The Cottage Smallholder

very young Dixie Chick

S told me this a few months ago. The livestock part is great and the dead stock element is always upsetting.

One of the most satisfying things for us is to raise our own stock. The bond between you and the young is much stronger. You have waited impatiently through the gestation period to marvel at their first faltering steps. Each small life becomes part of your life.  We are not commercial producers and our diminutive flock insures that each member is cherished.

Dixie Chick seemed to recover well from her bout of chestiness but two days ago I noticed that she was sneezing and shaking her head in between bullying her brother and acting like a busy young chick. Dixie and Beatyl enjoyed a close relationship. There was always a cheep and a soft reassuring answering cheep when I lowered the portcullis after dark.

Honey is a natural antibiotic, so a warm honey infused mash was served in the castle grounds. Dixie was enthusiastic about this treat. But despite this her feathers were puffed up and she just didn’t look right.
“If she survives this frosty week. I reckon that she’ll be OK,” Tessa remarked as we watched the young chickens. “Although a sick bird is generally a dead bird in my books.”

This morning, Mrs Boss and Beatyl rushed from the Emerald Castle to enjoy the warm mash. I opened the side of the castle wall and discovered that Dixie had died during the night. She was lying in the newspaper nest, quite cold.

Dixie Chick and Mrs Boss yesterday

We’re upset. We were fond of this beautiful little chick but are now more concerned about Beatyl. He has lost his playmate. When he is a bit more mature we plan to buy him a beautiful Golden Sebright wife. But until that time he just has the companionship of Mrs Boss.

When I went down to the castle this evening there was no cheep.

Just a deep silence.

fan tailed goldfish

I’m babysitting a smallholding that belongs to friends. I’m not staying there, just stopping by morning and evening. For half an hour each day I can immerse myself in their world. It’s a beautiful spot.

Set amongst trees, their house was built in the 1930’s, complete with cosy nooks and an old fashioned walk in larder. The door handles in houses from this era are set quite high so when I stretch to open the front door I feel age eight again.

The house is enchanting, filled with animals – pictures, sculptures and the real thing. When I first visited I thought that the tortoise under the dining room table was a model toy until she opened her eyes and strolled sedately across the parquet floor.

The dogs and the tortoise are holidaying elsewhere, along with the white budgies – Blanche and Spartacus. These two are so in love that when Blanche was sold separately by the pet shop she was returned within days because she pined so much for her mate. When our friends discovered this, they bought the pair on the spot. Blanche has a pink spot over her bill and Spartacus a blue spot. Was this where the pink and blue differentiation originated?

Margot the cat, accompanies me on my tropical fish feeding tour. The fish tanks are scattered all over the house. She has a silent step and always surprises me as I drop fish flakes into each small world. In between tanks, she flirts with me, throwing herself on the floor, longing for love and affection. The fish are on the ball too. The little fan tailed goldfish in the photo is one of a pair that are always at the glass wall with mouths open when they see Margot and me approaching their tank. I drop in the food and then it’s a frenzied whirr of fins and tails and wide eyed open mouths. That’s if I look. Generally I’m on the sofa with Margot.

Finally we reach the back door and Margot stretches as I draw back the heavy brass bolt.  We step into the dappled sunshine and the sound of ducks waiting for breakfast to be served. They shriek away as I prepare their feast and top up the water fountains. When I open the duck house door they pound out as one, flat feet drumming across the muddy stretch to their corn.

The hens are waiting too. Buoyant heads on elongated necks peering out through the hen house window. As I ease open the door they are leaping into the run, heading for breakfast in perfect pecking order.

Then it’s off with a lighter bucket to feed the young Aracunas, the four guinea fowl and the ultra elegant pair of Sumatras, Scarlet and Black. Just in front of their capacious palace stand two rabbit hutches where the Cornish Rex rabbits live. Black, velvety and with enormous eyes that watch me fill their water bottles with studied interest. When the moment comes to open the doors and fill their bowls they flick deftly back into their bedrooms. I can see their whiskers moving with anticipation until the doors lock me safely on the other side and they feel confident to glide out and nibble. Gentle soft beasts, they enjoyed the fresh hay bedding as much as their food this morning.

Margot always has the last word. She rushes indoors if she fancies a day in the warm. If she has chosen to stay out for the day, she has vanished without even saying goodbye.

Gammon glazed with honey

Ham is generally superb to cook and eat. Gammon can be a bit disappointing with its rougher texture and stronger taste. A few weeks ago a good friend gave us two small joints of gammon, bought from the back of a lorry at a Bank Holiday market. The first one was simmered very slowly in the slow cooker and Danny gave it the thumbs down.
“It tastes piggy.”
The dogs didn’t agree.

This weekend I spotted the other one, nestling in the freezer. Loathe to give the dogs another treat, I remembered Smart Wife’s deluxe budget dish.
“I’m going to cook the roast this week. It’s going to be a retro meal. Roast gammon with fresh pineapple.and a sweet mustard sauce.”
Best not to mention honey as D doesn’t like it in cooking.

Danny was delighted to be released to the Rat Room until he made the gammon connection.
“If it’s the other one from that lorry, I’d boil it. Roasting it would be a mistake.”
With one glance at my face and he was backtracking with deft Irish ease.
“I’m stepping on toes. I’m sure that you have a master plan.”

In fact I had no plan. Just a yearning for simple roast gammon and pineapple. I wanted the gammon texture that’s so perfectly balanced by the taste and crunch of the pineapple. Back in the old Chelsea days, Smart Wife had a great recipe that was cooked by me on high days and holidays.

The thirty year gap makes any recollection of the recipe a bit fuzzy. All I could remember was grasping a thick plastic encased pack of gammon and searching for a tin of pineapple rings in the local supermarket. Things have moved on, it had to be fresh pineapple now. But what about the method?

I poked about on the Internet for a while. Mustard and Demerara sugar seem to be the active ingredients for the final glaze and these rang a faint bell. Finally I decided to forget Danny’s apprehension and Smart Wife’s recipe in favour of playing with the ingredients and flavours.

I grabbed a small fresh pineapple from the supermarket shelf and when I got home, located the honey and star anise. I’d loved Nigel Slater’s sauce in his recipe for pork spare ribs. I also decided to add tamarind to the mix. Cheaper than oyster sauce and the other ingredients, tamarind has a complex depth of flavours and I reckoned would work well. Incidentally, if you can find tamarind in a block this is much cheaper than the paste and it’s easy to prepare.

If you have a small joint of cheap gammon, this recipe is a real winner. Danny guzzled as much as he could.
“The sauce is superb. Any ‘pigginess’ must be masked by the fresh pineapple. I can’t believe that this joint only cost £2.50. Can I have a final slice?”

Ideally, we’d all have the funds to buy the best gammon. On a slim budget, this would be a great dinner party recipe. Star anise and tamarind paste are key ingredients. Good honey adds a gentle softness to the sauce. Perhaps it’s all down to the type of honey, I used some delicate borage honey produced by a fellow beekeeper near Saffron Walden.

Honey glazed gammon baked with star anise, pinapple and tamarind recipe (for 4 people)

Ingredients:

Par boiling stage:

• 1 kilo joint of gammon
• 1 bay leaf
• 8 black peppercorns

Roasting stage:

• The par boiled gammon joint
• 2/3 star anise
• 1 tblsp of water

The glaze:

• 4 heaped dessert spoonfuls of honey
• 2 tsp of dry mustard powder
• 10-20 whole cloves
• 2 tsp of tamarind paste
• 4-6 slices of fresh pineapple peeled and cored

Method:

• Put the joint in a pan of cold water, add a bay leaf and some peppercorns. Bring this slowly to the boil and simmer for half an hour. Meanwhile preheat your oven to 180c (160c fan).
• Remove the joint and retain the stock (great for lentil or bean soup). Put a large piece of foil in your baking tray and make a loose nest. Place the joint over 2 or 3 star anise and a tablespoon of water. Wrap the joint loosely in aluminium foil and roast for 20 mins per pound. Remove the gammon from the oven.
• Turn up the oven temperature to 220c (200c fan) Open the foil, remove the skin from the fat and score diagonals in the fat. Put a clove within each diagonal. Sprinkle the dry mustard over the entire joint and pour over the honey, Return the joint to the hotter oven. Baste the entire joint after 15 minutes.
• After 30 mins remove the joint to rest in a warm place (under the foil and several tea towels and towels) for another 30 mins.
• Add the tamarind to the juices and stir. Adjust the seasoning and pour off the juices to an ovenproof dish. Add the fresh pineapple (peeled and cored) and turn over in the sauce so that each piece is coated in with the sauce. Bake at 220c (200c fan) for 15 minutes. *Meanwhile prepare your vegetables.
• After 15 mins remove the pineapple and sauce from the oven.  Pour off the sauce to a fat and lean gravy boat and place the sauce and the braised pineapple in a warm place until the dish is ready to serve. The meat and the sauce can be kept warm for quite a while and won’t spoil.

*We’d recommend mashed potatoes, runner beans and broccoli.

Inca

Last night and early this morning we upgraded the site to the latest version of WordPress. It took a long time and there are still a few glitches that we need to iron out.

We have now installed Bad Behaviour as spam comments and trackbacks are still causing problems. In fact last week the overload of spam hitting the site made it impossible for genuine users to access the site for a total of three hours last week.

We are still experiencing a bumpy ride with the site. Many apologies if it was down when you tried to access it today. Hopefully everything will be up and running smoothly again soon.

In my later thirties I returned to college to study computer animation. The information overload was intense after years of making wooden toys and leading a relatively simple life. I also had never used a computer before. This was a bit of a disadvantage.

Sometimes I could feel my brain almost “sweating” as it struggled with the new concepts and ideas. A lot of information went straight over my head. Having been quite an able student at school and university I discovered that the slippery slope to the bottom of the class was short and swift. The gap between me and my classmates widened at a terrifying speed.

One day I overheard a classmate whisper,
“This is when Fiona will burst into tears, again.”
There were tears. Of rage this time.

It was the end of the first term and I had four weeks of holidays ahead. Determined to fight back, I secured a large loan and bought my own computer. A simple 486 computer cost £3,000 in those days. This was in the era before Windows, when programmes ran on the DOS platform. So I bought a book called ‘Vodoo DOS’ and locked myself away for the month to learn at my own rate. My tutor also gave me a copy of the software that we were using, slipped inside a magazine. This would have got him into trouble if he was caught as the software cost thousands too.

I can still remember sitting in The Rat Room and that wonderful moment when everything started to click into place.

Last night we were invited to a great supper party in the village and met up with J who is in his mid thirties. Five weeks age he returned to university to take a four year science degree as a mature student. He described the horror of the first couple of weeks, when the information just seemed to wash around him. His epiphany came much earlier than mine had and he was now enjoying the course.
”The brain is a muscle after all,” explained his chirpy wife.

Walking home at midnight we wondered whether it might be a good idea to invest time in training our brains again.