Tag Archives: The Goods Shed.

Friendly foraging

Lunch with the cuckoo was special enough, but I had arrived at the Goods Shed just as Enzo was taking the bread from the oven. My loaf was wrapped in a flash and straight in my bag. Back home, I spread it with wild garlic pesto, tomato paste, cheese and olives. Satisfying!

Read NAIB’s account of foraging Welsh wild garlic, below.

https://doubtdespairparadise.wordpress.com/2015/04/19/spring-foraging/

Mrs Turnstone is trying to grow some in a shady part of our garden, thanks to a gift from a friend. We’ve allowed ourselves no more than a couple of leaves for salad this year, hoping the patch will spread.

The year turning round

cascade   

Yesterday’s storm sent me darting outside to check that the roof was draining properly with no blocked gutters. At the back of the house I found a cascade where the downpipe and gutters were full to capacity and more; thankfully it did not last long, and the weather turned around; today as Dylan wrote

 the blue altered sky
        Stream(s) again a wonder of summer.

Yes, the year is turning round: these are the last strawberries, said the greengrocer at the Goods Shed, and so, remembering next week’s Harvest Festival, I came home to harvest the more presentable grapes that have not gone to feed the starlings and blackbirds.

I was reminded, in this month of the centenary of his birth, of Dylan’s Poem in Autumn, sharing with us his walk through the little town, the weather turning, his mind and heart turning to celebration and prayer, out on the hill.

Let us be grateful for the last strawberries, for the grapes and all the harvest and for the birds who bring us pleasure even as we pretend to be cross with their depredations. We’ll be feeding them through the winter!



And there could I marvel my birthday
     Away but the weather turned around. And the true
        Joy of the long dead child sang burning
                In the sun.
             It was my thirtieth
        Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
        Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
             O may my heart's truth
                Still be sung
        On this high hill in a year's turning.

The Pilgrim’s (rail) way

A few weeks ago it was primroses all the way along the line from Dover to Canterbury; today the predominant flower is that pilgrims’ joy, the Canterbury Bell, that sings out from the walls of the cuttings. And so, my journey home is a pilgrimage – as it indeed ought to be, every time.

At the shrine of the common table Mrs Turnstone has prepared a feast of home grown salad, with a handful of sungold tomatoes and pizza from Enzo’s Bakery at the Goods Shed.

The Year is Turning!

The Year is Turning!


A week of firsts: the first forage: wild garlic; the first preserve: wild garlic pesto with Ashmore cheese; the first harvest from the greenhouse: a dozen rocket leaves; the first local asparagus from the Goods Shed with the first sungold tomatoes!

We live in hope!