Hedvig’s permaculture diploma

In January you need a good boost of sun-filled goodness and cheer.  What does it better than an orange?  I try and eat as locally and seasonally as possible and believe me, in the depth of potato and cabbage season to eat an orange is amazing.  At Christmas, as a child, I would always find an orange/tangerine/clementine in my stocking and didn’t really get why they were special.  To be fair that might have had something to do with growing up in Africa, but I get it now.

So, I decided to preserve the month of January by making marmalade.  Seville Orange Marmalade.  So I order a good few kilos of organic oranges from Riverford and bought a whole load of sugar and went over to Naveena’s house.  Naveena had come to stay while she was between house moves and food and cooking created an instant friendship.  When she moved into her new place she decided to start growing some salad and other stuff on her roof terrace.  So before starting with the marmalade and I went up and found some good looking radishes, and picked them.

Then we started on the epic mission to de-zest, juice, measures, boil, wash pots, sterilise and fill.  But we had such a good time, made a lot of marmalade in the end, and shared it with different friends and ate some through the year.  An amazing smell rose right up to the roof terrace and look at the end product.  This point I gave to Tristan’s dad for Christmas.

Last year’s Christmas preparations were some way different from most.  I was in Naples, staying with Irene and her family, accompanied by two Canadians (Aaron and John) whom we had met while WWOOFing in San Fantino and encouraged to come to Noto.  All of us brought something to the Christmas table and day.  Aaron set about making egg nog, I was making glogg and pepparkakor, John was downloading the Christmas edition of South Park, the Muppets and other tv gems.  Each of us had our own traditions that we wanted to live and share. We also all brought a greater understanding of food, how it is produced and how it can be enjoyed.

Italy, and southern Italy (I’m totally biased but after three months of WWOOFing in Campania, Puglia and Sicily, I think it’s justified) is definitely a great place to develop this.  One thing I was struck by was the vibrant food culture, and how appropriate the Slow Food Movement is to Italy.  There are so many recipes that are particular to seasons and regions and families.  We discovered the ferocity of the secret recipes after roasting kilos of chestnuts to find out they hadn’t given us the right quantities.

But Christmas time at Irene’s was different.  Her mother worked so hard and produced this incredible meals that seemed to last for days.  One of the dishes I particularly remember is this amazing salad, insalata di rinforzo, with lots of different vegetables that are pickled over the autumn and then eaten at Christmas.  I love the flavours, colours, textures and also the concept.  Impossible to reproduce because the varieties of peppers and olives are from Naples.

This plus many more pieces inspired me to set about imbuing my next Christmas with more meaning.   I decided I would set about preserving something seasonal for every month of the year to then be eaten at Christmas.  What follows are the tales of that adventure.

As I explained in my last post, I’ve just moved to Brighton.  In London our home was  brimming with food: growing in the garden, wholesale bulk deliveries of it, regular fruit and veg box deliveries.  We cooked it together, we ate it together.  It was pretty sorted and all shared.  An amazing home-share.

Now, I’ve moved in a house share, where I’m not sure who is in the house at any one time.  When shown round the house, it was explained to me that we each had a separate shelf in the fridge and cupboard.  A whole new world.

Slowly, I’ve been building up a bit of a pantry.  I had to make the immediate purchase of cereal, and then spent a few more days gathering the ingredients so that I could start baking bread again.  It is so satisfying to make bread and to fill the house with the smell of intention, intention to make people content.  I loved that first loaf so much I had three slices still warm with butter and home-made elderberry and blackberry jam. Since then my cupboard has been filling but the fridge was been pretty bare.  Till yesterday.

Yesterday, I went to go and volunteer at the local farm that runs a fruit and veg box scheme.  I took the train to Lewes, and then took the picturesque bus route out to Barcombe.   From there my journey involved a fair amount of just ambling along country lanes, and random encounters with people walking along them.  But I arrived at Barcombe Nurseries content to be there and ready to work.

And work we did.  We harvested two sections of turnips, trimmed them, bagged them and hauled them to the pack shed.  (So many in fact that we were asked if we had much more to bring in because it was blocking up the packing shed.)  Meanwhile, Jefferson was trying to devise a way to burn the weedlings.  Part way through we were called for a much-welcomed coffee break.  Fresh coffee and biscuits enjoyed on up-ended crates in the sun.  Adrian, the owner, had just come back from a trip to the Netherlands, checking out others farms, so he had brought amazing waffles.  We discussed his findings, including horse-drawn ploughing, a bike trailer built 150 years ago to transport milk churns and the pros and cons of horses vs mules.

We returned to the turnips and got the section cleared up.  Some of the turnips were so large we couldn’t get them out through the holes.  Just before lunch we had a change: hoeing the beetroot seedlings.

Lunch was a bountiful spaghetti with fresh pesto and vegetables, plus salad.  Then meringues, berries and cream.  We munched contentedly and prepared ourselves for heading back to the field.  We continued with a bit more hoeing.  And then got on with preparing the land for transplanting.

Now, I’ve done my fair share of transplanting.  I’ve shown many people how to do it.  But this was a first for me.  Transplanting using a tractor.  Two of us, Luke and I, were seated at the back, in front of two wheels, into which we placed the kale seedlings and two points on the wheel.  The machine made the farrow, placed the seedling, and pushed the soil over it.  Planted.  Success.  Such mesmerising and efficient work.  We had done sections of the stuff before we even knew it.

Then came the obvious pause in the planting in order to weed and rotavate the section the turnips had been.  I know!  Rotavate.  Ach well.  Adrian asked me if I wanted to.  I declined.  But soon thereafter I found myself seated on top of the bloody tractor, driving Jefferson and Adrian while they were doing the transplanting!  I was not expecting yesterday to be the day that I drive a tractor for the first time.  Anyway, I did better than the last person who went straight through the fence!

The day was amazingly rewarding.  I loved being out in the fields working on a market garden that grows a massive array of veg and fruit for its box scheme.  I enjoyed the chat, being out in the sun and being challenged with learning new stuff.  And at the end of it, I found a box with my name written on it.  Now, I can tell you it was a pretty hearty box, as I had to carry it all the way from the station.  So I have my weeks worth of fruit and veg.  I know where on the farm most of that stuff has been grown and my fridge shelf is now looking bountiful.

Plus, all of this sets me up on my next project… localising my food.  I won’t be eating a totally local food diet, like some of my fellow Brightonians but I do want to explore local food here in Sussex.  I want to meet producers, find out about local ingredients and produce, unique recipes.  Basically find the makings of a Slow Food Convivium here. And I’ll be delighted if a veg box from Barcombe makes it on my shelf every week.  Next week, I’m aiming to go to Ashurst, another local scheme, and to keep on survey my food.