More from the farm

Being a born and bred townie, visits to my cousin on the farm provided me with a completely different view of life.  Yes, farming was hard work - or it certainly could be - but there were compensations.  But for me the novelty of doing anything around the farm provided relaxation and refreshment.  It was no hardship to accompany Julian and help lay out the silage for the cattle and deer, even if it was tipping down with rain.  Which reminds me of another meal time.

It was my elder son's birthday - just which one I have no idea and it really doesn't matter.  Lisa always let the children choose the menu for their birthday dinner and my son had chosen baked Alaska for dessert.  Now this was not a dish with which Lisa was familiar but the Old Bat knew it well and was able to tell Lisa how to prepare it.  For any who don't know it, baked Alaska (or Norwegian omelette as the French call it) is a sponge cake base topped with fruit (blackberries are my favourite with their strong flavour), covered with ice cream and then meringue, which needs cooking.  The dish is served hot with the ice cream just beginning to melt under the meringue.  It's beyond my capabilities but I'm told it's not particularly difficult.  However, Lisa was cooking it for the first time and was understandably a little nervous.

We had just finished the first course when the phone rang.  It was to say that cows had broken through a fence and were enjoying eating the shrubs in somebody's garden.  Of course, it was by then dark and raining hard but there was nothing for it:  Julian and I took torches and fencing tools and I rode illegally on the back of the tractor as we went to round up the beasts and repair the fence.

The baked Alaska was a great success.  Two portions had been put in the freezer and Julian and I did eventually get to enjoy them - cold.

 In those early days everything on the farm had to be done by hand: milking the two cows, skimming the milk for the creamy top to churn into butter.  There was little money and things had to be built up gradually, with the farm first always.  So, bringing back memories for me, here are two pictures from almost 30 years ago.  First, Julian milking, and then just to prove that even at 7 my daughter was unafraid of cows.