In this Garden

One of my cade lambs, stood against the gate, refusing to move whilst I attempted to close the flock into the paddock. Winter is approaching and there is so much to do with mucking out and improving ventilation of the poly tunnel. Charlie put up the poly tunnel when the farmhouse barn was sold off for property development, but years later the land stands idle. Our kitchen garden is dead, blight killed our potato crop, birds ate our onions, swedes, and French dwarf beans. We learned a lot about growing veg within the Scottish Borders, and next year plan for a bountiful garden. We are planting blight resistant potatoes, placing boards underneath the garden's perimeter fencing and hanging bird nets; this should be enough unless addition measures are thought of. This is the first time in a decade I've made plans months ahead.

In the evening, I made an attempt at baking a steak and kidney pie. Charlie purchased chopped steak and a joint of silverside, the silverside was better quality meat, and more of it for a cheaper price. I enjoyed mixing the ingredients together and rolling out the pastry; topping the pie with a pastry tractor emblem before brushing on an egg yolk glaze. The farmhouse oven / cooker has become unpredictable after twenty years of use, which is difficult as I rely heavily on predictability, observations obscured due to being traumatised blind with abuses.

For half an hour this pie seemed not to have cooked, ten minutes later Charlie peeked inside the oven to find the egg glaze had burned. With reinvigorated faith, he placed the pie onto a lower shelf, and turned on pots of potatoes, cabbage and carrots I'd chopped earlier. Potatoes were mashed undercooked, so we placed the mash into a microwave, the vegetables were OK. We ate late at 10:30pm, tearfully tired was I but hid this from Charlie who'd had a long day at work. Failures provide insight, so all is, alas, not lost; he enjoyed the pastry.