Valentine's Day started with a creative flurry at Dove Farm. With it being half-term, me and the kids had got busy doing all sorts of craft-type things, including these valentine's hearts.
I think we were all mightily impressed with these little clay hearts - we poured left-over clay into a heart shaped ice-cube tray, and then went mad with candy colours, sequins, beads and glitter. Fab!
Even Joshua (middle offspring) is persuaded by his sisters, to decorate one for a particular young lady, we knew would be sending him a valentine's gift. Sure enough, her mum drove her down to the farm at 11.00 am. so she could run across the yard and push an envelope into my hand," to pass on to Josh".
If only he appreciated such lavish female attentions....aah, I feel a sense of forboding as I look ahead to the broken hearts and anguish that must surely come, as our little brood grows up to the ruthless and uncomfortably public, popularity contest, that is thinly veiled as 'Valentine's Day.'
husband Henry and I spent a pretty busy day. Henry being occupied with builders, finishing the roof on our new porch/utility room, whilst I went swimming with kids and called in on a few people, including nanna and grandad, who were also lucky enough to receive one of our hand-crafted hearts!
It was when we finally sat down to our valentine's supper, that things went a bit wrong.
One of our chickens was killed by a dog yesterday evening. (That's another story, for another blog) but anyway, I decided to take the practical self-sufficient approach - and prepared the bird for the pot within the hour, and had it in a casserole on a low heat for the rest of the evening.
This was quite a difficult undertaking for me, with it being a pet chicken and all - and also highly inconvenient on a wednesday night, with a million other things all waiting to be done.
So now, I was hoping to serve up some kind of gastronomic, hearty yet ethical delight, in true 'River cottage' style http://www.rivercottage.net/ but husband Henry, (who only eats white chicken breast at the best of times) pushes a few veg round the plate and that's it. Needless to say, I was annoyed. (please read this as under-statement in its purest form.) I leave the table and nearly leave home, and that's it really - and we would all have been emotionally better nourished if I had wasted raw chicken, instead of wasting it cooked, with the addition of many other ingredients. There has to be a moral in there somewhere. I'll try to think what it is... http://www.dovefarm.co.uk/
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