As all those in touch with the zeitgeist will know, middle class foraging is where it's at. Yer man Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall seems to be leading the charge in front of the cameras (Husband loves the Bread book). At any rate, it's his fault that we've stripped the neighbour's crabapple tree, eye every passing shrub for signs of sloe, have filled a freezer drawer with blackberries and are planning to attack the rowan trees lining a military range. All because of Googling 'elderberry wine', for when one has an elder and Mum P unearths a carefully labelled demijohn (circa 1985), the signpost can't be missed.
Well, all things seem possible at 2.30am (not so much at 4.30am) when on burping duty . So crabapple jelly is slowly being processed (two days so far due to Reginald's required upright position and my subsequently having no spare hands). Elderberries have been picked by Husband, despite the best efforts of Toddler and pigeons to scoff the lot, and more located beyond the garden. Much like successfully growing runner beans, it's oddly exciting to be able to eat these things. It's sustainable, local and free. Might start eating insects next (Google again)! All in keeping with the Institute of Our Lady of Mercy's 2008 Act of Chapter 'Reverencing the earth and its people', which rang bells with me as it summarises the purpose of my meagre attempts at sustainable living.
I shall dare to mention that as well as using cloth nappies and wipes, I've printed off a template for making cloth sanitary towels with offcuts so that I don't have to buy more (previously had them shipped from Canada, although the UK market appears to have caught up these days). Apologies to any relations who may now wish to disown me! But if I manage to create a decent pad, then Days for Girls need them as a necessity, so no avoiding the issue. And on that note, this early morning ramble shall cease.