Yesterday: Woke before dusk, worked 'til dark. Harvest and night market, slow days for money. Ate fresh sweet corn in the field.
Today: Woke before dusk, off to market. Slow day for busking, competition with some speakers and a cloudy, cold morning. Prize of the week: an antique Enterprise Sausage, Lard & Fruit Press, cast iron beauty. The apples are ripe in their trees, if I find time to restore the press, pick a few bushels of apples, get a carboy, yeast and airlock, I'll make cider. Yvonne had the idea of saving it for her wheat harvest next summer, as payment for anyone who comes out to help (as tradition has it).
Caitlin saved me her pig fat and it's been thawing in the downstairs sink... the smell was nauseating and I couldn't bring myself to render the fat back. Something about the shaved stubble on the skin. I plunked the 'flare' into a big silver bowl for rendering leaf lard, their slightly bloody mauled ends sticking into the air. I noticed some customers at the door on my way back up wanting to pay for a couple dozen eggs... their eyes unable to avoid the large carcass parts under my arm, and I chuckled to myself. After processing, the quality of the oil impressed me. I couldn't get it off.
Farming by day (and sometimes night), working on the Driftwood Quarterly in my moments between meals, banjo and sleep...
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