daisies and down the dust ;)

Flower power

Purple haze

For most, if not all of my youth I wondered what the hell my mother was doing in the garden. My father was generally there with her when the work was done down the fields or in the yard, so there was a pair of them in it. I just didn't get the fact that they loved being out there until dark would creep in past ten and eleven at night during the summer or why would you bother chitting seed potatoes under our beds in the depths of a February winter. Thing is - I get it now. And now I wonder is it that I've gotten old or is it that I just get it? Is it like when you suddenly realise that money doesn't grow in your parents' pockets? When I visit my parents now I realise how much work went into having all those crocuses and snowdrops in January, daffodils a'plenty in March, torrents of tulips in April and then all those amazing scents and colours of summer months - roses, sweet william, sweet pea, dahlias and in more recent years glorious sunflowers. All against a backdrop of beautiful beech, graceful pines and an orchard of apple and plenty of growing room for all sorts of berries. 

Momma tulip with baby tulips

I realise now how much work it takes because we started on our own journey here in the Holly Cottage nearly three years ago. The first summer went quickly and we did nothing much, cut a few overgrown trees and built a wall. The second we focused on growing food for ourselves - one must have their priorities right ;) And then last year we finally got around to dealing with the disastrous front of the house which we had completely neglected and turned our back on (literally we did, as the back is facing south and out of sight...). Over the course of a wet July and August in 2012 we cleared out the chaos and replaced it with clean lines and in our wisdom (somehow we knew we had to) we planted about 200 bulbs on a hot August afternoon and duly forgot about them until the first sacred snowdrop lifted its head in a wet January. Since then we've been constantly entertained by trying to guess what would come next, since we really can't remember. And so we had irises, crocuses, daffodils, tulips, snowflake (bigger and later version of the snowdrop) as well as things we didn't even plant that somehow found their way. The wilder things that popped up are celendine, wild strawberry, bluebell, wild garlic and lords and ladies. At the moment down on fruit alley we have the cherry, apple and pear blossoms and not to forget the pale purple of the cheery chives. Of course then we had our surprise roses last year and I've managed to salvage them and find a better spot - fingers crossed they'll come back to us. 

Simple pleasure

And so, inspired by the delight of all those bulbs I was early down to the local Lidl store Saturday  bank holiday morning (German supermarket chain in Ireland) and picked up a load of specials. I thought I'd be the only one but there was a river of plant shoppers streaming out the door after buying up nearly everything in the few minutes the store had been opened. I came home with a boot load of 'infant' flowers. All of which are now - after three hours that seemed to disappear in 5 minutes of planting and watering - in the ground (note - there is loads of potential for practicing your yoga while gardening - think squats, forward bends and mountain pose). There is lavender, clematis (climber for the big wall at the back), blue lilac, marigolds, geraniums and my mother's all time favourite - pansies. Again, I only know anything about these flowers because of her, and I probably wouldn't know anything about growing and caring for them but for her either. I guess I owe a lot of gratitude to her - not least for bringing me into being which goes without saying - but for all the stuff as a child and sulky teenager I thought I'd never need to know, that now brings us the greatest of simple pleasures everyday in our Holly Cottage garden. Thanks Ma! I did return some of the favour though and when I started my own botanical trekking I was able to show her sundews and other insect eating plants on the bogs of Ireland, the colourful bog mosses and the glorious orchids that are miniature paintings against the wild bog backdrop. 

My advice - only if you're interested - is start small. Start with a few small things in a corner of the garden and be sure they are where you can see and admire them everyday. Then, maybe plant a few more of what you decide you like best. After that, experiment and try planting a few things like  potted herbs that you can pick up with your weekly shop. It can be as simple as you have the time and the money for, and don't forget you can always adopt and adapt a few cuttings from more established gardens. You learn something new with every seed you sow or plant you dig - more often learning something about yourself that you might never have otherwise known. 

And so, here's to flower power! If you do a Google search for flower power - you'll just get pictures of hippies and 60s psychedelia. It is so much more than that, trust me. So enjoy the cherry blossoms on the streets and the gorse on the hills, and I will keep you posted as to how our new arrivals fare and the flower power that they bring. May the force be with you ;)

A quick postscript on a Monday afternoon - I managed to scavenge enough rhubarb from the garden to make our first rhubarb tart of the year. Three words - DE-LISH-IOUS. And the spuds are up - was there ever any doubt? 

Spring comes to Holly Cottage (at last!)

Golden Daffodils bending to the April cold

It's happening, it's happening, it's finally happening. What's that you say? Well, it's all happening! After what seems like an eternity in darkness and cold, the light is back and there's even a bit of heat! This afternoon after a morning of sunshine and showers, myself and the Holly dog were sitting out the back admiring the fresh growth of the strawberries - in a t-shirt! No jumpers, no fleeces, no scarves, no hats or no gloves gloves, just a t-shirt. Well, I was in a t-shirt. Herself is still in her thick woolly coat and is starting to resemble a very small amber coloured lamb with long ears and the cutest snout. For a very brief moment I considered retrieving the sandals or the flip flops from their winter storage, but  I thought that might jinx it entirely for the rest of the country so I stuck with the socks and the heavy runners. 

It's less that three weeks now since I last posted on the Holly Cottage blog - remember the snow? Well, we pretty much had two weeks continuous of dry, dry weather - the east wind was coming to us from Russian steppes and everything that once was green had turned a strange shade of unfamiliar yellow. The ground was starting to crack out the garden and every morning the daffodils fought off the grip of frost and managed to straighten their long and graceful necks by midday to greet the golden sun. What extremes? - the wet of January and the dry and cold of February, the damp and wind (and snow) of March and then the dry April chilling winds and hard frosts that kept leaves in their cosy buds and stopped us all from getting brave with sowing salad seeds in open ground. What seeds we had in the sturdy greenhouse were getting frosted even inside those sheltering panes of plastic so all the new members of the Holly Cottage community were brought inside to the comfort of fires at night and kitchen midday sun that boosted their growth. The beans thanked us for it and have bolted out of their holsters and the peas are gracefully starting to tendril. Sunflowers are pushing bent heads up through the compost and cucumbers, sweetcorn, tomatoes and leeks are all doing well now. Sweet basil and marjoram planted in February are only coming to and parsley planted in March is finally thickening up. 

Holly's rooftop garden

The trials of the Irish (amateur) gardener eh? Even the relentless rhibarb seems to be staggering in the April sun. Of course we could have bought a propagator like they have in Cappaduff, but that would take the fun out of it all ;)  And so we are looking forward to planting out in the next week or so, and maybe even an early spud will raise a sleepy head soon to let us know they survived the springtime freeze. 

Back to Friday night and at almost 9pm in midlands Ireland, the light is still illuminating the skeleton forms of the beech trees that line the boundary of Charleville Castle estate across the way. No leaves on the towering beech yet, but they are coming. The first fresh green buds have been spotted on the hawthorn, hazel, birch and elder in the woods for at least a week now - still not in full armour mind. Give them a chance to shake up the goodness from the roots in the warming earth to the nutrient starved leaves laid down since last year in sticky and furry buds. 

No leaves yet but
there's still plenty of sticks :)

We've been enjoying the weather regardless - long, late evening walks late in the woods with the tall oaks and dizzyingly high beeches of Charleville have been entertaining myself and the Holly dog. There are no leaves on high but the woodland floor is carpeted in the bountiful wild garlic - great for adding to the scrambled eggs! 

Holly is on the mend - thankfully. She had a stone the size of a plum seed removed from her bladder last week and is just back to her crazy self. She was only gone for a day and then kind of doped out of it for another day. With all that silence it makes you wonder -what would we do without her?

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! 

A Bit of a Pickle

Let the magic begin

The weather has us on a go slow in the Holly Cottage camp. Two weeks ago we were breaking our backs getting the good earth ready for planting, clearing the shed of two year's cumulative rubbish and basically clearing the decks to prepare for the sowing season. There was even talk of let's build a patio the sun was shining so well. We'll park that one until we see it again - the sun that is. Since then, we've had at least two days blanketed in pure white snow; another three being blown out of it by northeasterly gales and at least five days being pounded with hailstones the size of frozen peas. Hailstones big  enough to hurt when they ricochet off the corner of your forehead as you endeavour overdue walkovers of your summer field experiments ;)

Holly Cottage hot stuff ;)

Better we get it now says them in the know. Better now than mid June, when you might be glad to sand the rust of the BBQ grill and have an extended evening in the midsummer sun. Despite the inhospitable weather though we've been keeping it hot indoors ;) 

Last weekend was for making more pickledy stuff. Chillies were gathered from the plants in Cappaduff and further investigations to continue the evolution of the Holly Cottage pepper sauce species (there's been a few trial  runs - all good, all extremely hot) were conducted;  a Lime pickle started in January  was retrieved from the darkness to test and taste; and some vanilla pods were put to the test in a creme anglaise. We seem to have experimented a lot in the last year and a quick look in the crowded fridge tells a few tales indeed. The beetroot relish was polished off last week. That was a sad day. The sweet tomato chilli jam  from the start of October never really had enough time to call this place home - it was better than any sweet chilli sauce and streets ahead of anything I've tasted since. The green tomato chutney is still with us - only because we had so many unripened tomatoes in the autumn - the casualty of that cold and wet summer. A few other trials the last few months involved reduced balsamic vinegar flavoured with orange, more tomato relish - this time approaching the Ballymaloe style, and of course the sweet mint sauce that seems to have gotten tastier since its birth last November. 

Let's jam!

And then there's just the plain old jam. Such a small word, that belies sweet comforting and tastebud sensational sticky goodness that brightens up any corner of dry bread on an otherwise ordinary morning in March. I know I've raved about the strawberry bounty last year, and I will until I die! We have just one pot of strawberry-raspberry-rhubarb jam left and that will have to get us to June. Eek ;) Jam has to be the simplest thing in the whole world to make and yet we seem to rely on those dreadful, ultra processed versions that parade around on supermarket shelves as very poor imitiations of the real thing. They don't even have bits of fruit in most of them so it could actually be just flavoured jelly coloured to deceive us of an impostor! OK, I'm being somewhat over-dramatic. But ever since I made my first batch of blackcurrant jam back in the 90s - and somehow won a medal for it at the local harvest fair - I've been a homemade jam champion. A pound of fruit, a pound of sugar - take it to the magical setting point over bubbling heat and you're done. We tend to mix it up around here - whatever's going at the time. The rhubarb and strawberry mix was the biggest hit though. Do it ;)

Now that's a lime pickle...

And so, a bit of pickling and plenty of lounging indoors is keeping us busy these weekends. Some work to be done today though and a nephew's birthday cake to be shared this evening in Cappaduff. We're missing a Mornington extraordinaire birthday lunch for work today, so that's not good. But I know that they'll be having a feast sensation if Anne O'Hara has anything to do with it! 

I hope wherever you are that you are relishing in the drama of the March winds and looking forward to the sunshine of April to come. Happy birthday celebrations to all in Mornington and Cappaduff - let those birthdays just keep on coming!