on cider

Here are the CDs one listens to while chopping 100 kilos of apples: Led Zepplin. Bob Dylan (blonde on blonde), Burning Spear, The White Stripes (elephant), Neil Young (harvest moon). Jethro Tull is scratched, but Nina Simone (the best of) is in tip top shape and nothing says only forty kilos to go like The Kinks.

And if you find yourself with 100 kilos of chopped apples and no motorized apple grinder, just substitute a hand-powered meat grinder instead. After a mere six hours of turning the handle, you'll have a healthy (sterilized) barrel full of apple mush, ready for the presser.

Cider-making is a three person job. One person to chop the apples, one person to feed the apples into the meat grinder, and one person to turn the handle. Alternatively: one person to chop the apples, feed them into the meat grinder, and turn the handle; one person to pace the room and try to remember the English word for "ridiculous fool"; and one person to accuse the other person of standing around "like a bloody pudding."

And should the atmosphere in the cider-making room grow too much for you, well, Gus says to tell you that those sticks aren't going to throw themselves.

so far on the farm

We'll skip the part about how amazing it is that I arrived at all, given right turns instead of left turns and tickets I didn't know where to buy and the wrong bus and the random snowstorm. Not to mention my total lack of communication skills.

The farm has two long low buildings with windows on the South side only, and red-tiled rooves. There are: six pigs, four goats (note: did you know that having horns is a genetic condition that is unrelated to gender? Some girl goats have horns and some boy goats don't. The girl goat, Clover, who has taken an unusual liking to me has horns.), one million stinky ducks, three geese (the meanest animals on the farm), three rescue chickens, two cats, one dog named Gus whose raison d'etre is chasing sticks (don't be alarmed if upon seeing you Gus rudely runs in the other direction; he is just frantically looking for his stick so you can throw it) and one dog whom I will hereafter refer to as Natty Dred Rat Dog, who is evidently such a terror that he must be kept chained at all times. Natty Dred Rat Dog and I took a walk this afternoon. I think I'm going to be great friends with the farm animals, except the geese. And the ducks.

Also: one long dank (and empty) wine cellar, one attic full of smoked ham hocks. One electric fence in need of mending. Ten kilos of apples in need of pressing.

I anticipate a lot of long walks in the countryside, and a lot of cutting apples. Some soup a la chicken claw, and lots of boiled eggs.