Online chatter... and hedgerow treats
I’VE done a bad thing. See, what it is, I enjoy a bit of the old ‘social media’ of an evening, chatting with doubtful strangers and far flung pals. On one rather obscure platform I participate under a pseudonym, while on another more mainstream site I use my own name. On this latter I generally have little to do with folk in this country – so don’t waste your time sending me a friend request, or be offended if I don’t want to interact. You and I can see each other in the pub… well, maybe.
Instead I use it to converse with ‘friends’ and groups I’d otherwise not come across. Some are people I know from my travels years back, while others are cattle breeding pals from distant continents. Some aren’t my ‘friends’ at all – quite the opposite – and I use the social media to watch what they are saying…. I seldom engage with such folk, but find their chat informative. Some groups and individuals I follow are just for a bit of fun, and cultural exchange. Chatting live with an Inuit, trying to use ‘ Zing maps’ or whatever it’s called to zoom in on each other’s actual locations was a lot of fun.
And I had to heartily congratulate him lately when his primary school aged son killed his first seal. Indeed, it’s through such obscure correspondence that I found myself herding cows – and drinking schnapps – on a Tyrolean alp last year.
However, it’s led me to notice a phenomena I’m not proud of, but intrigues me nonetheless. There I was chatting with some American and Canadian lumberjack types, talking about their recent wild fires. It’s become very much a thing for electro-spectators to offer heartfelt congratulations, gratitude and respect to the roughie toughies who’ve been out fighting these fires.
And while discussing some technical stuff about forest fires with some of them, I inadvertently let slip that I too was on a fire fighting team locally. It’s hardly as macho as working in blazing forests of towering conifers against the backdrop of the rocky mountains… and I certainly didn’t paint it as such. But the admission still immediately caused a female onlooker to simper a bit and bless me for me bravery. I think she might’ve been throwing her electroknickers. I departed the discussion toot sweet, but do wonder what attributes I could claim if I were feeling mischievous!
Meanwhile, when I’m done with that nonsense and with evenings pulling in, I’ve started up my ‘fruit leather’ production line again. You might recall this involves destoning and skinning various hedgerow fruits, and drying the resultant mush on the stove overnight. It started last year, when I discovered I had an unexpected surfeit of what turned out to be bullace, growing on a hedge on some ‘off land’. These look like big sloes, but aren’t nearly as tart – to the point that you could just about eat them straight from the bush. There’s a lot of stone and not a lot of flesh, but I had so many I couldn’t bear to waste them. One day, after I’d checked over the heifers grazing the fields, I filled a three gallon bucket without much effort.
After a bit of experimenting I was soon preserving tupperware boxes full of the dried flesh. It lasted as a treat until well into this summer. This years crop isn’t quite as mad, but it’s still bountiful. And I’ve got the knack now. I keep a big jug of fruity gloop in the fridge to make some more each evening, adding whatever comes to hand when I’m out and about. Too much blackberry makes it a bit sharp – and needing more apple to give it some body. Haws from the thorn bushes add body as well, and I guess they must be stacked with pectin – you could use them in concrete – but it’s tasteless stuff whatever that chubby survival expert on TV says.
Conversely I’ve one apple tree on the lowland ground that yields up very sweet fruit, but which don’t keep 10 minutes before they’re rotten… so they’re peeled, mushed, and go in the mix. I’d experiment further with plums, pears and all sorts if I had the trees – I couldn’t bear to buy fruit for such nonsense. I might have to invest in some saplings of the right bent. I’ve every intention of taking the saw with me and removing the competition from the bullace over winter. As I noted last year, it’s growing either side of 2-3 gateways, and has clearly been thoughtfully set there by some long ago hand.
‘The admission I was in a fire-fighting team caused a female onlooker to simper...’