Hunter-Gatherer

The Spa Break back in February may have tapped into my inner cave woman instincts. Whilst defrosting the freezer so that I could access whatever had been entombed by my lack of interest in such domestic activity, I found some mummified beasties whose lives I did not wish to waste. Not sure who supplied them and apologies to any vegetarians but they were already dead when I got them.

A clear bag with what I thought was probably pheasant, got defrosted and popped in the slow cooker. 3 mackerel were fried in butter while the slo-cooking progressed. The delicious smell of the stew was immediately overwhelmed by the horrendous smell of the fish. No one would come in the kitchen and it took a long time for the very bad smells to evaporate out the window.

Not looking too braw

If there was to be any hope of these fish getting eaten, I had to get rid of the smell and the carcasses.
Meanwhile the stew continued to smell lovely. As I was removing all the pheasant bones (Identifiable bones were likely to deter consumption of the stew) it became fairly obvious that this was not a bird, but something with a different set of haunches and joints. Like an Easter bunny. They had been quite accepting of a potential pheasant for their dinner - but would they cope with a rabbit? I waited until everyone had declared it to be a very tasty stew before I broke the news. Amazingly, the general consensus was that if you’re going to eat meat, it’s better to eat meat that’s had a good life and a short journey to the plate. This rule did not extend to the fish, as even I couldn’t stomach it. Sorry mackerel. It’s a good, meaty, oily fish and fits well with a healthy diet, but either it needs to be fresher, or I need to learn to cook it better.
The 2nd day, leftover stew was going down well until Meg suddenly spluttered and a mouthful dropped onto her plate. Oops. An identifiable bone. Finn thought this was hilarious until a moment later he dropped a mouthful onto his plate - buckshot.
And there endeth the rabbit stew.

They may become vegetarians yet.
Meg and I have more in common than she cares to believe. Both of us are interested in experimenting and learning new skills. Hers today, is to learn how to make a sourdough starter. Having put the kitchen in order (again) she was searching for the kitchen scales. Unfortunately I had procured them on what I hoped would be a more palatable and nutritious lunch for my family.

Having spent some time digging up matured horse manure for my other growing attempts, I’d seen that there were a lot of young nettles growing in the poop. My mum made nettle soup for us once. I’m understanding the ‘once’ part of that statement now.
400g nettle leaves. The above is the scales with no nettles.

Note how little impact nettles make on a set of scales. Meanwhile Meg is clattering through the cupboards looking for the scales…..she did not believe her dad when he said I’d taken them to weigh nettles.

Between checking for caterpillars, (it’s not easy to keep on the right side of vegetarian - and there’s the added worry of taking away the nurturing plants of butterflies. Do not kid yourself good people - it’s a moral minefield,) and washing and stripping the leaves off the woody stems (lessening the weight even more!!!!) it was an extremely time consuming effort. Thus probably confirming why mum only made it once.

The vegan test failed when I added cream and butter - well, I had to have the best chance of them eating it.

Which they did. Yippee.

A strongly missing element in my life is Running Girl. I know she is running and cycling for her allowed excercise and there are flashes as she passes by on the road. But there are other signs.
Her garden borders onto our shared Banavie Hill. On one of my slow wanders I came upon some shallow holes in the ground with no characteristic animal scrapings.

There were lots of these holes or gaps. Inexplicable until I found the construction….

This is new!! And it smacks of RG.

Freshly cut Whin bushes placed over muddy sections of her favoured route over the hill.

Final confirmation. Doubling up to ensure dry feet and creating a potential, de-stressing plunge pool which has deepened after the Stone Beaver has clearly spent ages creating a dam like structure - this was previously a few stones you could wobble on to get across the burn.
She has been here. And you know she has been happy. There are many elements of isolation that suit the rare and naturally shy Lesser Spotted Stone Beaver.