Real autumnal weather has finally arrive on a bluster of wind & rain. The clocks have changed & the days feel significantly shorter. The horse is brought in from the field as light falls. I can feel my winter-pace setting in - lovely long evenings to make plans for future & reflect on the past.
I'm still busy "locking away the summer" by poaching wind-fall pears & making preserves. This is only my second season at jam-making & I've just finished a batch of mint jelly (apple jelly base with fresh mint leaves & a hint of lemon rind) of which I'm immensely proud. There's a pot of onion chutney hidden in the fridge for Christmas. As Mr PoppyM is diabetic I've promised to have a go at making some pickles including piccalilli - what an odd word.
In the local town is a whole food shop that stocks a large range of herbs & spices - sold loose. Even better than that, you can select whatever quantity you wish - no minimums. I spent a happy few minutes selecting & bagging up my Christmas list of herbs & spices. I brought 7 items and the total came to under £4! I love the smell of spices & couldn't imagine a life without them. In complete contrast my husband was indifferent to the experience which I find perplexing as he is the real food-lover. Perhaps it is due to his lack of success in the kitchen? Whereas I'd almost rather create the food then eat it & without a palate of these small essence how reduced my options would be? If I were on Dessert Island discs my luxury item would be a casket of herbs & spices.
Back to pears. Until I moved to one of the orchard counties of England, pears were "just another fruit". There are 2 particularly beautiful pear trees growing here that I have now watched through all the seasons & this experience has changed how I view the fruit. These tall shapely trees are pleasing through the winter as bare skeletons. As winter moves into spring they grow green & soften in outline. Blossom appears - often briefly & modestly, surprisingly so for a member of the rose family. Then the fruits appear - golden drops hung like ornaments amongst the leaves. They swell & become more defined & then the waiting begins, a waiting for the first ones to fall. Those first golden fruits to leave the tree are semi-ripe but I gather these anyway & ripen them at home. Then as whole clusters ripen they fall & the real gathering begins. I gather the perfect ones in a small cloth bag, usually accompanied by a dog & return homes with them full of glee. I place these trophies on a large dish in the window & admire them as I walk past. They are trophies as I "compete" with the birds & insects for them & other gatherers - especially those who "cheat" & put ladders to pluck them directly from the branches. And then when all the fruit has fallen & all the perfect or nearly perfect fruit has been gathered, those left on the ground lay there. Some rot away, feeding the soil. Some are eaten by late insects & rodents. And still some are left for the winter when flocks of redwings & fieldfares visit for a sweet winter feed. And in the mid-winter I eat my pears & think back to summers past & imagines those to come.
(images from Flickr)
