So here we are: first day of Spring (meteorologically speaking) and my first day at home without human company since the dreaded Covid paid us a visit.
While Spring isn’t here properly for another 22 days, no one told the weather – and it is glorious.
I’m not going to lie; it is a little quiet with everyone back at their day jobs but it’s also nice to kick a few chores along although my poor post Covid body was quick to tell me that an hour of weeding the drive garden was about my limit. To be fair, it is a particularly weedy section and I have no firm memory of ever properly tending that plot but it is still a little frustrating. Spring is now marching onto The Homestead and there is always so much to do. Blimmin’ Covid stealing a couple of weeks off me.
Some stuff just rolled along while we rested and recuperated, like the pigs who were dispatched leaving behind a wonderfully tilled sty.
I’m thinking I’ll try planting a few spill-over crops into it (pumpkin? potato? corn?) and try my luck; we aren’t planning any new piggie residents until Autumn and, right now, anything that saves me spending time on the end of a garden fork gets my vote. When we started this journey I was time rich and full of plans but nature abhors a vacuum and, nine years down the track, I dole out my attention to chores in hour long segments and the list just keep getting longer.
Yep, it’s been nine years of this crazy journey. Homestead Day, as we call it, is 27 August – the day back in 2013 when Leia the goat arrived with her two kids, Heidi and Otis in tow. Homestead Day is celebrated with a meal created from ingredients grown here or hereabouts which, back in the beginning, was not an easy ask and often a vegetarian affair. Nowadays, most of our meals are homegrown so we had planned to instead support local and partake of an Indian feast from our lovely, local : Satkaar. Covid restrictions put paid to that so it was back to the drawing board. Hey, what about homemade hamburgers – they’re always a treat! Oh! And a cake for afters. Yes please!
The patties were assembled and set to chill, the salady bits picked (no tomatoes but you can’t have it all), and the bread was proving in that special patch of sunlight out of harms way. My Covidy arms were a bit too weak and cooked-noodle-like for anything strenuous so the mixer was pressed into kneading service and the dough was silky, springy and gorgeous. Timer set, we sat around chatting and snoozing and, you know, resting and recuperating like you’re meant to.
“Hello, Mr Colin, what have you been up to?”
“He’s licking his chops…he’s…”
A fast waddle to the special patch of sunlight showed it was not, as we thought, out of harms way if by harm you mean a greedy black labrador.
We had our patties and salady bits between toast and Colin had a very big, potentially dangerous tummy ache. It was actually a bit scary but really a kind of fitting way to mark Homestead Day as we continue to blunder, stumble and make-it-up-as-we-go-along our way through this lifestyle with mixed results.
And for the record, uncooked pumpkin is a really good antidote for dogs with a belly full of yeast