Jack-in-the-Box

I have a new home!

Yes, it’s a horse box. A gurt big wooden horse box. It’s been a home for almost four years and now, after a five-month wait, it’s my home.

I’ve been in here for almost two weeks and I have four or five times the indoor space that I had in the Pea, plus a huge covered area outside. I definitely feel like I’m going up in the world!

Having a kitchen with running water is a huge bonus. What am I talking about? Having even just a kitchen is amazing!

Kitchen

Lounge and bedroom

The fact that the roof and walls are insulated means that the horse box actually holds the heat, whereas Princess Pea had no insulation at all. The wood burner is big enough to hold whole logs although I do still need to get the hang of it. I seem to either be freezing or boiling, this is not helped by the fact that I managed to snap my indoor thermometer on the first night and now have no idea that the heat is creeping up until it’s too late. I also keep burning myself on the door, which is a bit silly of me.

 

I didn’t think that I would be so excited about having my sofa back. My family have had it since I was small and it’s still the comfiest sofa I’ve ever been on. The combination of the extra space and somewhere snuggly to sit mean that I can now have guests. I can even have more than one at a time! We’ve had tea and biscuits, watched films, drunk wine, and I’ve even had a friend from London stay for the weekend (lovely to see you Clare!). And there are still more to come. All in my home. You can’t imagine how good that feels.

Someone appreciates the sofa

 

There will be a few bits and bobs that I will change over time (the first being the urgent addition of a cat flap) and things that I will have to get used to. In the meantime I’m looking forward to the next part of my adventure…

I just wish the pigeon on the roof would leave me alone. 

The bed in the horse box is raised above the cab of the truck. This means that the roof is only a few feet above my head. The large flat roof evidently makes a nice safe area for a large woodpigeon to pad about on and play with acorns. Over the past couple of weeks I have been woken just after sunrise, on a number of occasions, by tiny feet padding across the roof above my head. And acorns. More bloody acorns. Dropped by the pigeon as it tries to eat them. Above my head. Early in the morning. 

Pigeon, stop it. Or your days are numbered...

A tiny hut on chicken legs?

In Russian folklore, Baba Yaga (pronounced ee-ga) is a sorceress who lives in a tiny hut on chicken legs. She lives deep in the forest and whizzes around in a flying pestle and mortar. Sometimes she acts benevolently. More often she roasts children over the fire and has them for supper.

Baba Yaga's hut is so small that she can lie on her stove (Russian stoves are encased in huge brick chimneys) and reach any part of her hut without moving. It is for this reason that I occasionally chuckle and remind myself of Baba Yaga. Not because I ever fancy roast children for tea.

Baba Yaga by the Hermitage

Although not elevated on chicken legs, Princess Pea is tiny. I can reach most of what I want from my bed and one log too many on the stove sends the temperature soaring. I have to be organised. Boots come off at the door religiously, otherwise I find grit in the bed. I have to be very tidy, not something that comes naturally to me, otherwise I can't find anything at all. And I am constantly losing things. All the time. It takes so little to create clutter, and the storage spaces are so small, that it becomes impossible to find anything.

 The space inside Princess Pea

But the good news is - I'm moving. Imminently!

I'll still be at Hillcrest though. I'm only moving a few metres across the yard. I won't be living in a caravan anymore. I won't be living in a house.  I'm not going to tell you where I'm going to be living until I get there (some of you know already!) but suffice to say, I'm very excited!

It won't be a tiny hut on chicken legs either. Although I did buy a pestle and mortar the other day...

A tasty treat for Bonfire Night

Happy Bonfire Night! Here comes a recipe for Pinnebrød, a slightly sweet Scandinavian twist bread cooked on a stick over the fire.

On Saturday, I ran a Bonfire Family Firelighting day at the Wild Place Project in Bristol. Ten families came to the woods to learn all about lighting fires and how to involve children safely. The afternoon was spent toasting and roasting various foods over the fire. Pinnebrød was a favourite for both adults and children alike.

The recipe I used was from Signe Johansen's Scandilicious Baking (warning: that book is full of tasty treats). I've simplified it slightly and my method is a little more slapdash than the original!

Pinnebrød

Ingredients:

290ml whole milk

50g butter

1 tbsp treacle

500g plain flour* 

1 ½ tsp sea salt

7g fast action dried yeast

1 medium egg, beaten

(*the original recipe calls for 400g spelt flour and 100g rye flour ... but those aren't usually kicking around in the kitchen!) 

Method:

• Melt the butter and treacle then add enough milk to make it 'blood temperature' (stick your finger in it until it feels neither hot nor cold. Don't scald yourself).

• Add the beaten egg.

• Sieve all the dry ingredients together in a bowl and make a well in the centre.

• Mix in the warm wet ingredients and add as much of the remaining cold milk as you need to make a slightly sticky dough.

• Knead for five minutes.

• Either leave somewhere warm to rise for about an hour, or shove it in a big food bag and pop it in your rucksack while you go out to the woods (or garden) and get your fire sorted.

• To cook, find a suitable stick and then make long thin sausages from the dough and wrap them in a spiral along one half of the stick, pinching the ends to secure them.

• Hold your stick above the embers of the fire and cook until the dough is light brown and feels firm to the touch.

• Eat it as it is, dipped in jam or rolled in sugar.

Happy Bonfire Night!

The wind that shakes the Pea

I've just lit the wood burner in the caravan which is now full of smoke due to an ill-timed gust of wind. And, truth be told, this blustery weather is getting to me.

Last Sunday evening, the cat and I spent the night on the sofa bed in the main house in preparation for the storm that completely missed us. I awoke on Monday morning with a slightly sore back, some interesting insect bites and a grumpy feline friend who was annoyed at being kept in all night.

Thankfully, the expected destruction hadn't arrived and all of our trees and buildings were pretty much as they were the night before, with only our red acer looking a whole lot more naked than it had been, having had most of its beautiful red leaves blown away.

 

Fast-forward to Saturday, and after a few calm days, the forecast was once again for gales. With 40 adults and children scheduled to join me in the woods at the Wild Place Project for a day of family firelighting, I was concerned as this is the only weather that makes the woods a dangerous place to be. Thankfully, the scheduled midday tempest arrived three hours late and gusts of 46 mph prompted the evacuation of the woods (for only the second time ever, the first being due to a swarm of hornets last summer). The rain began just as the last guests said goodbye and I left with the feeling that perhaps the weather was on my side.

An hour later, after a long detour in lashing rain due to the closure of the Severn Crossing and a gusty drive along the M4, I wasn't so sure. Once home, I managed to get the burner going quickly and Princess Pea seemed to be a cosy place to watch a film before a well-earned sleep.

The wind had other ideas.

I've mentioned before that listening to the movement of the trees can foretell a change in the weather and how loud it can sound when inside a caravan. When it's windy, the clamour is particularly pronounced. The dull roar of the constant wind somewhat resembles an aeroplane, a low-pitched, continual rumble. The Doppler effect of each gust can be heard before it arrives as it crashes through adjacent treetops, increasing in volume and frequency until it hits with a crashing crescendo, shaking the caravan and then dying down only to be repeated moments later. As Princess Pea is in a fairly sheltered spot, not all of the gusts hit their mark and quite often I found myself getting ready for the impact only for it to wail past the window, heading on to other targets.

Sleep isn't easy in a caravan that is violently shaken at irregular moments and when I finally opened my eyes for the last time this morning, I couldn't help feeling a little bit grumpy. The wind was still howling and shaking and my heart sank at the thought of another 24 hours of tempestuous weather, particularly as the ivy has grown sufficiently to recommence tapping against my window.

As I write, there is a gentle breeze and the forecast is calm for the rest of the day but gusty overnight. Will I ever become used to the sounds and shaking of the wind or will I occasionally be sleep-deprived and slightly grumpy? Time will tell, but for now, I'm enjoying the calm before yet another storm.