In a weak bid to imitate Hugh fernley Whitingstall and his river cottage culinary delights I have failed yet again. The locally picked damsons didnt make it to the demijohn. But I did discover some fine new materials to try in my desire to make fire by hand drill. Bowdrill I'm fine with, I have my favourites and my little secrets, but hand drill I havent fully mastered yet. I'm drying our some Mullions/Aarons rod that grows right outside the cabin gate and also some budlia from the top of the forest track to compare the the old favourite of elderberry. I have some clematice from some forest clearance in the spring but I think I'm going to have to find someone locally who has a band saw, splitting it has proved too wasteful for this precious commodity.
Anything electrical is not too much use to me as I hate the sound of the generator and our solar panels offer very little above email and an odd video in the evening, we don't get telly of course.
Owl calling. we were on the veranda the other evening listening to the owles hunting. Three of them I think. I began to imitate their hoot and was answered immediately, and twice got one to swoop over us looking for the source or a perch nearby. I'm going to practice this till I can call them. Just another thing to add to my list of the charms of this place.
We have a quite week ahead then a small explosion of activity with bushcraft/survival classes delivered twice a day for nearly two weeks.
I'm off now to the veg patch to see why a certain six toed creature has visited but eaten nothing.