Squab!

The oak trees have had bumper crops of acorns this year, which means one thing: dopey woodpigeons.

Green acorns contain high levels of pyrogallol. Don't ask me what that is, I'm not a chemist. What I do know is that the pyrogallol is poisonous to pigeons (as well as horses, and probably a variety of other birds and mammals.) Young pigeons seem most susceptible, possibly because they're small and still developing. They have less body mass relative to an adult. And young pigeons are still learning the 'food' vs. 'not food' life lesson. Too many acorns is definitely 'not food' for pigeons.

I found this young squab in the middle of the road, staggering about, and too disoriented to escape my slow, lumbering approach.

He still has baby fluff, and you can see all the feather casings he's shedding onto my plaid shirt. He's not yet grown into his beak so he's quite young. I've put him in a spare broody coop overnight to protect him from hungry foxes and village cats. He may live, he may not (my record for rehabilitating baby birds has been 0 for 3 this year). If he doesn't, we'll do a post-mortem and see if, in fact, he has a cropful of acorn shells.

I hope he's simply recovered enough to fly away, and smart enough to head for the barley fields instead of the woods for his breakfast.

The Woodcock Moon

picture courtesy of wikipedia

We've had the first full moon of November - known as the Woodcock Moon - when the woodcock begin their migration from Europe to England, presumably to feed in a milder climate. It will be a little while longer before we see many here in the west, but I can hardly wait. They are my favorite little bird because of their appearance, and because of the strange behaviours and folklore associated with them.

Their eyes are nearly on top of their heads so they can watch for predators while they feed. It's rarely observed but a female with a chick, when disturbed, will fly off carrying the chick between her legs. What a wild ride that must be for a youngster!

They are also crepuscular, a great word I rarely if ever get to use in a sentence. It means they are mainly active at dawn and dusk.

They are also by far my favorite game bird to eat, and also the hardest to shoot which makes the reward that much sweeter. I have only ever shot two. If you shoot two woodcock - a 'right and left' as it's known - without reloading or lowering your gun and in front of two witnesses, you can be admitted to the Shooting Times Woodcock Club. I don't know any members personally. All I know is I can't wait until I hear the whirring wingbeats crossing overhead at dusk.

At the moment, I'm doing 'indoor jobs' as the weather is horrid and uncooperative. It makes everything so much harder slogging through mud, wiping paw prints off of everything, toweling off dogs every time they go outside, wearing layers and peeling them off one at a time as they get soaked, and hanging them in front of the woodburner to dry. I'm down to a t-shirt and apron now. Both fires are going at the moment to keep the house warm and, more importantly, dry. We're shooting tomorrow so I'll have to face this wretched weather then.

Part of the indoor jobs included cooking. I finished tomorrow's lunch for the workers, plus some pureed pumpkin for the freezer and a pumpkin bread. I collected our half a pig from the farm today which means a nice change from venison. I boned out the front leg and roasted it for our tea, and all the pork fat will go to the dogs to help keep their weight up as work and the colder weather takes its toll on their reserves.

The next lot of meat for the freezer is the last 14 meat chickens which I will dispatch this Tuesday. Then it will be big lamb and little lamb. I'm still not looking forward to that day. I keep putting it off.

The Chestnut

It was a shoot day today and, besides picking up lots of partridge for the bag, I picked up a few chestnuts for the larder. I found a productive tree with fat fallen chestnuts in one of the partridge shoots and came back at the end of the day to fill my pockets. It was not far from the house and a good place to take Spud for a walk.

I brought old Nell along to give her some special time and as a good example for Spud to follow: Nell stays close (she's too old to go as far and as fast as she used to!) and Nell works hard in cover. Nell leads Spud into the bushes and brambles, and she passes her excitement for hunting quarry onto the pup. It was sweet to see the old showing the young how it's done. Nellie has covered some miles in her time.

I forgot how cuddly Nellie is and when I squatted down to pick nuts, this is what I got:

A lapful of dog.

I managed to pick the nuts she wasn't sat on and came back with two tired dogs and a little haul of chestnuts. And the smug self satisfaction that I beat the squirrels to them this year.

I did a little research (thanks Wikipedia!) and found these interesting facts about the chestnut:

The European chestnut is the fruit of the Castanea sativa tree. Chestnuts were introduced into Europe from Asia minor and were successfully grown in mountainous regions of Turkey, Italy and Greece, where cereal crops wouldn't flourish. Chestnuts were a main source of carbohydrate there. They could be stored, dried, and turned into flour (which is gluten-free).

As trade and agriculture improved, and other crops like the potato were introduced, chestnuts fell out of favor, stigmatized as poor peoples' food. Chestnuts have twice as much starch as potatoes, and they are the only "nuts" that have vitamin C.

In early christianity, the chestnut was a symbol of chastity owing to the prickly burr that contains the sweet fruit. I find that image a bit creepy. Worse still, in Bach flower remedies, it's said to cure "extreme mental anguish, hopelessness and despair". I hope I only ever need it for culinary purposes!

The best varieties have burrs with a single large nut; they're sweet, peel easily and aren't too floury. The French make candied chestnuts - marrons glace. The Portuguese make a chestnut liquer. The English add chestnuts to brussel sprouts, which does nothing for either ingredient. I also have a recipe for chestnut soup, but no desire to try it. So far I've only ever roasted them, a la Nat King Cole's Christmas Song. And they are a pain to peel. Hedgewizard describes an easy way to peel chestnuts. I am definitely going to give this method a try.

I just looked in my cookbook which says chestnuts can be sweetened by letting them sit for a few days so some of their starch converts to sugar. This cookbook also has a recipe for a rich chocolate and chestnut pave. I think I know what this batch is destined for. Definitely better than the brussel sprouts option.

I didn't even know robins could sew

It's the day before the start of our shoot season and there is more to do than there are people and daylight hours to do it. I'm about to get stuck into making dinner for the workers but an easy one - bacon and beans over mashed potatoes. Not inspired but easy and it tastes fine after being left for 4 hours in a slow cooker while we shoot. Plus I have jam to make, and our own dinner, and scones if I can find room in the oven.

Every time I start to cook, I get called to do an 'air strike' - that's what Mike and the guys call my throwing the spaniels in cover to chase the pheasant and partridge home. The birds must know the season starts tomorrow and they're all trying to leave home in droves! The weather is a bit warm for the dogs but we have conveniently placed troughs for a drink and a quick cool down. I will be packing the dog first aid kit tomorrow and ensure that there is lots of water for dogs and a few sachets of electrolyte solution, for those who overdo it on the first day.
Our chimney sweep - nicknamed Sooty - came today with his broom and cleaned both chimneys and wood stoves. He's just been interviewed for the TV program Coast. The series goes around the coast of Britain (hence the name) telling people's stories and family histories. Sooty found out that his father was an African-American soldier stationed over here during the war. The programme discusses the unsung role that these soldiers played not only in the war, but in British society at the time. Racism was never as formative a part of UK culture, but the Americans brought it with them and it affected British life.

Sooty took over his family's chimney sweep business and his sons, one of whom is also a fireman, are following on behind. He's nearing retirement age now but shows no signs of slowing down yet. We had a great discussion while he made sure we had clean and safe chimneys for the winter. Better yet we did an amiable trade - some of his freshly caught prawns and a sea bream, for a kilo of our minced venison and package of sausages.

On the subject of interesting facts: While I was rummaging in the hedgerow as I have been doing lately, I saw this strange parasitic growth on a dog rose stem -
It's called a Robin's Pin Cushion and it's the gall of a wasp, Diplolepsis rosae for you science nerds. It was oddly pretty. Nature is so cool.

We also dropped Boris at his new home last night. I parked him next to his new friends and gave him a hug goodbye.And took a picture of the farm where he's now going to live, just so you know he went to a good home.
I've taken some pictures of the cider apple harvest too, just because it's a fascinating process. I promise to explain more fully next time. But for now I must get on with the cooking. Wish us luck - and a few birds overhead - for tomorrow.

Love is in the air...if you're a slug

I woke up this morning and there was that noticeable chill in the air, the one you know if you sleep with your windows open, the one that reminds you autumn is fast approaching. I knew it was coming as the chickens are nearing the end of their moult and egg production is down, and the sloes in the hedgerows are ripe now.

When I lived in New England, it heralded the start of the tourist season -"leaf peepers" - when people travelled to the New England states to watch the leaves turn the most magnificent colours. It's the one time of year I get homesick.

In England, it signifies the end of summer and the end of the tourist season here in the south west, which is a huge relief for locals. Our roads are those picturesque lanes that wind languorously through the countryside but are only wide enough for one and a half cars (what engineering genius came up with that concept?)and littered with dips and blind spots which effectively hide from view walkers, horse riders, and other cars that have stopped to admire the scenery.

The speed limits on these roads are 50mph - the national speed limit - which is crazy. And just the sheer volume of traffic clogs up the roads. Just getting milk from the store requires military- like timing and a thorough knowledge of back roads - which includes field margins and tracks. Anything to avoid the traffic created by "grockles", a local nickname for tourists.

We have 'rush hour' in our own village of Mapperton, when Joe and Piat herd their sheep to new grazing, or Mr Puzey walks his bull down the road to another field of heifers so it can set to work producing next year's calves. Only in this rush hour, you are sometimes asked to participate - closing gates ahead, driving a old ewe who's decided to stop and sample the hedgerow offerings back to the flock. Livestock still have right of way on the roads. And so it should be.

Autumn's chill reminder made me remember that our log pile is still only pitifully knee-high and it should be covering the side of the shed, 2 rows deep. I must go and get a new bar and chain for the chainsaw today. The old one needed replacing anyway but I finished it off the other day helping Simon take out a stump from his garden which had soil lodged in its lower branches. It's also time to mow the lawn again, a job I always put off. It's so long now if I wait another day I might as well cut it and bale it for hay.

Anyway - today's post is on slug reproduction. When I went out to check the meat chickens this morning, I stumbled across this very private moment between two consenting slugs:

Although slugs are hermaphroditic, they will choose sexual reproduction when possible preferring new genetic material to a clone of their own. I knew slugs laid eggs, and I was pretty sure I knew what the white jelly was, but I wasn't exactly sure how the whole process worked. It was more fascinating than I thought. Wikipedia says:

Once a slug has located a mate, they encircle each other and sperm is exchanged through their protruded genitalia. A few days later around 30 eggs are laid into a hole in the ground, or beneath the cover of objects such as fallen log.
A commonly seen practice among many slugs is apophallation. The penis of these species is curled like a cork-screw and often becomes entangled in their mate's genitalia in the process of exchanging sperm. When all else fails, apophallation allows the slugs to separate themselves by one or both of the slugs chewing off the other's penis. Once its penis has been removed, a slug is still able to mate subsequently, but using only the female parts of its reproductive system.

I bet you didn't know THAT!