Saturday 18 August 2018

Fruits of the Forage



Yesterday was great.  Sarah had big plans for a foraging trip that she thought I already knew about, but which I insist I didn't.  This made for a wonderful surprise.  We drove up to the area around Jumbles Reservoir (a delightful name if ever there was one, mere minutes from me but which again, I knew nothing about) where Sarah had previously spied an abundance of rosehip bushes.  We parked up, and began to help ourselves.



We came back with a hefty bag full, discussing what we might do with such a quantity.  Jam?  Syrup?  Chutney?  Tea?  Quite possibly, all of the above.



 We found several sloe bushes too:


There was more.  Elderberries (not quite ripe), rowanberries, and tiny plums.  We stocked up, and began to fantasise about sloe gin making.  I don't even particularly like gin that much, but I like the idea of making it. 

It was also pleasing to learn that the whole yalley in which we foraged in fact belonged to me.  All I've ever really wanted from life is a valley to call my own.



It's a pleasant little valley, with lots of trees and water and life.


We borrowed a ladder from Jumbles Cafe to pick the tiny plums.

In the afternoon, Beverley came over, and we set to work on the blackberry bushes around my allotment.  Between the three of us, we gathered over 2.5kg.

Cheap farm labour.
I also helped.

Sarah had come prepared.  She'd pre-order demijohns and the necessary chemicals and we picked up these and lots of sugar and began to make my first ever jar of blackberry wine.  Take a look at this:


That's over four litres of pre-wine right there.  The jar was Sarah's too: now it's mine.  When it's empty I'm going to turn it into a terrarium.

We moseyed back to mine for tea as it started to rain and divided up our spoils: apples, plums, blackberries, rhubarb, rowanberries, sloes, various plums.  It was an afternoon of laughter and sharing.  These are the things in life that matter.







Related posts

Sunday in the Park, Then Soup
Another Walk in Another Park
A Soup Made of Scraps
Life Flows On Within You and Without You


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