Silverweed
When Em and I first moved to the cottage our new neighbours mentioned that the previous occupant, a well liked elderly chap had owned no less than 13 cats. Frankly we were horrified at the thought, not least because it explained immediately the dank musty smell, impervious to bleach and soap which lingered in the spare room. However as time went by horror slowly turn to comprehension. Our cottage is surrounded by woods on three sides and it soon became apparent that of all the woodland residents only we regarded it as a solely human habitation. The squirrel dray found in our hot water tank, which had been making our bathwater for a month, should I suppose have served as warning. At times, when my beetroot are gnawed through or every ripe strawberry vanishes over night I consider re-enlisting a feline army, but I never have and now the coming and going of animals and insects is just another part of the changing seasons. Most are welcome guests, though I do draw the line at rats and squirrels. Currently lace wings and ladybirds by the score are sheltering under the weatherboard or about the window frames and for the first time last night I heard a familiar rumble above my head. The yellow throated mice are back, and providing they behave (no chewing through wires or tunnelling to the pantry) will be with us until spring.
The course, though I say it myself was a success. Friendly, vibrant participants always help and an upbeat, inquisitive air made the day go with a swing. The great disappointment this year is the total lack of fungi. The exceptional warmth and lack of rain has left the ground powdery dry and rotten wood like balsa, no good at all for growing mushrooms. Still there were consolations. Common sorrel and its unrelated namesake, wood sorrel, were unseasonably abundant and the excavated roots of dandelion, burdock and silverweed were long and thick. Also rosehips for the first time in my experience, were so ripe that the puréed flesh tasted sugary sweet, so much so that course members likened it to strawberry or raspberry jam. I shan't try to fit a day course into a paragraph, but shall mention that wilted sorrel and Jack-by-the-hedge tossed with oily potatoes proved a hit, as did dandelion coffee brewed from the caramelised roots.
Dog Rose Hip
Common Sorel
Dinner
Em has taken G away for the weekend to leave the cottage free for courses, so I indulge in a bachelor meal of leftover spaghetti bolognese eaten straight from the saucepan. It's hard to get inspired cooking for one and I recall a period at college when a tin of tomatoes gulped straight from the can, washed down with a mug of tartrazine yellow mango squash was standard fare.
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