Doggy blue (means 'fight'?)

Well, doggy updates -- they are in Sydney. And Wednesday and Puggles had a 'blue' and both needed to be checked out by a vet. Ah well. They're all fine. Expensive but fine.

We've had a couple of sets of visitors today. The 'drop in' is something we miss a bit, but maybe we're starting to get there. We had young Jeremy and his son Harry this evening(who is the sort of toddler that could encourage childless couples to have 6. Good natured, friendly, easy going and bright.) B and I are fond of kids anyway, so we did the pre-grandparent turn-to-goo.

The olives are all bottled and labelled and put in the back dark corner. They're in strong herbed brine, and should spend at least a couple of weeks in that before we possibly re-brine (less concentrated salt) or transfer into olive oil and vinegar/lemon and/or various aromatics. Now is the hardest part of the process - waiting to see if it all worked out. We have to wait at least a week before trying them.

We did a big freezer clean-out/ sort with the two secondhand wire baskets we bought - the freezer is full. We're doing our best not to overstep any of the fisheries regs with forgotten stuff in corners. Of course some like squid is just damned awkward. We divide squid into tentacles, tubes and wings. Wings are mostly for bait, and the others are cut into serving amounts. So Barbs's battle mother is in 7 bags. (3 tube, 2 tentacle, 2 wing). They're all dated, but not all together. We're supposed to have a personal possession limit of 15. So... 15 what? At the moment we're using bait slowly, because we have our near our quota of wrasse, and we haven't been after flathead for a while. I'm sure we have less than 15 tubes(I'm not even sure that's 15 each -which makes sense or 15 total - which doesn't, but we try and abide by). I'm still a Fisheries Scientist at heart and try and keep to the rules. They're not really designed around (or for) people like us. Gee. What a surprise. We don't fit again.

I've started drying some bunches of herbs against the cold killing off our stock. I need to take Quilly's advice and move some indoors or at least into shelter next to the house... but well, writing, visitors. There is a finite amount of time - speaking of which, back to work. Vet bills to pay :-(

Dog and cat days

The fur-kids should be flying out from South Africa today, to do their last month in quarantine in Sydney. We have missed them terribly (to the point where I hate seeing the pictures because it hurts.) I can't explain to them what we've done. To them Finnegan's Wake must have seemed like dog and cat heaven. I still worry about whether we've done the right thing for them. They were all 'awkward' to re-home -- whether quarantine before coming back has been kinder, I don't know. Well I do know for Roly.

He's a one-man Old English Sheepdog. I just hope the old boy is OKay (the kennels say so)They say dogs resemble their owners and vice versa, and he's hairy, dumb and very loyal. He was actually born onto my lap, and I can't wait to let him sit on it again (yes he has grown a little, but not in his mind)

Puggles (the golden boy at the top is happy-go-lucky) but his sister Wednesday is a problem-child.



And our cats I worry most about. They're all rescues and let's be frank were a little screwball to start. But we decided on this ruinously expensive excercise(and thank you again to all of those who helped with the SAVE THE DRAGONS project - which raised 2/5 of this.) because we thought it was what we would have wanted them to do for us. And we love them very much. I just hope they come through Okay.

The Gum Boot Dance

Gumboots aka Wellingtons/wellies are great for wading through wet and muddy spots (one of my earliest memories was the sheer delight of sploshing through puddles in what must have been thigh-high, way too large Gummy-boots). They keep water out. Ergo, they are good for things like smelly feet and foot-rot (ask a fish farmer to explain. And not while you are eating or if you have a sensitive stomach) as well as for small beasties (cardinal rule - always shake out your boots) if you leave them unattended, and, logically if they are going to keep water OUT, they also keep water in. Slosh-splart-splish. You can tell a fish farmer's house by the gumboots at the back door. The people of Flinders of course much more civilized than rof tof en onbeskof Ex-South African fishfarmers and wear redbacks instead (and regard people who wear gumboots as a little odd). But being well aquainted with mud, they ALSO leave them outside the back door. A front door is something you have to prove you have one, and sometimes they even open. Ours has been very useful for bringing firewood in without trotting through the house. I don't think it has actually been used for visitors. Only a townie wears shoes inside the house, and you can spot a city type even if he buys and fades a checked shirt and jeans, by the fact he will fall over the boots at the back door.

Of course you need a verandah over the back door... to keep the boots dry. We have that essential thing... only in the absolute torrential rain we had earlier today - at least an inch in about 20 minutes, said verandah... leaked. Just down one line...

Remember the bit about boots being good to keep water out and in? Well they did in pretty good because I'd parked them under that line. There was a lull in the rain and I wanted to dash out, bring more wood from the shed, and collect more herbs for the herbed brine (which needs to cool before going onto the olives). So I grabbed my boot, tipped to shake and poured water onto my socks. After some quiet and genteel remonstrations with the weather and the leak (which I assure you, gentle reader, could never have had any of those terms I heard corporals and rough seamen and rougher fish-wives using in my mis-spent youth) I ripped the wet sock off and hurtled off to grab James's boots where they had been plonked next to the wood-box, outside the front door. And my haste (it was beginning to spot with rain again) I did not obey the cardinal rule.

I thrust my bare foot into the boot.

And my bare foot was NOT alone in there.

For future reference, the little tree-frogs ALSO like you to remember the cardinal rule of boots.

Anyway, the frog and I both lived, although both of us were a little discomforted by the experience. I got the herbs, forgot the firewood. And we have now bottled 22 bottles of black olives and have run out of jars but not olives.

On field mushrooms

Tall trees and mushrooms - http://morrie2.wordpress.com/2010/05/13/identifying-a-field-mushroom/ - has an excellent post on ID of field mushrooms of the various Agaricus species. We had some in supper tonight (and have been eating them fairly steadily, and I have a large fried and frozen supply, and about 2kg (wet) - or about 300 grams dry in the pantry cupboard. Having read up extensively, and talked to and show specimens to locals, I made up a cheat sheet for myself -- I recommend the Tall Trees and Mushrooms guide for more detail and pics, but for print-and-take-with-you... here is my personal cheat sheet. Understand this clearly: Eating wild mushrooms is dangerous passtime, and you do it at your own risk. Some can kill you, and some can have serious consequences. I'm not responsible for your decisions, you are. Remember: if in doubt - throw it out. Always ask locals advice and try to find someone who has real expertise to guide you.

My friend Morrie2 over at Tall Trees and Mushrooms (who knows more about this subject than I ever will) reckoned most of these sensible - except the first, as he reckons that would exclude a lot. Well, I live in a place of big paddocks, so it works for me. This advice (and it advice NOT a safe guarantee) applies here. I don't know about the rest of the world.
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1)location - is open grassland/field - at least 10 metres from trees. Don't even look under trees or anywhere near rotting wood. (I know this cuts out a lot of edible mushrooms and a lot of area. At this stage my idea is over-cautious is best. We have lots of big paddocks here.) if it is growing in a cowpat, or moss or rotten wood leave it. You want grass around it.

2) how big is the mushroom, and what colour is it? If it is smaller than 5 cm cap ignore it. If the colour is anything other than a shade of mushroom-white (white with overlays of grey or brown) ignore it. (this hopefully takes out the galerinas.) And definitely ignore green shades (especially with white gills - Amanita phalloides - deadly - which shouldn't be growing out here anyway)

3) clear grass around the base of the mushroom to see if it has a volva. If it has leave it!!!! (Amanitas have volvas and A phalloides is deadly and shouldn't be growing out here anyway. But never take chances.)

4)Is the cap dry? good. If shiny/sticky, leave it.

5) Turn it over. Do gills go down the stem? - reject - if not: What color are the gills? If white or yellow or orange reject. If pink keep and see if they turn brown, if brown, then

5) Smell it. If it smells mushroom/anise-mushroom, good. If 'chemically' reject.

6) then check for an annulus (it must have one), check if the stem snaps cleanly from the cap, check if it peels easily.

7)back home check spore print - it should be brown.

8) cut and check staining. If yellow, discard. Pink or no stain is fine.

9) cook. If it smells chemically when cooking (indian ink/phenol) don't eat it. Eat one small slice. KEEP the rest of the mushroom unsliced, for ID if necessary. Do not eat any other sorts of mushroom. Wait 24 hours (at least) before eating more. If you get sick in any way - take the mushroom and yourself post haste to medical assistance.
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Which all seems a great deal of hassle for some mushrooms - but they are very delicious and can be abundant and free. But be careful and read up and learn to recognise the toxic sp. (they don't look that like the edible field mushrooms, but people still make mistakes.)

Olives

Well, I bottled the first bottles of black olives today - the first bowl I consider 'ready', into strong herbed brine with a dash of vinegar. That gave just over 7 bottles of Olives - the standard 350 ml jar. I figure we're looking at another maybe 18 jars. 25 + 6 green olives. Now that sounds a lot, but by the time you add giving friends a jar and the serious locust factor AKA Paddy and James (my sons, coming home from Uni in 3 weeks)... maybe we DO need to pick some more. The ones in raw salt were a bit of a failure in my opinion. Or not to my taste anyway. The small number I did in wood-ash lye I won't at this stage do again. The awkward thing is it'll be yet another week before they can really be tried. - 31 jars of what might be a total flop and quite a lot of work, is a little worrying. But ever onward. It has already showed me how well the local grapevine works - I mentioned to Rosemary that our herb production of everything but parsley was... moderate, and of course I am using that for the herbed brine and need to dry some really soon as the temperatures are dropping - down to 3 centigrade this morning. Next thing Carol shows up at my study door with a huge bunch of marjoram, sage, thyme, mint and garlic chives. It can be a pretty good community to be in.

I want to try some roll-mops with the Australian Salmon and the Wrasse - the former is Okay fresh - just, and the latter is acceptible briefly poached in Thai green curry, or a crab-and-tomato Tal grottli, probably OK as part of fishsoup/stew so long as it has 'in liquid'cooking. I really, really need to catch some crabs in this place that are not pea-crabs! Anyway, when the boys get here, there will be some more serious efforts. At the moment I am focussing on finishing the current book. The weather -- daytime -- has been glorious clear without being too hot. Fortunately this rotten cold is still hovering, snotty and feeling a bit miz. It'd be difficult to resist this sort of temptation otherwise.

The life of Riley

Somehow people have developed the illusion that a self-sufficient life in the country is quiet and tranquil, and entirely effortless. In a bizarre way it's rather like people telling you about having been reincarnated and remembering their past lives. Funnily enough, they all seem to have been princesses or heroes. Oddly no one seems to remember having been a drudge, or a deserving flea, born to a higher state this time around. I've often thought that my violent and immediate dislike of the very smell of turnips -and knowing full well exactly what it would taste like before tasting it, was the nearest I have ever come to real evidence of reincarnation. But in that former life I must have been a very hungry peasant somewhere in Northern Europe... a dull Baldric-type life, much afflicted with insufficient food, and entirely too much of the little there was must have been turnip. Still, I must have been a good peasant, as I've moved on to Flinders Island in this round. Which again makes it all seem very unlikely, as I don't have a particularly saintly nature. And likewise rural life is sometimes quiet (you know, like when the green rosellas have a domestic dispute outside the window just before dawn), sometimes tranquil (when the wind actually makes such constant roaring sound that you wake up when it stops) and never ever effortless. Like the illusion that being a writer is effortless...

Anyway, in my illusionary world I have decided it's probably a good life-choice for the hyperactive and restless, as well as the not-particularly-intellectually-gifted (or they would work out that going to a supermarket for a loaf of bread is a lot easier than kneading dough) and a strong back because carrying loads of wood is a little more like hard work than flipping the switch on a heater. We will leave out the part about cutting down the tree and cutting it up, because part of me always wants to ask if you don't have to cut it down again. I think these delusions are why so many rural shifters don't last too long. Still, while it is hard work, and like any work a lot of it is repetitive, there is enormous satisfacton to it. And that hard-to-define thing quality of life is a biggy. It often seems to go hand in hand with just straight quality. My veggies aren't what any office-working supermarket-shopping person would call 'quality' - they have holes from caterpillars. They'd be less good than the stuff in the shop if I transported it thence - but here, well, firstly it's fresh (sometimes with added frog or caterpillar) and secondly it's MINE - watered by the sweat of my brow (no wonder it tastes salty and smells yuck). And thirdly - it satisfies that innate mean-ness of me. I never paid a long chain of middlemen or the government for most of it, which delights long generations of "careful" ancestors. It must be in the DNA or something, because, like the satisfaction of barter, it makes 'retail therapy' seem like a weak shandy compared to overproof whiskey.

Still, it's not the life of Riley. If you want that: stay in the big city, and stick close to your desk 9-5, enjoy dining out, watching TV, take-outs, repairmen... and that sort of thing. Otherwise, well, learn to cook in batches, think ahead and seize the day when the weather is good or the mushrooms come out or there are olives being left to rot. And sometimes it means sitting an writing on a glorious Sunday, because you're behind.

Oh well, it was always my choice. And it is beautiful, and satisfying, even if it is sometimes hard work.

Sunlight

Long, long ago, in another life, I used to work in the most wonderful shop, called "The Wine Cellar". They sold over 1000 labels of wine, and then some beers, mixers and spirits. We often had tea sitting outside, and I would make a point of sitting in the sun, (unless it was midsummer) so that I could get my 10 minutes worth of sunlight to manufacture vitamin D, to process calcium so that I would not get the old ladies common ailment, oestioporosis.

Wow, now I spend so much of my time outdoors, I can't even imagine needing 'sun time'. If we are not fishing, we are mushrooming, or I am walking to town, or just cutting the lawn with the brushcutter. I thought that, having been warned that the island gets its rain in winter, we might be short of sun, but so far we have had only a handful of days when it has not shone at all. Mostly the weather changes by the half hour, and some of the rain showers last only 5 minutes and then the sun is out again.

While that does make hanging washing outside a whole new ballgame, so far I have been up to the challenge, and we do get clean clothes to wear.