Adventures In Cider Making

At primary school one of the stories in our Wide Range Readers was Johnny Appleseed. As I remember, Johnny was presented as a jolly hobo who wandered the length and breadth of America with bags of apple seeds which he planted everywhere for no reason other than benevolence. And this is how Johnny Appleseed is generally known. I never gave him another thought until I read The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World by Michael Pollan.

Pollan's work shows how people and domesticated plants have formed mutually beneficial relationships. His chosen plants are the apple – our desire for sweetness, the tulip – for its beauty, marijuana – which intoxicates us and the potato which nourishes us. Each of these plants has thrived through selective breeding and genetic engineering. It was a fascinating read which I'd recommend to anyone who takes pleasure in growing – anything!

The section I enjoyed the most was the one on our desire for sweetness and apples. Pollan had a lot to say about Johnny Appleseed or, to give him his true name, John Chapman. The tale I had from school was over simplified. John Chapman was a fascinating man. But he didn't just wander around the United States planting seeds willy-nilly. He planted nurseries of apple saplings and sold them to farmers. When a nursery was established he left it in the hands of a manager and moved on, planted another nursery and continued in this pattern. He made a decent living. Now an interesting fact about apples is that they don't grow true from seed. Indeed, if you were to take an apple and plant the several seeds that it contained, each seedling would be entirely different from the others. And most would be sour. Apple trees that produce sweet fruit may only be propagated by grafting. So the vast majority of John Chapman's trees would have produced sour fruit. So why did people buy them in such large numbers? Because sour apples are just what is needed to produce hard cider and applejack. Our reading book never mentioned that.

Which brings me to my own recent experiment. I've been wanting Bert to make a cider press for ages but he has yet to get round to it. So I was rather pleased when a friend sent me a link to a method of producing cider without using a press. I gathered my apples, a mixture of Bramleys, crabs and dessert apples. Mostly Bramleys as they are what I have at hand. They are not ideal for cider but it is just an experiment.

The recipe uses a juicer instead of a press and we happen to have a sturdy masticating juicer which makes it easier still.

Hard Cider From Whole Apples

What You’ll Need:

• Apples, pears, or crab apples (to be mixed with sweet apples.)  About 15 lbs. of fruit gets us about a gallon of juice.  Must be fresh and organic.  Try to include some crab apples or tart apples with your sweet ones for a better, more balanced flavour.
• A juicer. 
• A chopping knife and cutting board.
• A large sieve and a clean kitchen towel.
• Demijohns, a funnel, a siphon hose, rubber bungs and airlocks.
• Sugar
• Swing-top bottles

Method:

1. Wash your fruit well with plain water. 
2. Cut your apples into quarters.  This is mostly just to check for bugs or other issues with the apples.  Discard or cut around any that have an infested core, and cut out major bruises. You don’t need to worry about coring or taking stems out– the juicer will do that for you.
3. Start juicing!  As your juicer pitcher gets full, pour it through a funnel into a sterilized demijohn.
4. Once you have juiced all of your fruit, taste the juice and add sugar.  At least a cup of sugar to a gallon of juice, more if you like sweet cider.  During the fermentation process, the yeast will eat the sugar (both the fructose from the fruit and the added sugar) and turn it into alcohol– so this step is both for flavour and alcohol level.  Those of you in the USA may not really need to add much sugar, as most of the apples there tend to be really sweet.  You can add more sugar later if the brew is turning out too dry or tart for your taste.
5. Put a rubber stopper and an airlock on your demijohn, and let it sit for a week.
6. Rack your cider– siphon it into another sterilized demijohn, leaving the yeasty sediment in the bottom of the first one, so you have a much cleaner cider in the new demijohn.  Taste it and see how it’s doing.  If it’s already tasting pretty dry, you can add some more sugar before you put the airlock back on.
7. For a sweet cider, bottle after a week. Three weeks or more makes a drier end product. Fermenting it this long means that it won’t be very fizzy in the end– but you can also add a little sugar just before bottling to regain some carbonation.  The next step is to bottle your hard cider.  Use the siphon hose to fill swing-top bottles. The type of bottle is really important, since it lets out small amounts of the pressure that builds up, so you don’t burst any bottles.

For those of you in Northern Ireland all the specialist equipment needed can be purchased at Hillstown Farm Shop near Ahoghill (and Randalstown) or Nature's Way in Belfast.

The Devil Makes Three "Old Number 7"

Banjo Man was the first person, actually the only person, who enthused (raved) about this band. Last night he made me watch this video on YouTube and I have to admit I was impressed. Banjo Man and his band Dogg Ruff String Band  have been doing their own version of Old Number 7 for a while now so I've heard the song a few times.

There was this other band too... racking my brain now. Phoning Jazzer now. Futurebirds. Now I know why Banjo Man has grown a long beard. He is going all modern Americana. I think he even has a Pinterest page of decorated beards on the go. Can't wait until he is plaited, beflowered and beaded for it will certainly dilute his current White supremacist look.

Is that not a darling beard? The wonderfully named Cooper McBean who plays tenor banjo and guitar with The Devil Makes Three.

Morning Pages

I am so behind with everything including blogging. One thing I am way ahead of is contact with family and friends, and that has to be more important that chores, hobbies and blogging. Isn't it? I maybe should check the polytunnel today to see if anything has died.

During the week I did find a moment to read Oliver Burkeman's column in the Guardian Saturday magazine. I found the idea intriguing and discussed it with my sister asking her if she'd read it or, if she'd even heard of it. Turns out she had and had found it a very helpful exercise when she was going through a hard time. So, I began. Matty always said that her children followed each other 'like sheep'. But I'd say that if one of the sheep has found a good way of being, why not follow her?

Three days in and I'd forgotten how difficult it is to write longhand. My wrists and shoulders ache. My first insight? I hate the shelves and wardrobe in my room. I suppose I'll have to do something about that.

Right now I am writing this on an iPad and the weight of it is killing me. More blogging tomorrow. Devil Makes Three on YouTube.  When did my life get so exciting?

Insider Knowledge

I have just finished watching the first two series of House of Cards. Essentially, as far as politics go, it was complete toodle but, as a drama, it was  tremendously enjoyable. The acting, particularly the two leads Spacey and Wright, was tremendously good. Kevin Spacey has created a marvellous, Machiavellian villain.

So that's me a-waitin' on my next fix of House of Cards and Game of Thrones. And speaking of Game of Thrones, Season 5 has been shooting recently here in Northern Ireland. I'm not enough of a geek to know if location shooting is still going on but I am enough of a geek to have enjoyed a recent conversation with one of the extras. He wasn't able to tell me about what was going to happen, said that if he did he'd be contractually obliged to kill me but he did tell me about some of the previous season's shoots. For instance, y'know that highly erotic scene back in Season 1 where Daenerys Targaryen first got it properly together with Khal Drogo? They were actually supposed to be glamping in a luxury yurt befitting a warlord. Where the romantic pair actually were was in a cowshed somewhere in Buckna.

I was unable to pick my informant out in his scenes in the actual show. He said he was the one with the big black bushy beard. Not helpful. Not helpful at all.

Once upon a time in Buckna

Stroke City Again

Every year I hope for a decent summer and wish for an Indian summer. This year my hopes and wishes came true. At the back of my mind I worry that this is climate change in action then, being sensible, remember that climate change and the weather are different things. Still, it is good to know that fine summers are not a thing of the past.

The hedgerows are loaded with berries and, as always, I've been out picking blackberries, I've not had to walk further than ten minutes from the house to gather pounds and pounds of them. Stretching for the juiciest berries, always high in the hedge, is doing wonders for my stiff shoulders. It's a bitter sweet thing gathering blackberries for I'm loaded with memories of my younger days and remembering 2012, gathering berries for consolation as my dear cousin Joe lay dying.

I hope the Indian summer continues into October as we expect many family visitors. Ganching is doing a tour of Ireland and Vancouver Brother will be here in just over a week. He is including London and France in his grand tour. Leitrim Sister will be popping up at some point, London Sister is expected near the end of the month and everything would be complete if Kerry Sister could make Antrim this side of Christmas.

And I've just had daughter Katy and her husband to stay. It was little more than a long weekend but still a delight to have them. On Tuesday we went to Derry on the train. It was rather a dull day but we were able to appreciate the spectacular scenery between Coleraine and the Maiden City, described by Michael Palin as “one of the most beautiful rail journeys in the world”.

We visited the murals in the Bogside and Mark was taken aback to see graffiti stating 'Brits Out.' Katy was quick to reassure him that this didn't apply to the average Englishman, rather to the British state and government. I'm not certain that he was completely consoled by this knowledge.

Katy and Mark in the Craft Village

Derry is not a big city and the part within its walls is small too. We visited Bedlam and I noted that the crocheted and knitted cladding is looking less vibrant than before. The weather takes its toll. The Bernadette mural in the Bogside is in need of restoration too. Before Derry became the City of Culture many of its buildings were dilapidated and overgrown with buddleia. Now there are signs of a return to dilapidation. Despite this I love Derry, I love its history and I love its vibrancy. Some say that it is a violent city by night but I find its people to be incredibly welcoming and friendly.

On the way home we sat on the other side of the train, the side that does not look out to the sea and instead admired the hills. A worthwhile visit for sure and I look forward to going back very soon.

Places we enjoyed visiting in Stroke City.

Derry's Walls

St Augustine's Church

The Craft Village

The Guildhall

Bedlam

The Bogside Murals

Stag's Horn Sumach

I saw a few of these when I was driving Katy and Mark to the airport and it made me wish I still had Stag's Horn Sumach growing in my garden. The one in the picture was in my last garden (now Clint's) and he, of course, ripped it out. Before he did so I planted up three or four suckers and they were growing well. I left them in the poly tunnel among Bert's climbers. They went missing and I believe some one stole them. It happens occasionally. We might not spot a few missing clematis but when it is something of mine, I notice.

I stopped in Antrim to check a few garden places but no Stag's Horn. At home I checked my new Chiltern Seeds catalogue and discovered that I can get seeds. Joy and happiness. Next year I am hoping to start enough perennials and shrubs from seed that will give me enough of a surplus that I can sell to cover the cost of the seed, maybe even make a small profit.

We did go to Derry yesterday and I'll write about it soon. I miss Katy so much.

Fun With Cardboard

I have had the pleasure this weekend of the company of all my children and grandchildren. Yes folks - my darling Katkin and her husband are visiting from Norfolk. It's a whole year since I've seen her. Tomorrow we are going to Derry. There will be photographs. Until then here are some photographs.

What ever can Aunt Katy be pushing in the NinkyNonk? Dave knows but Jess doesn't.

My word! Small children. Someone needs to inform the Health and Safety Executive without delay.

Martha might be deciding that all she wants for Christmas this year is a selection of large cardboard boxes. Who needs toys?

A Significant Date

Seamus as a young boy

I'm not one of those women who gets upset if the husband forgets the wedding anniversary. I usually forget it myself. It was only yesterday that I had to go to the filing cabinet to check the actual date of Nellybert's 2008 marriage for a form I was completing. That anniversary was less than a month ago and, as usual, I forgot it for I've far better things to be thinking of.

And I'm far more likely to remember my parents' birthdays than the date of their deaths. Birthdays have had longer to get lodged in the part of my mind that records such things. Daddy's birthday was exactly one week after my own and when I was a child I thought that made me special. We were both September, both Virgos. I was his first born child and considered myself his early birthday present. That is the conceit of small children - I see it in my own grandchildren and think it very sweet.

Seamus and Katy

I was 27 when he was my age and thought him very aged indeed. His two grandchildren, my first and second born were six and nearly two. His other five grandchildren, including my own youngest, were still to come. Daddy adored small children. Like many of his generation he found teenagers difficult. He wasn't the easiest father when we were growing up. He was hard to talk to and we thought he was rather a bear, a grizzly bear. I think one of my sisters called him Badger but not to his face. No matter what we did, he was always there for us, always ready to help, always prepared to rescue us from whatever scrapes we found ourselves in. And the curious thing was that the greater the wrongdoing the less he had to say about it. Although I made him cry on more than one occasion. I used to be ashamed of that.

This is the anniversary of the day he was born. Happy birthday Daddy. You were a wonderful father and grandfather.

Judy and Coco

Four years ago we picked Judy from a litter of motherless pups. We were told that they were a cross between a collie bitch and a chocolate Labrador. Although I have my doubts about the Labrador part. Judy looks more like a lurcher than anything.

Most of the pups were the typical black and white border collie type but there were just two that were milk chocolate brown and white and it was those two that caught my eye. I had one of them in my arms. Sniffing that glorious puppy smell and kissing its adorable, silky ears. This is the one, I said to Bert.

Then I looked at the other brown and white one. The black and white ones did not stand a chance! I set brown number one down and picked up number two, smelt its puppy delectableness and felt its soft and silky ears. No, it's this one!

And that one it was.

I heard, although I'm not certain it is true, that Judy was the only one of the litter homed direct and that the remainder of the pups went to a rescue centre.

A few years back we spotted the picture in the local paper. And thought that Coco looked a lot like Judy. We wondered if she could possibly be the other brown and white pup. Then, while going through Pearlie's bits and pieces we saw that she had clipped the picture and kept it. Bert is convinced that Coco is Judy's long lost brown and white sister. I wonder....

Judy

Granny

Anyone know exactly where Linford is? It's near Sallagh Braes. John Steen my g-grandfather lived in Linford in 1901/1911 while his father Jacob Steen was in Sallagh in the 1850s.

Posted on Facebook August 2014

Linford, Sallagh Braes and the surrounding area

In the census years 1901 and 1911 my great grandfather John Steen was living in Linford. John Steen was a shepherd and he and his family were the only people in that area. He worked for a landowner Campbell Tweed whose descendant, also called Campbell Tweed, still owns and farms the land. Linford is a hilly place not far from the Sallagh Braes. I was curious as to what it must have been like to live and work in that bleak country. Lonely and bleak it may have been where the Steens lived but Linford and the surrounding area is now designated an area of outstanding natural beauty.

I got a few responses from my Facebook post but the most helpful was from my cousin Clare who put me in touch with local historian, Felix McKillop. I spoke to Felix on the phone a few nights ago. The first thing I learned was that he is kin to me. His grandmother and my great grandmother, Rose Steen nee Campbell, were sisters and that makes us second cousins, once removed.

I also learned that the herd's house where John Steen lived is still there, the only dwelling house in the townland. I had imagined it fallen down but remembered that the house belonged to a gentleman farmer and that the gentry do not abandon their properties. It is very likely that the house where Granny spent her childhood was pointed out to me when I was a child for we were often taken for drives through the Glens of Antrim. Sadly I was not interested then and consequently have no real memory of it. Ancestral tales did not make much of an impression on me when I was young. John Steen was a shepherd. That was all.

Johnny's brother Father Joe Byrne was a Catholic priest and in 1911 he was living in Altmore Street in the village of Glenarm. Felix told me that Father Joe was a regular visitor at his father's house where friends and neighbours would gather together to play cards. John Steen would also have been part of that group. That is probably how Johnny came to meet Jeannie. I cannot be sure when they met but they got married in 1913. Hugh McKillop (Felix's uncle) and Jeannie's sister Agnes were their witnesses.

Jeannie Steen was only eighteen when she came to live in the comparatively lush pastures of Lisnevenagh. Johnny was twelve years older. She was, by all accounts, very innocent when she married. Matty told the tale that when she first became pregnant she had no idea how long it would be before her baby was born. Yet she was an intelligent woman and had been a pupil monitor at her local national school in Feystown. That would be a post similar to that of a classroom assistant today. It was an unpaid position but it offered her the opportunity to continue with education.

Johnny, Jeannie and their first born son

Coming from where she did, it is no wonder that Granny was so austere. She abhorred waste and despised new clothes. Yet going by the only photograph I have of her as a young woman, she could dress well and she had a tiny waist but I only remember her as a big woman who wore a man's grey gaberdine coat for Sunday best.

Matty had a very telling story. Once, during my parents courtship she was visiting his home place and wanted to help out. It was a busy farm and pub and there was always plenty to do. She noticed the scullery sink could do with a clean and set to with a cloth and scouring powder. The job was completed and the sink gleaming when her future mother-in-law crashed through the back door, Jeannie was wearing a hessian bag as an apron and was carrying a big creel of freshly dug spuds. She looked at the sink, scowled, elbowed my mother out of the way and tossed the potatoes into the sink, clods of earth flying everywhere.

Granny was such a fierce woman. And fiercely nationalist. She'd quiz us on the history of the Easter Rising and cried bitter tears that our knowledge of Ireland's martyr's often fell short. She blamed the educational system for that. She spent her latter years keeping a petrol station (always called The Pumps) where she sat with a huge stick at her side and if we annoyed her she'd wave the stick at us. I made sure never to get too close to her. I was so scared of her. I certainly never felt any love either for her or from her. She had 26 grandchildren and I always felt that our part of the family came far down the pecking order.

Granny at the Pumps

Both my grandmothers had large families of their own and lots of grandchildren. Jeannie had her 26 living grandchildren and Granny Mac had more than 40. Each granny seemed to have their favourite family of grandchildren. It was never  us so I did not have that experience of grandmothers being very special people in a child's life. Perhaps it's a generational thing for both my grannies had hard, hard lives. My own children had loving grandparents as do Martha and Evie. 

Some of these days I'm for driving to Linford and I'll have a good look around and I'll remember my cross old grandmother. I may even take a walk. It's a beautiful part of the world.

Sallagh Braes

P.S. Attention Game of Thrones fans - apparently they were shooting in this area today. Brienne of Tarth and Pod were being filmed riding down the Braes.

Carrot and Orange Wine

It's been ages since I've blogged about my wine making activities. The truth is I've been too busy growing fruit and vegetables to have time for making wine and, like last summer, I've rather neglected the wines already started. Five months and nothing racked, nothing progressed. I'm beginning to realise that. for me,  wine making is going to be an autumn and winter pastime.

Carrot & Orange

10/05/13

29/05/13

20/10/13

23/11/13

26/01/2014 & 7/04/2014

03/09/14

2nd R -heavy sediment/3rd R: Heavy albumin bloom decanted out topped with cider & water

Still, the freezer is full of peaches, all colours of currants, rhubarb and raspberries. The damsons look like they are going to crop well this year and the hedgerows are full of blackberries. It's been four months since I laid anything new down but, I promise, I'll make up for it.

And so it was I bottled the Carrot and Orange. Started in May 2013, racked 5 times and bottled tonight. It is drinkable already. Nellybert shared a couple of glasses tonight. Too soon but we are reckless fools.

Carrots always make good wine. My experiments with pineapples, pears, oranges and strawberries are over. From now on I shall concentrate on the fruit and vegetables that make dry and palatable wines. I know I used a dash of orange in this one but it was juice only, no rind. Wines with rind included tend to give me a headache so no more of that.

Sixteen months from start to bottle. Too long but the wine is yummy. A friend, Emma, gave me loads of sultanas today. Carrot and sultana wine coming up!

A Cake For Music Night

Peaches. We had so many peaches this year. I took the last of the fruit off the trees today. Our trees are growing in the poly tunnel and we are learning to manage them as we go along. I pollinate by hand in early spring. Peach blossoms early when there are not many helpful insects around. There must be some though because I don't hand pollinate the two trees that Bert is attempting to train in a fan shape. They cropped but not heavily. The third year the top of the free standing tree broke under the weight of the ripening fruit and we lost half the crop. This year I did extensive thinning, the tree remained intact and the crop was wonderful.

Les Bamber's wonderful picture of peach blossom taken in our poly tunnel in 2012.

Anyone who came to the house got a bag of peaches, I froze a lot for cooking and wine (peaches make a delicious wine) and made a quite a few desserts.

Tonight, our turn to host music night, I made a cake. It's the easiest cake ever. I used sliced peaches but there are lots of alternatives such as apples, raspberries, plums, anything fruity and juicy.

Ingredients

100g butter
100g caster sugar
150g plain flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon vanilla extract (use cinnamon if using apples)
2 eggs
100ml milk
A quantity of sliced peaches (I used five/six)

Method

Melt the butter and let it cool slightly. Add everything else except the fruit. Mix to a batter. I used a hand held mixer. Add the fruit and add the mixture to a standard sized, greased pie dish. Bake at 190 degrees for 30 minutes then cover with greaseproof paper and bake a further 15 minutes.

Tonight I lined my pie dish with greaseproof paper to make for easier slicing. The music night boys loved it. Brendan is after the recipe and Rod dreamed of custard. I know what's for dessert next time he comes for supper. Les said I shouldn't tell anyone how easy it was to put together, but you know me, honest as the day is long.

Now the next thing is to top the free standing tree as it is brushing the roof of the poly tunnel. According to the books pruning should be done in February. Must get that on my list of Things To Do.

The fruit in this picture is very pretty but it should have been thinned. This was Clint's tree and it broke in half that year. It never recovered.

Cushions and Stuff

The other day I was listening to a discussion on the radio about how the recession has affected ordinary families. One woman had this to say,

I'm cutting back as much as I can. I go to Aldi and Lidl, I'm on online auctions, I use Freecycle, I cut coupons. I don't know what else I can do!

And I couldn't help thinking.

Well you could always consider not wanting so much stuff!

Then I remembered that, as a young woman with a very small budget, I too used to enjoy acquiring stuff.

I loved auctions, jumble sales and charity shops. I was good at jumble sales (sharp elbows) and diligent in charity shops but for auctions it was cunning strategy that was needed.

And it was just such a cunning strategy that was lacking when I spotted the notice in the paper, advertising a house clearance near Glarryford. I was looking for a sewing machine and there were two listed. Surely I'd get one Singer at least? No strategy needed!

In that part of the country house clearances were very popular with second hand dealers and farmer's wives. I reasoned that the farmers' wives at least, if they were keen on sewing, would already possess a sewing machine and that at least one of the Singers would surely be mine. I also decided that dealers would not be interested in sewing machines so they would be no competition.

The auction started in the yard at the back of the house. I was surrounded by grim faced men in tweed caps and their equally grim faced womenfolk. The Singers were lots number ninety something so I had a bit to go. I passed the time watching how other people bid. Seven cushions came up. They were a mixed lot, tatty and well worn, just the sort of cushions you could sweep off the seats in any farm kitchen. The bidding started at fifty pence. Then it went to a pound. Two women were bidding against each other and the price kept rising. The cushions were eventually sold for £12 and if I'd been the woman who lost (wised up) I think I'd have been mighty relieved. But this bidding frenzy for a handful of scruffy cushions rattled me. What if one or more of the farmers' wives couldn't bear to see me get a perfectly good Singer for a bargain price? What should I do? At last my treadle machine was called. 

Who'll give me £5 for this Singer sewing machine in good working order?

Oh no! These Glarryford women won't be able to bear seeing me get this machine for a knock down price. 

I rang out, 

Ten pounds!

Silence. Then...

Sold to the woman with no nerve!

So that was my bidding strategy. And it worked. 

Tenth Anniversary

This blog, Nelly's Garden, is ten years old today and that is pretty old for a blog. For many bloggers tire long before they get to the ten year mark.

A lot has changed for me this past decade. I joined the Orphan Club and, finally, so did Bert. Ten years ago I'd never been with anyone as they died. Now I have attended four deathbeds. Ten years ago I was looking forward to becoming a Granny. I now have two wonderful granddaughters. And, it mustn't be forgotten, Nellybert tied the knot six years ago.

Departures

My late father and I

Six Days Later

Matty and Nelly

Clearing Up

Pearlie and Bert

Saturday Again

Arrivals

Top Miss Martha, Below Miss Evie

The Best News In The World

and

Dandling

Weddings

Nellybert's Leap Year Wedding 2008

For Better For Worse

Katy and Mark's Norfolk Wedding 2010

The Best Bits

We'll Be Back

The girls went home this evening after spending three whole nights with Nellybert. That was Evie's longest period away from her parents ever. It was much easier than I thought it would be although having Hannah to help out Saturday evening and Sunday morning was a huge help. I actually got to stay in bed until after nine. I needed to after the tiny amount of sleep I'd enjoyed the previous night.

Their parents had prepared them for all eventualities including serious wet weather gear so on Saturday, a really pissy morning, we decided to defy the rain and go for that long bike ride. As only Martha had a bike I was going to be pushing Evie in the buggy. So there they were, trussed up in their rainwear and we get to the Ecos park and the sun is splitting the stones! Sod's Law I believe it is called. Evie slept for the entirety of the walk.

On Saturday night Hannah decided to sleep in the tree house and lit a big fire in the wood burner. Of course she had chosen the coldest August night since records began and a tree house doesn't hold the heat. She woke up frozen at around five, had to get up and put on all her clothes before settling down again. She got another two hours snoozing before Miss Martha came tippy-tapping up the spiral staircase to wake her up.

Martha at Portglenone Play Park

On Sunday we'd planned a Big Day Out so after leaving Hannah and Ziggy into Ballymena we headed for Portglenone. Our first stop was the play park. Martha conquered her fear of the big slide and was thoroughly delighted with herself. Evie perfected her moves on the climbing frame and junior slide. Our next stop was Big Gortgole Wood but Martha decided it was 'too grassy' for her bike so we decided to go into Portglenone to do some shopping. After the huge disappointment on Friday when we discovered that Cully's Eurospar had discontinued the mini-trollies we were relieved to find small trollies in Portglenone. We only needed 4 items but it took two mini-trollies to carry them.

It was ice-cream time. We relaxed on a bench on Portglenone main street and watched the world go by. Then a flash car pulled up and out got a be-suited man. Then another expensive car and out got several more. Before long a dozen well dressed men (and a token woman) had rocked up with speakers, microphones and guitars. A prayer meeting! The preaching started. Nicodemus was mentioned. Apparently he 'asked too many questions'. Then a wasp wanted to share Evie's ice cream. She started to scream and yelled even louder when I dumped the last of it into the nearest bin. She was mollified when sweet, generous Martha shared hers. Between wasps and preacher men it was time to go.

Over the weekend there were certain shortcuts taken. I had decided before they arrived that we would not fuss too much about appearance. The only essential thing would be the morning and evening teeth cleaning and general removal of stickiness. Martha arrived with a set of very tidy pigtails. She departed wearing the same ones only slightly the worse for wear.

Evie refusing to show off her moves on her scooter

It was a good weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It wasn't as tiring as I'd expected and that was due, in part, to Hannah's help. I am already looking forward to the next sleepover.

Just before they left, the youngest one said,

We'll be back.

Sleepover Imminent, Loins Girded

Nellybert will be having the Misses Martha and Evie for a 3 night sleepover tomorrow. This will be an exciting challenge for us all.  The fridge is loaded with lollipops and we're stocking up on sausages and fish fingers. There are films to watch and pictures to be painted. We are going on a long bike ride even though Martha is the only one with a bike. I have a new book for bedtime reading. We're going to make a movie.

And Hannah is coming to visit everyone on Saturday afternoon. I'll probably go to bed then.

Home Alone Without Even A Cat For Company

I spent last night on my own and it was very strange. There wasn't even a cat to keep me company for, like most cats, they probably have second homes.

No carers coming in, no Pearlie to see to, no Bert or the dogs. The house is so quiet.

I watched a little TV last night. This morning there was nothing on the table but an empty wine glass and a remote control. No dirty ashtray, cigarette papers, tobacco shreds, spilled coffee, sheet music or clarinets. For Bert is a very throughother boy.

The cats came home this morning. Holly went straight upstairs and burrowed under my duvet for a day long catnap. Fred went straight to the cupboard where the dry cat food is kept and buried his head in the bag. He mustn't get fed at his other home.

Hen Funeral

Sometimes the best pictures happen when you haven't got a camera. I was walking back from the polytunnel today with a handful of salad and a couple of peaches when I saw a curious procession. Bert led the way carrying a big spade. Behind him walked a very solemn Evie. Then came Ben, carrying a box containing a dead chicken whose head and neck (recently wrung) hung over the edge of the box. Lastly came Martha carrying a small pink spade and a bunch of flowers.

They were having a funeral for the hen while I prepared lunch.

Afterwards Martha took me to see the grave. Evie was reluctant to go as she thought it was 'too sad.' This time I brought a camera.

And if things continue in this vein I may have to change the name Nelly's Garden to The Blog of Death.

Death Blog

Death Blog

Wasn't this blog once a light-hearted affair? Did I not write of all the amusing things that happened in my life? Do amusing things not happen any more or, if they do, do I barely notice them as I sit here reminiscing about funerals and pondering death?

I dreamed about Pearlie again last night. She stirred from her death bed and I fled her hospital room. Not like real life then for she died at home. I left her scattered with sweets and chocolate. Not like real life for it was me, not Pearlie, who had the extreme sweet tooth.

It's early morning when I wake. Almost the first thought to enter my head. She is gone. Again the familiar feeling of loss, of absence.

I won't pretend. I looked forward to her not being here. Looked ahead to a time when our chief responsibilities would be to each other, no old wifey sucking at our time and our energies with her endless small wants and constant disappointments. And now it is here and it is not what I thought. I never expected to feel the loss so keenly. Three years a full-time carer and now, what now?

A Lighter Look At The Situation

Last Thursday Miss Martha requested we visit her grave. I'd mentioned before that I'd take her some day. As we parked outside Martha began to advise Evie with all the solemnity that a nearly-five can offer.

Now Evie, this is not for fun. We are not going in here to play. We have to be serious for we are going in to visit Pearlie in her grave, not to play!

Evie looked suitably sad and said,

But I want to visit her in her room!

Evie feeling the loss too.

Previously Martha had been asking lots of questions about the burial process and I was answering as best I could as one question led in to another. I think one thing that struck her was that people get buried in perfectly good garments. She might have thought that a shame and a waste for Martha likes clothes. What happened to the clothes led to what happened to bodies and as we entered the gates she asked,

Will she still have her hair?

We visited the grave and some others as well for Martha likes graveyards. Many questions were asked and answered and then, and I'm not sorry to report it, their solemnity lifted and they did play.

Raspberries and Kisses

I was in the house chatting to Hannah and Evie and heard distant screaming. It did not sound like 'I'm in trouble' screaming, instead it sounded like 'enraged and exasperated' screaming. It was Martha.

Just in case it was 'I'm in trouble' screaming I went out, like a good granny, to investigate.

Where are you Martha?

I'm in the green field.

Most fields are green but I knew the one she meant.

There she was, standing there with a loaded ball thrower  and two expectant dogs sitting far too close and not giving her a chance to give a good throw. It must have been an exasperated scream then.

I called the dogs back and Martha gave it her best shot. The ball landed four feet from where she stood and Jess was the victor.

So, as this wasn't working out I suggested we go pick raspberries.

The girls ate their fill and I gathered some for the freezer. We spent an enjoyable half hour picking, chatting and eating then headed for the house to get the berries frozen. The quickest way from the fruit patch to the house is a step down to the yard. It's really an upturned Belfast sink (broken) propped up with a breeze block. Rough and rustic. Last year, when I had the knee injury, I found it a difficult step but this year - no problem. I was feeling pleased about that as I stepped down. Pleased for about a split second. For - as I stepped down my foot slipped and I fell hitting the small of my back on the edge of the sink. There is a moment, after a fall, when the mind processes the damage done. The most annoying thing that had happened was that my left thumb nail was bleeding. My elbows were grazed and there was a tiny cut on my right forearm. My lower back was bruised. Grandchildren and child came running. I was petted and kissed better by the little ones.

Lucky, lucky me. I fell heavily on a step at a stone wall and the worst thing to happen was a sore thumb. Mind you, as I write this, I feel my lower back a bit achey. I'm off for a soak in a hot bath with a gin and tonic and a couple of paracetamol. I think those Martha and Evie kisses are starting to wear off.