Three Meanings For November The Eleventh.

Firstly today is Armistice Day.  It's the day that marked the end of the great war: 1914-1918.  It was the war to end all wars.  Sadly this was not true.  Even today wars are being fought.  It's a day to reflect and thank those people who gave their lives for freedom.

Secondly:  Today is Martin Mass.  This is the saint day of St Martin of Tours.  Traditionally animals were slaughtered on this day.  I suppose mainly because they wouldn't have the hay and feeding for the long Winter a head.   In Ireland no wheels were to be turned on this day, because St Martin was killed by a wheel when he fell into a river.

Thirdly:  It's 'Number one' son's 18th birthday today.  I honestly don't know where the time goes.  I remember watching the television the night he was born in the hospital while my wife was giving birth.  Five minutes after he was born.  I rang my mother and greeted her with:

"Hello grandma!"

She was over the moon.

My mother always vowed that she would live long enough to be the first one to buy him a pint on his 18Th birthday.  Sadly, she died nearly three years ago.  We'll raise a glass and toast our missing loved one's tonight.  Let's all raise a glass tonight for those who gave us our freedom.

I found it cathartic writing this post.

Here's a song by the great and much missed Sandy Denny:  "Who Knows Where The Time Goes?"

The lyrics say it all.

Do you like Sandy Denny?

Domino The Smallholding Cat. Is He Hunting Or Composing Poetry?

It's a busy time being a smallholding cat at the moment.  The field mice and rats are heading to the nearest buildings to keep warm and feed.  They ("who are they?") say that rats and mice will eat ANYTHING that is organic.  Domino is worth his weight in gold keeping the vermin away.  He keeps leaving me dead presents around the house.  Guess who gets the job of disposing of the headless mice and horrible rats?  Yes.  It's yours truly, me!

There's a robin red breast that helps me in the vegetable garden.  It perches on my four prong pike and pinches the odd juicy worm or two.  I have noticed Domino eyeing up the Robin.  I hope he doesn't get it?  The terrier also does her bit diving into the hay when I shout:

"Rats".

And when I make hissing sounds.

We always give them a good meal and praise them when they catch a rat.  I have only seen one DEAD one this year.  So they must be doing their job.  I don't like poison or traps.  You can't beat a good cat and a terrier on a smallholding.

How do you get rid of rats and mice?

A Nice Single Malt For The Long Winter Nights On The Smallholding. "Am I going Through A Smallholding Middle Age Crisis?"

A kind friend phoned the wife saying they had just returned from an holiday in Scotland and they had picked up a 15 year old bottle of Dalwhinnie ("my favourite") whisky.  We could have it for x amount of Euros if we wanted it? Wanted it?  Was George Best called Best because he was the best?  Of course he was.  Does anybody else have a favourite tipple?  We are supposed to be saving it for Christmas.  Unfortunately the bottle is now half empty.

At least we can get Newcastle Brown Ale and bottles of Vimto in Ireland, these days.  Perhaps some one will open an English pub serving regional grub and pints of real ale?  I have been in plenty of "Oirish " pubs in France and Portugal.  So why not a few English pubs in Ireland?  I read somewhere that Wetherspoons were supposed to be opening a few pubs in Dublin and Cork.

I would also like a Ox red Chesterfield three piece suite to go with the whisky.  Perhaps I could get one of those Basil Rathbone "Smoking" jackets too?  Not that I smoke any more.  I haven't smoked for over twenty years and I still miss them.  Do you?  The amount of people I have got talking to just because somebody said:

"Have you got a light?"

Perhaps I should get a pipe?  Do smallholders go through middle age crisis in the countryside?  If you lived in another country what English/British food or drink would you miss the most?  Bill Wyman missed Piccalilli when he lived in France.  I miss real ales and public transport!  I haven't mentioned that for a few weeks, have I?

Spicy Parsnip And Onion Soup. Gas Mask Wanted For Peeling Onions On Smallholding..

I decided to harvest one of my Parsnips today.  So I pulled it and peeled and chopped it up.  Then I got a Spanish onion (purchased in Lidl) and attempted to peel and chop it and the onion got me.  I wrote few posts a go that I wanted an Anderson shelter for the gales.  Now I could do with a gas mask.  I tried putting the onion under running water, but they still got me.  You would have thought I was a member of RADA.  The way the tears were running down my cheeks.

Any road.  If you want to make some Spicy Onion And Parsnip soup.  Just peel and chop them into centimetres squares.  Then throw them into a pan and add a vegetable stock cube and some water. I threw in a teaspoon of chopped red chillies.  Then we let it cook on the range until the veg was soft.

Then we liquidized the soup and ate it with some home cooked bread.  It was different and very filling.

Me attempting to pull my parsnip out of an old ride on mower grass box in the polytunnel.  

In the end I stood in the box and pulled the Parsnip out.

Oh what a beauty.  If you want big Parsnips or Carrots.  Grow them like this.  

My poor parsnip being peeled and chopped for the soup.

The soup looked like a cross between rice pudding and custard.

In Memory Of A Great Poet.

Today is the 4th of November.  It's the day that the great First World War poet Wilfred Owen was killed.  Just a week before the Armistice on the 11th.  I have been interested in Wilfred Owen  since I was at school.  We once went to his home town of Oswestry and visited his memorial and a tourist lady told us where his house was.  Plas Wilmot is a grand old house and I felt honoured to have found the place where one of my poetry heroes grew up.

'What Passing Bells' - a BBC drama is being shown every night on BBC1, this week.  The title is taken from Wilfred Owen's poem: Anthem For Doomed Youth'.  Last night showed the outbreak of the First World War and two young lads (one German, one English) joining up.   They believed the war would be over by Christmas and it would be the war to end all wars.  The characters are just ordinary lads who believe they are doing their bit for their country.

Anthem For Doomed Youth.

The Green Shoots Of Recovery On The Smallholding. "Well I don't know. I saw some grass growing through the pavements today."

I made some Cotoneaster cuttings about a month a go.  We just cut made a few dozen cuttings.  Dipped half of the cuttings in hormone powder and stuck them into the soil in one of the raised beds in the old vegetable plot.  I decided to check them this morning to see if they had got roots.  Guess what?  The one's which didn't get the rooting powder treatment have roots too?  Isn't mother nature brilliant?

Time for a song.  One of my rock albums is 'Songs From The Woods' by Jethro Tull.  Not the seed drill inventor - the band.  I have seen them four times.  One of my favourite tracks on the album is 'Jack In The Green'.  It's about the spirit in the woods that makes green life.  It's really talking about Spring.  It's good to know that Spring isn't too far away.  Last night seemed to last for ever.  Anybody got any hibernation tips?

Jack In The Green.

A Wet Day And A CookedBreakfast In Bed For The Smallholders Wife.

I woke up this morning at five.  Couldn't sleep and it was raining cats and dogs outside Northsider Towers.  So I got up and turned on the computer and checked me emails and the blogs.  Heron had put a comment about the people from Somerset eating snails.  So I replied and started looking for an E card for the wife's birthday.

The trouble with these amazingly free cards. Is that you have to play them out loud to see if you like them.  So I picked this funny cartoon about this cat using the toilet to wash its hair.  All of sudden the cat starts screaming and meowing and screaming and meowing again.  Next minute the light goes on in the hall and the wife storms into the room and screams:

"What's all the bloody noise about at half passed five in the morning?"

I didn't have the heart to explain I was sending her an E birthday card.  I just turned off the computer and crawled back into bed.  I got up again and quickly made her a 'cooked' breakfast.  Well it wasn't actually cooked.  The black coffe was 'real' coffee 'cooked' in the cafetiere and I woke her and said:

"Happy birthday.  I have made you a cooked breakfast."

What's wrong with a cup of black coffee and a chocolate Wagon Wheel for your birthday breakfast?

You can't say romance is dead, can you?  Is it me or have Wagon Wheels got smaller?