Tag Archives: jam

Kitchen Magic

by . Posted on
06 May

My perverse and rebellious nature is finally finding a healthy outlet as I determine not to line the pockets of the Coles/Woolworths monopoly more than I can help.  As they delight in squeezing the farmer out of every drop of hard earned profit, so I enjoy devising new ways of denying them my money.  Horrified by the pathetic provisions purveyed into my pantry in return for ever inflating inroads into my plastic piggy bank, I delight in devising ways and means to thwart them.

Thus I have made soap, candles, jams, mint sauce, yoghurt, cookies, cakes, mead, schnapps, cream cheese, fetta and now cheddar.  I watch what we are spending the most money on each week or fortnight and then resolve to make my own – not out of parsimony but a plot to foil the oligarchy!

As the veggie patch yields ever more I am forced to try new recipes to turn them into delicious sustenance to feed the ravening hordes. I am so grateful to Hugh’s Veg Cookbook which is now my kitchen staple, and for Pam the Jam who has turned me into a passionate preserver!  I have begun to understand and even enjoy following a recipe although my rebelliousness will not allow me to obey the amounts.  Near enough is good enough for me!

With workers and wwoofers on the farm and a hungry boy to feed I seem to spend all my time in the kitchen so I have decided to share some of my adventures in these pages and hopefully inspire others to play with the pots and pans and stock up the pantry.  Walking into a pantry whose shelves are filled to the rafters with home made goodness can warm the coldest heart.  Although I must admit that sometimes the harvests are very intimidating at the thought of all the hard work ahead!

Don’t expect exact measurements or very detailed instructions as I share my soul food, and please share your recipes with me in return.  Some of the very best farmhouse favourites have been shared by friends or family from their own stable of staples, from newspapers, magazines, recipe books and the wonders of the world wide web.

At least once a day I will ask Google how to do something – I have learned how to bake cookies, make soap, yoghurt, fudge and rum, and Google has also told us how to deliver lambs, treat laminitis etc!

Self sufficiency is hard work but there is immense joy in supplying one’s own needs and thwarting the tendency to dependency on the supermarket chains and the global manufacturers and marketers. We still have a long way to go before we have mastered ‘The Good Life’ but like Tom and Barbara we have a messy house, gnarled hands, strong arms and backs and the muddy delight of getting back to nature and learning to work with her rhythms and seasons and reap her bounty.

The Dying Art of Rural Living

by . Posted on
24 Mar

We cleaned up at the Comboyne Show yesterday.  First prizes for my Kangaroo Valley apple mint, chutney, dozen eggs; Ged’s honey and supreme exhibit as well as First Prize for Ben’s painting in the under 8’s division.  Second prize for my lemon marmalade.

Quite a swathe of approbation for our year’s faming endeavours.  But what would have been the story if the competition had been more robust?  Because the sad fact is that the Comboyne and other little farming community, shows are becoming an anachronism in our fast paced, iphone, ipad, internet, super and hypermarket world.  We have lost touch with rural life, we have forgotten how to bottle and preserve, how to make jam and marmalade, how to grow our own, feed ourselves, make gifts of the gluts and salt and sugar away excesses to feed the winter mouths and months.

We buy what we want, when we want without a care or conscience for the food miles it has travelled – strawberries from South Africa, asparagus from Thailand, tomatoes from Italy.  We are like children in our carelessness – grabbit and run and to hell with the climate or the genetically modified sprayed with every chemical crop.

But home grown, home bottled food is goodness in a jar.  You can taste the sunshine and the love (sometimes if you get a little crunch you can taste the dirt as well!)  And what can be more satisfying a sight than a pantry stuffed to the gills with goodies from the garden – chutney, jam, marmalade, honey, limoncello, mead, candles, soaps etc.,  Made by Mum with love.  And mostly given away in true farm generosity.

There is an up side to the global financial crisis.  And that is that we will halt or stop or maybe only question our rampant consumerism and learn some good old fashioned arts and skills and values – self sufficiency, being neighbourly, growing our own, celebrating the harvest, seed saving and plant sharing.  Eating more veg and a whole lot less meat.  Make and mend, making do, going without and even making our own.

These are dying arts.  My Grandmother was the Queen of all this and more – recycling, reusing, storing, saving, baking, sewing, knitting etc.  I used to mock her and she never approved of me and my wild ways and raucous laugh – now I wish she were here to help me, teach me, guide me.  Because what she knew then we need to learn now.  And our humble hearts will reap abundant harvests as we learn to sow our seeds and wait patiently while they grow.

I shall be actively encouraging more competition for next year’s show and a revival in the art of living rurally.

Fashion on the Farm

by . Posted on

We robbed the hives yesterday fashionably attired in our whites and veils while Pickle sat in the car supervising with a bottle.  He was fed scraps of honey laden comb to keep him quiet as we moved frames and boxes and coaxed the bees off the frames we were taking home.  He would imperiously yell ‘more’ and ‘honey’ when his supplies ran low!  Later, when I was uncapping the honey stores in the kitchen and ged was chopping up veg for supper I said ‘It’s addictive, isn’t it, this self sufficiency business?  The more I do it, the more I love it, and the more I resent paying anyone for my food.’  We carried on working and then I said ‘The funniest thing for anyone to witness though is my transformation from Margot to Barbara . . . ‘

He looked at me, undyed hair streaked with grey, worn and honey strewn shirt, jeans and thick socks, at our unkempt house with the piles of never-ending washing to be put away, the cat and dog lording it by the fire, the home baked muffins and cookies on the kitchen bench and the oranges and lemons in baskets awaiting the honey to be made into jam.  He laughed.    ‘You’ve come a  long way, baby!’