This time a year ago I blogged about bilberries. I picked all twelve of them. So when this year I discovered that I also have cowberries, a few feet away from the bilberries, I was quite pleased. I found at least thirty tiny red berries, so red seems to do better than blue. Haven’t yet worked out what to do with my harvest.
Cowberries often go by the name of the red gold of the wood, and people pick them by the bucketful. Unlike cranberries, which I understand are cultivated, I think all cowberry preserves sold originate in the wild. I obviously have some way to go towards even a first bucket.
I also have tame, but aggressive, blackberries, that are so thorny I can barely get close enough to pick. And two apple trees full of apples, not ready to pick. Am leaving the mushrooms alone, in case they are toadstools. Magnificent size, whatever they are, which may be due to the very wet summer.
The apples already on the ground, have been carted up to the woods by the Resident IT Consultant, where I hope they will feed either the deer or, preferably, a passing elk or two. With a bit of luck we can have punch drunk, enormous beasts cavorting round the garden.
This isn’t about books, either, unless you count the cookbook I’ll need to sort out the future of thirty cowberries.
If you are labouring under the impression that the witch family does nothing but eat while on holiday, you’re quite right. We don’t. And it looks like we won’t even be able to eat our way through all our usual eateries this year, as time is almost up.
Börjes is the most wonderful of bakers, in Harplinge village, near us. Situated in a 1950s house in the middle of Harplinge, it’s the third generation running this bakers and café. Never mind that the two sons trained to hunt or something, (according to gossip), I’m so glad they bake instead. Their bread is out of this world, and changes daily. Farmor’s (grandmother’s) loaf is the best of them all. With the whole village buying their bread from Börjes, you’d be lucky to find anything left to buy come mid afternoon.
As for the patisserie, which you either eat in their 1950s style Konditori, or take home for private gluttony sessions, it’s very, very good. Their Prinsesstårta (a green gateaux) is simply the best. The witch and the Resident IT Consultant turned, well, about 27, a couple of years ago, and ordered several for dessert for the birthday party.
I have on occasion tried to interest Son in going to work there, in order to learn all their recipes. No success yet.
Readers with good memories may recall the BMW in my holiday garage, which causes the grass to be cut when I’m not there.
I should obviously never have mentioned it, as this time round I got a surprise when I opened the garage door. There was space! It was clean! In other words, the BMW was gone. In its place was a small, blue, boy’s bicycle. The bike seemed quite happy, standing with some bigger bikes that have lived there for much longer.
I was slightly worried as to whether I should admit to the car owner that I’d lost his car, but soon afterwards there was an invitation to come and eat salmon sandwiches, and it seems the BMW went voluntarily. How, is another matter, as the battery must have been long dead, and the tyres were not in a good state.
But at least the annual carrying of garden furniture between garage and deck should prove easier now. Single-handedly hoisting a heavy table over a non-moving car requires a lot of skill with the wand.