I showed you yesterday my growing harvest of crabapples HERE. Hey presto, after a few hours in the kitchen spread over two days, I have six jars of jelly. I might sound conceited here but the colour and texture are absolutely spot on. Next year 12 jars. And now onto the damsons.
It was just over three years ago when I planted the first three crabapple trees at the Welsh Hovel. In year one I harvested half a kilo, in year two it was about one and a half kilos and this year, as you can see below, it was three kilos. It is a real pain stalking and splitting so many hundreds of little apples but its only going to get worse.
From the wake up alarm at 3 AM your time yesterday to stumbling across the doorway here in Wrecsam it was a 16 hour day. The Mrs headed off wity the kids to se my mother-in-law. I who had driven across Greece to get us to Athens airport, collapsed into bed. Here in Wrecsam it is warm amd muggy, we left the hovel with lightening all around us and yet more rain, the sixth day in seven with more forecast. Has the BBC yet reported about how rains this month are already thrice the monthly average in volume and twice in days? I thought not. I guess it still insists that Greece is becoming a desert.
I am not sure where my mad lefty pal L got this idea from, probably the Guardian. But as he came over for a swim and lunch yesterday he brought over warm figs in blankets – the blankets being bacon. Maybe he invented the recipe but he should claim credit for they were stunning.
It rained overnight here and it is raining again this morning and the forecast is that it will rain again all day. After yesterday’s deluge I consider the reporting of the BBC and other Doom Goblin cultists of Greek forest fires and also of weather patterns this year in Greece and claims that this country will become a desert.
That is the steep hill, first gear only, that forms part of the track up to the hovel. Anyhow it was moving fast in the middle of the road so the whole family got out to usher it to the side and have a look as you can see below.
It was the arrival of Thomas, opening a new restaurant in what was the old hardware store that changed the dynamics of the Square in our local village of Kambos. Thomas had trained in Britain and his grandmother was Miranda, of Mirands’s fame. His restaurant was one too many for Kambos, not a tourist destination but a village on the road to places such as Kardamili and Stoupa, to bear. What was Miranda’s is now on its fourth ownership in three years.
I did not recount the incident of the Belgian Lady during the last olive harvest, outside of a paywall protected podcast, because I wanted to avoid offence. But for various reasons my capacity to hold back seems to be diminishing so here goes for the events of the last few days have left me feeling less and less good about humanity.
I shall recount more about the strange life of my friend P pictured below as I recall more about the changing life in the Square in the local village of Kambos. Suffice to say, he owed me a day’s work and so was dropped off by his girlfriend this morning with his strimmer. After my heroic battles with the snake last night, I was more than glad as he cleared all the weeds and grass around the pool, around my water tank and for yards around the house on all sides.
As it is holiday time bedtime is later here in Greece. We try to get the kids to have an afternoon nap, as is the custom, but usually fail. So, at about 9.30 in pitch dark we returned to the hovel where, as a precaution, I have always kept a light on above both main outside doors.
Yesterday I lamented how my 250 olive trees needed a drink as it had not rained all month . As it happens it almost never rains here in the Mani in August but I am sure that the lack of rain will be attributed to global warming by the BBC’s Verify unit. On Friday, God provided a brief shower and we said thanks. Today… wow.
Or at least those of our olive trees I mentioned earlier. Yes it has rained. Not heavily but its a start. The top photo is from the balcony decking. The second is of the dark clouds higher up in the mountains behind us. We are promised more rain today and tomorrow. It is still easily hot enough to swim but my poor trees are getting a drink which is the main thing, as I explained this morning.
Our lunatic lefty friend L was clear: everyone says the olive harvest this year will be terrible, almost not worth doing. L likes bad news as it provides him with an opportunity to blame it on the Tories, Brexit, Global Warming, Donald Trump, the Daily Mail or Russia. In this case it is global warming and the hot weather and lack of rain this summer. But before I panicked as Jeremiah continued his monologue I needed to look for myself. For, this December, four readers of this website have volunteered to join me for a harvest: three returnees and a newbie.
In that category I refer mainly to our friends here, the Guardian reading maskers (still) L&G. A Trump MAGA cap and a a Defund the BBC T-shirt is what the right thinking individual is wearing abroad this year. This is me snoozing on the balcony overlooking the pool.
Normally Joshua and I pick blackberries for ice cream, flavoured vodka and crumbles (with homegrown apples) after we get back from Greece. But this year they started early. One of our favourite haunts is the village churchyard where there is an enormous bush in the middle and a few smaller ones either side of the fence between the graves and our upper field.
