The Tale of Five Chickens

Yesterday, I had 3 chickens to give their weekly thorough clean out to and 2 chickens to roast.  Two worlds collided and I blame Doc for this.  He said we had not had chicken for a while.  Organic birds were on Special Offer at the supermarket and why don’t we make Chicken Fricassee for the troops next weekend?  It was a good idea, in theory.  Cooking the chicken in advance, making the stock and freezing it, would save time and dinner could be prepared in a jiffy.  In any case, Doc said, Chicken Fricassee used to be one of our family favourites....

That was until the girls arrived last year.  Since then, eating chicken has a slightly uncomfortable association for me.  It is hard to care for Ginger, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, get to know their individual little personalities and then cook one of their ‘colleagues’ for dinner.

I am not vegetarian - I do like sausages and bacon- but I think I have leanings in that direction.  I don’t like rare meat full stop and would never order a steak.  Having so much produce in the garden also means the veggies have increasingly taken’ centre plate’ and of course, our eggs are simply wonderful.

Anyway, I told myself to get a grip of the two carcasses in front of me on the chopping board.  They were not our birds, they were strangers, with a good provenance and hopefully had lived a contented life. If I was starving, I would be grateful.  We have to get real and connect with our food, from field to plate.

All the same, I was pleased when the preparations for Chicken Fricassee were complete.  I must remember to chop the chicken meat quite small so it does not cause a lump in my throat next weekend.  I will also make plenty of mushroom veloute sauce to go with it.

If...

If I hadn't chosen to shut the chicken coop door at 4.30 pm....if I hadn't noticed a few fallen apples strewn underneath one of the old apple trees in the orchard....if I had chosen to leave them rather than take the trouble to collect them....  and if the half light of dusk had not contributed me to lose my footing and stumble.... then I wouldn't have sat on the bench to rub my ankle...  And I would not have seen and heard it.

It was its large flapping wings than alerted me and I sat bolt upright, daring not to breathe or move as the visitor glided and descended into another of the old apple trees, just a few feet away from my own perch.  I could tell by the silouette and size that it was an owl which was confirmed a few moments later by the familiar hoots.

The owl's haunting calls were duly answered by an owl in a neighbouring garden and precipitated a conversation that lasted several minutes.  I don't know how I managed to stay so still for so long.  Then the owl opened its wings and up and away it flew, across the orchard and out to the valley beyond.

We enjoyed a wonderful weekend with a houseful of family but I felt subdued as I waved the last of the smalls off this morning.  The house was quiet and I felt lonely as I tackled the washing and ironing.  A visit to the dentist contributed to my malaise.  However, I now feel uplifted.  Special moments cannot be planned for or contrived, they just happen.  

Last rasberry day

It may be the day for gunpowder, treason and plot but it is also the day when I picked the very last of the rasps.  Autumn Bliss lives up to its name.

Our canes were here when we moved to Springfield, 8 years ago and they show no signs of weakness.   I chop them down to the ground in February, Doc mulches them with grass clippings, compost, or manure – whatever there is an abundance of – and they get on with it.  Occasionally, we thin out the runners but they don’t seem to mind.  They start fruiting in July and rain or shine, they just get better and better as the season progresses.  We never net them because the birds seem to ignore them.

However, we don’t ignore them and although Doc prefers strawberries, it doesn’t stop him competing with me for the very Last One.  Still, there are bags and bags of them in the freezer and a stack of raspberry jam in the pantry.  The jars sparkle like jewels and it’s like having a treasure trove to keep us going through the winter.

I can hear the bangs and whooshes outside.  I hope the chickens are okay.  They will probably go off lay and there will be rocket sticks to collect in the morning.  I think I will watch Strictly on TV to drown out the noise .  Bah Humbug!