The Scary Woods

If Nellybert were very brave (we're not) we'd go for a late-night wander in the woods this Halloween. We won't.

The top picture is Hannah's bone collection which she displays on two big stones in the middle of the wood. I took Ganching to see it and she said it was rather Blair Witch Project. That was in the summer months - how spooky would it be at the end of Autumn?

The bottom picture is the most recent addition to the bone collection, part of the skull of the buzzard found dead at the edge of the wood last April. All's left now are the bones and a few feathers.

Friday Saturday Sunday Monday

Friday

We had Lulu from Leitrim staying with us for a couple of nights while her humans attended a wedding in Belfast. Friday was her last day so I took a few photographs to mark her visit. Her humans arrived earlier than expected (looking rather tired, if I may say so) and as is always the case with dog visitors she hopped into their car with nary a backward glance at the woman whose bed she had shared for two nights running. Never let it be said that I don't give visiting dogs a warm (1) welcome.

Saturday

Bert finally got around to putting up the nesting boxes that Dee Mac made for us. 

This one is ours. 

And this is the one that Hannah picked. It has an elemental and slightly malevolent look to it and that is probably why she chose it. I'm hopeful that the birds will find and use them in the spring. 

I hate to say it, but Judy, Jess and Ziggy were glad to see the back end of Princess Lulu. Ziggy was also sleeping over and he was not at all pleased at having to share Aunt Granny's bed with an entitled Jack Russell terrier. Still, he had me all to himself on Saturday night.

Sunday

Ziggy and I collected Hannah from the airport on Sunday morn. They were very pleased to see each other.

I spent the rest of the day doing chores and even managed to drag myself outside for an hour. I chopped down most of the tomatoes (they are still fruiting!) and pricked out snapdragons I grew from the seed Les gave me. I also checked the fruit on the chilli bush (another gift from Les) and wondered if I should make more chilli jam.

It's a Carolina Reaper, supposed to be the world's hottest chilli. 

Monday

The weather forecast for the rest of the week promises temperatures of up to  19°c in some parts of the UK. Here in Northern Ireland, we can expect rain and lots of it. The rest of the news all seems to be about climate change, no doubt because of the coming Cop26 conference in Glasgow.

Meanwhile, in my kitchen,  my main concern is for this evening's family meal. We are having Tagliatelle Bolognese and I'm trying out a new recipe for coconut cake. It's a Nigella and is supposed to have Malibu in the icing but dearie me no. Malibu on a Monday? My Presbyterian (2) great-great-grandfather would turn in his grave up there at the Sallagh Braes. 

Nigella has this great idea of soaking the desiccated coconut in boiling water and it has made for a soft and delicious cake. Someday that's not a Monday I will soak the coconut in Malibu.

(1) Lulu really appreciated my electric blanket.

(2) There is a rumour that Jacob Steen might have been Jewish. I have 6% Eastern European ancestry in my DNA so perhaps he was.

Horse Chestnut Tree

Our horse chestnut tree right now.

The horse chestnut's gorgeous spring blossom. 

Conkers. The seeds of the horse chestnut tree.

We had visitors on Tuesday, Willy John and Annie, Bert's third cousins. While they were here Annie told us this lovely tale. Bert's Aunt Lizzie, who died at the beginning of the year, was a regular visitor to this house when Pearlie was around. Lizzie always had a great love for the natural world and she would always take an interest in what was going on around here. She gathered conkers from the tree and gave a bagful to Annie who, like Lizzie, had a passion for growing things. Annie sowed the conkers and as they grew, she planted the saplings into ever bigger containers. Eventually, they were big enough to plant out and now they have a row of horse chestnuts growing down the side of their lane. It was so pleasing to hear that. 

Bert intends to plant about a hundred or so horse chestnuts this year. Hopefully, ours will grow just as well as Annie's did.

Talking Dogs

Swisser called in yesterday and the conversation moved along predictable lines, our health and the health of other people. She said,

Listen to us going on about our maladies and the medication we take. We sound so old!

I answered,

We are old.

The chat moved on to the Guardian.

So what do you think of the new Saturday layout?

I don't like it! I had different places to put it all. The TV guide went beside the TV.

She continued.

Food section went in the kitchen, the magazine to my bedroom and the Review in the bathroom.

But it turns out she read the review whilst actually on the toilet. I would never do that. I read mine in the bath - it was the perfect size for it.  

Bert and Locky came in so the conversation changed. One thing we all have in common is an attachment to dogs so Swisser (not reading the room) started telling a tale of the abuses some dog breeders commit. I won't repeat it. Too horrid.

We moved on to the current fad for designer dogs and pedigree pooches. Swisser lamented the scarcity of 'proper dogs'. She meant the sort of mixed breed dogs of our childhoods when neutering was unheard of and dogs mostly roamed at will chasing cars, biting children and having sex with each other.

In those days dogs were rarely pedigree unless they were working dogs or belonged to people from the posher classes. Our sort of dogs would have been collies, terriers or other crossbreeds. Those pedigrees liked to have their fun too. A common type of dog would have been a little stiff-legged terrier, usually sandy coloured with one droopy ear and another pointing skywards.

Swisser told the tale of a colleague who acquired a dog during the lockdown, a pedigree that cost her friend a small fortune. Apparently, things are not going well and despite a further fortune being paid at dog-training classes this dog is still crazy. Swisser says it has a pointy head and is possibly brain-damaged. I have my own thoughts about this.

Swisser said,

She'd have been far better off going to a shelter and getting a mongrel or if she must have a pedigree, something small like a Lapsang Souchong.

I pointed out that that was a tea but she ignored me.

Despite all the extolling of mongrel dogs, Locky remained unabashed even though he is the only one of us with a pedigree pooch. We forgive Phoenix her papers as she is a lovely and darling husky. I've already forgiven her for killing two of my hens - murders which were committed years ago. We think she might be getting too old now for that sort of thing.

Me and my very first mongrel dog.

 

Autumn Colour

 

I'm bringing this fig (a present from Zoe) into the tunnel for the winter. I considered planting it out but have decided to give it a bigger pot to live in. 

These anemones came from the Wees. They had been a feature in his mother's garden but had to go when they built a shed. I moved then this spring and they haven't really come back from that. Next year will be better.

The begonias were a gift too. We were given so many this year that we had to share them out. A good few went to Belfast to console hard-pressed social workers. In return, I was given wine (shop-bought) and homemade chilli jelly and some other things. I like that way of doing business.  

Bert got these Michaelmas Daisies as a freebie last year when he was delivering climbers to a garden shop. They were rather bedraggled and had mould but they grew out of it. They add a nice splash of colour to the autumn garden. That's a beehive at the back of the shot. The bees are still very busy gathering pollen and evicting drones. No honey though. The beggars scoffed it all. I don't mind. They need it more than we do.

Borage is one of nature's freebies. It's self-sown and pops up all over the place.  I love its little hairy buds and it's a big favourite with pollinators.

The streptocarpus was a present from Bert's Aunt Lizzie. She told me it was difficult to keep going but, so far, I've found it easy. It spent the summer months outside. I divided it, repotted and brought it indoors. I'm very pleased with it and it is nice to have something to remember her by. The only thing is, I really hope it's not one of those plants that produces an amazing flush of flowers before it dies. We'll see.  

But It's Only Eleven O'Clock

This afternoon, when I got back from running Martha and Evie back home I saw Karl's van in the yard. Surely it cannot be Sunday again? It was Sunday about 5 minutes ago.  It's become a regular thing on Sundays - Bert has friends around with high-powered archery kits and they shoot arrows and guns at targets in the long shed. They're using Clint's straw bales to back up the targets but he's not supposed to know that. Don't tell him. 

It must be great being a boy. All the fun they can still have in their forties, fifties, sixties and beyond. I hope they are still at it in their seventies, eighties and nineties. 

I didn't have a bad weekend myself as we had Martha and Evie for a sleepover. We debated takeaway on Saturday night but decided on Granny's home-cooked tacos and salad. I'm getting better at Tex-Mex thanks to Martha's constructive advice. Her only beef this time was that there should have been tortilla chips and sour cream.

Afterwards, we watched back to back animated films, The Willoughbys and Hotel Transylvania. I enjoyed both but it was having the girls that made it fun. I can't imagine watching those films without grandchildren. 

When the second film was over I said, 

Expect you're tired. I know I am.

And Evie said,

But it's only eleven o'clock.

Nevertheless, they were both sleeping moments after climbing into bed. So was I.

No photographs this weekend but here's one I took earlier. About eight years earlier.

Playing for Dogs

 

Evie sets up the cello for practice. Luckily our dogs are fond of music. 

Jess settles down behind Evie, Judy dozes in the chair next to her. That is Judy's favourite chair. Ten pounds from the charity shop that raises funds to educate (indoctrinate) children in Kenya. I should take it out and burn it except the environment, and Judy. Evie calmly continues with her set-piece. The cello is very easy to listen to. Posie looks like she is ready for mischief.

Here comes Martha, on a mission (not the indoctrination of African youth). She is looking for Posie who needs some outdoor exercise.

Maya and Rex would like some outdoor exercise too.

Evie continues to play while Posie is fastened into her harness. Posie is not (yet) a music fan.

Off you go Posie. Bert will play you the clarinet later while you bark in time and finish on a high-pitched puppy yowl. You will learn to enjoy music in time.

Bread

Tuesday night is Bert’s music night at Les’ house (Thursday is Les’ music night at our house) and Bert will often come home with something edible as Les and Dawn love to cook. Last Tuesday it was half a loaf of fresh-baked bed and a few cubes of the fresh yeast he’d used to bake it. The bread was really delicious.

This fresh yeast had to be tried. The recipe was a farmhouse cob (found on the side of the flour packet.) The yeast was crumbled into warmish milk, added to the dry ingredients, given 20 minutes with the Kenwood and dough hook attachment and left to rise in the bowl for several hours.

Now it was time to turn on the oven. Nothing happened! I checked the fuse box, everything was fine there. Bert checked the fuse in the switch, replaced it, still no joy. Then the phone rang. It was our friend the master engineer asking if he might call round. I was delighted. Great timing, I informed him, our oven just stopped working.

Meanwhile, I headed up to the attic where I found a little mini-oven that had come with the shepherd’s hut. I’d never used it but now was the time to try it out. If it worked, great – and if it didn’t we could feed the bread to the pigs.

The first thing the master engineer said when he entered the house was,

Where’s this oven?

And he was straight at it. Ruled out a few obvious issues and decided it was all going wrong at the back of the oven. There was a burnt-out wire and he had it all safe and sorted in less than ten minutes. I was so pleased and delighted with him that I believe Bert was jealous.

And what of the farmhouse cob in the mini-oven? Baked to perfection and tasted very good. Not quite as good as Les’ loaf but decent enough. I had it for breakfast the next morning, toasted, buttered and spread with homemade marmalade. When Bert got up I mentioned again how great it was that our friend the master engineer had fixed the oven. He said,

Y’know, I would have worked it out eventually and fixed it myself.

And I said,

I know.

.