Category: health

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Rain, sewing, recovery

The wet non-summer continues with rain and chilly temperatures closer to autumn.

A gap between the rain showers

We’ve had rain just about every day for months now, and I can’t help watching the blazing summer and terrible droughts and water shortages across the rest of the UK and Europe in despair. Whilst we’re drowning. There has to be a better way to share this. Somehow.

Incoming

Whilst I recover from my operation I’ve been reading books, pottering in the polycrub (which at least provides shelter from the rain) and sewing.

Rainy days

I had a sashiko panel and some threads tucked away in my sewing bag from when we first moved here, so I’ve spent many happy, peaceful hours sewing away.

Sashiko panel

Sashiko is just a running stitch, so it’s repetitive and soothing to do. I’ve finished the main panel now, but need to sew a border and frame to complete it, and to do that I’ll need until we’re in the house and the boxes are unpacked. I’ve got material and a sewing machine in storage that will finish this nicely. This was a progress photo from last week. For now I’ll just pack it away.

Nearly done

The floorboard laying will finish upstairs in the house today, and husband is installing the back-boxes for the sockets in the kitchen this week, so although there’s not much to see, progress still continues. We’re getting there!

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Taking it easy

Taking it easy isn’t easy for someone like me. I get bored quickly, and convince myself that as long as I do things slowly or gently that they’re no effort. How wrong I’ve been.

Harvested onions

Junior Gardener has returned to Manchester now, so I’m on my own. Husband is busy with the house build and I don’t like to bother him with small things that distract him from his main priority, finishing the house!

I was told not to, but I pulled the flowering onions from the croft beds a few days ago. There were only a few dozen of them, and they came out of the soil easily. I didn’t feel that I had strained myself or exerted any real effort. I carried them through to the polycrub to dry and thought no more of it. I felt a bit tired afterwards, but that was it.

However, I was wrong. It did cause problems, and I’m now sitting with my legs up wishing that I wasn’t so stupid. I’m only two weeks into my recuperation, and the effort was too much too soon for my still traumatised body. Stupid, stupid.

I’ve learned my lesson, and won’t be doing any more gardening for a while yet.

I only hope that I haven’t caused complications with my recovery. What I should do is use the wonderful aromatherapy gift that a good friend sent to try and calm my thoughts and stop building “to-do lists” in my mind, and instead focus on relaxing and healing. She knows me better than I know myself.

I will also have to content myself with nothing more than gentle walks and wearing outrageous leggings for amusement. It’s about the level of what’s possible for me right now, and what passes for entertainment in these parts.

Flowery hedgehog leggings

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Home and healing

I’m home now in the caravan, and starting the process of healing.

There’s immeasurable comfort in being at home in your own environment when you’re ill. The warmth and familiar feel of your own bed. The support of your loved ones around you. The now familiar views across the croft to the sea and over to the mountains of Knoydart.

The croft

Husband is heroically administering my daily stomach injections. I tried, but simply couldn’t bring myself to self inject – all respect to those that can and have to do this every day. The injections are blood thinners which have to be administered for a week following the operation whilst I’m not as mobile as I would normally be.

Evil injections

I potter about happily as often as I can to keep everything moving between periods of rest, legs up on the bed. I’m not allowed any strenuous activity or lifting whilst my body repairs itself .

I learned the hard way that post operative fatigue is a real thing early on in this process. Stupidly, a few days after getting home I decided that I could sit on a chair and just gently hold a garden hose to water the polycrub plants. It weighed almost nothing, and I wasn’t standing up.

After a few minutes the strain of holding up even something that light started to tell. I rapidly retired back to bed. Since then I’ve been much more sensible and husband takes the strain.

Each day I feel a little more like myself. I’m healing well even though it’s still early days.

Flowers from friends

Friends, family and neighbours have been wonderful, sending messages of comfort and cards, flowers, food and treats. Good friends made dinner for us one evening and drove it over to us. I’m feeling quite overwhelmed at all the kindness.

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Slight deviation from plan

Health is one of those things that we take for granted when we’re young. And because in my mind I’m still probably 29, even though I’m approaching 60, I’m always taken by surprise when it lets me down.

I’ve had to have a hysterectomy, and as I lie here recovering from the operation I know that this definitely wasn’t on the build plan.

Recovery from any type of illness in a caravan is going to be a challenge, but recovery from something that means that you can’t lift, stand too long, or strain in any way is a big one. If ever I wish that we had been in the house already, it’s now. But we’re not, and so we will make the best of it.

I’m grateful that the operation went well, with huge thanks to the doctors and nurses at the hospital in Inverness. Thank goodness for the professionalism of the NHS who have treated and cared for me brilliantly. And I’m very grateful for the love and care of my fabulous husband, family and friends, who have surrounded me with love since my discharge.

As I lie here in the glory of a pair of surgical stockings, looking ruefully at the stomach injections we will have to do later today, I reflect that many people have it worse. At least I have pain relief, a comfy bed, enough to eat and a strong and caring partner. I honestly don’t know how people who are alone or in less comfortable surroundings would get through this.

We will be in the house soon. It feels close enough to be a reality now, so close that I can almost touch it. One thing that the last few years have taught me for certain is that I will never take good health for granted again.

There’s nothing more guaranteed to impact life, let alone a build plan.

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Peachy galette

I’m not the most organised of cooks. I often get a sweet craving come over me and I’ll be tempted to make a dessert, but will have to improvise with what I have in the cupboard or fridge.

Our restricted storage capacity in the caravan fridge is probably what’s keeping me alive and avoiding a massively early death through my over-consumption of sweet things.

Because if I had all possible ingredients to hand I’d probably make a dessert every evening. Which is not good. Note to self: the pantry you’re building may not be such a good idea for the remains of your waistline… Fill it with beans and pickles, woman, if you value your life…

As the clock ticked around to about 4pm today I started thinking about supper, and I really fancied something sweet.

I found a punnet of rather hard peaches and a roll of ready made puff pastry lurking in a dark recess of the fridge. They were behind the bags of kale and chard, which glowed with health and reproachment. I also just happened to have a tub of mascarpone left over from some previous excess. I could make a peach galette!

Peach galette. No judging please..

In the UK, and especially here in Scotland, we don’t have the tradition of peach pies that I often see in the United States. Peaches are a rather exotic, imported fruit here (which I am determined to grow in my polytunnel one day. We must be independent in good fruit. But I digress).

A galette is a rather pretentious name for a slab of pastry, crimped up around the edges of creamy mascarpone egg custard and a pile of sugared, sliced peaches. It sounds so much more exotic than it actually is. It’s raggedy and rustic and delicious.

I couldn’t be bothered with forming a proper pie today anyway. Rough edges and random piles of fruit seemed like a perfect idea. I can do piling and sugaring, I thought.

Nay problem.

The remains..

And so I did. And so we followed a healthy stir fry with a crusty, cinnamon scented, custardy, sweet peach galette.

It gladdened the heart. Which compensates for the expansion of the waistline, I’m almost sure…

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Summer eating

This is the season for eating from the croft, and the fresh produce is now coming in with abundance, even from the handful of small grow beds that we have. We are enjoying lettuce, kale, new potatoes, purple sprouting broccoli, chard, onions, peas and fresh herbs.

I’m being challenged to find new ways of serving this bounty, as we can’t store or freeze any produce this season.

This is whipped feta with roasted beetroot, toasted almonds, orange zest, chopped mint and parsley.

I was so excited to try our first baby beets from the croft that I made this dish up specifically to try them. It’s adapted from one that I found that uses goats cheese.

Scooped up with oat biscuits, it was a light nibble to eat before a main meal with friends, but would easily make a lunch on its own. This will become a summer staple, I think, and I’ve resolved to definitely grow more beetroots next year!

Young onions from the croft

Tonight, kale and purple sprouting broccoli from the croft were the central vegetables in our meal. They were lightly sautéed with garlic, sesame, spring onions, lime, a bit of leftover chicken, and noodles.

Uncle Bert’s kale

Lots of potatoes… cold potato salad, fried potatoes, garlic potatoes, mash here we come!

3kg potatoes dug up this morning
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Chunky living

One of the things that having no kitchen tools here in the caravan has meant is that we don’t “process” any foods. This simply means that nothing we eat is smooth. Everything is chunky.

For example, when I make a vegetable soup, which I often used to blend to a silky puree with a stick blender or food processor, I now leave it au naturel. I’ve got quite attached to real chunks of vegetables in my soup rather than a blended uniformity.

Hummus

The same is true for hummus. I often make this by hand because it’s cheaper and I think much more delicious than shop bought. I can control exactly what goes into it. I add tahini, lemon zest, garlic, fresh parsley and good olive oil.

However, I’ve been used to zapping it up in the food processor to the usual smooth slurry we’re all used to seeing in the deli counter tubs.

Now I’m having to hand-crush chickpeas with a fork, an undertaking not for the faint hearted or weak of thumb. It creates a rustic, very chunky hummus, which was a bit of a shock to the system to start with, but which I actually now prefer.

So, once we are in the house, with a real kitchen with appliances once again, I shall remember these learnings.

We will keep to our chunky living. Life isn’t all smooth. We may as well enjoy it whilst we still have our own teeth 😊.

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Gaelic singers, fires and venison

Our first island Christmas.

Last night we attended an outdoor meal with friends around a fire, with local musicians and Gaelic singers. They sang traditional carols but also songs that we didn’t know, hauntingly beautiful in the open air and the darkness of the night.

It was a cold night but we honestly didn’t feel it. Such a lovely introduction to Christmas here.

We returned home smelling of woodsmoke and with heads full of new melodies and happy memories.

This morning, Christmas Day, and it was a day alone for us. The wind howled around the caravan and we sat in front of the fire with big socks on and shared a zoom call with the boys in Manchester.

We ate venison and drank red wine and enjoyed the feeling of peacefulness and nothing that we absolutely had to do.

It’s been a very unusal and quiet Christmas, but a good one for all that. It’s made us remember what’s important and has made us look forward to next year’s celebration with family (and a proper kitchen!) all the more.

Merry Christmas to you all. From the fireside of the caravan on the windswept hillside of the croft I’m sending you all good wishes for health and happiness, wherever you are.

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Eating our local deer

The news spread that the local village store had some estate venison for sale this week, so I hot-footed it over to see what was available.

I picked up a 500g pack of diced venison (no haunch of venison for us as we have no way of roasting it right now 😕) and decided to make a venison ragu for dinner in the slow cooker.

Deer are a problem here on the island. They no longer have any natural predators and as such their numbers are out of control. There is talk of reintroducing lynx to the Highlands after many hundreds of years of extinction through over hunting, but nothing has yet come of it because of farmers concerns for their sheep.

What there is in place is a selective culling programme across most estates, and when that happens Clan Venison appears in the local outlets.

It’s cheaper than Highland beef, totally free range and organic, almost fat-free and very tasty. And every deer we eat is one less to eat our baby trees when we plant them next year. What’s not to love?

I cooked the venison with red wine, red onions, chopped tomatoes, peppers, garlic, juniper berries and a sloosh of balsamic vinegar. Four hours in the slow cooker. I forgot to add the chestnut mushrooms that I’d bought.

Divine.

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Everything oatmeal

Many years ago, after my first trip to the now famous Three Chimneys Restaurant on Skye, which was run in those days by Shirley Spear, I bought the cookbook of the same name.

It was a beautiful thing. Full of generous recipes from the restaurant and home, scattered with anecdotes of local life on the island. It’s now sadly out of print, although I still have a treasured copy in my boxes ready to be resurrected once I have my cookbook shelves up and running in the new house.

Many of the recipes have become firm favourites when I can get the ingredients, such as Bracadale crab tart and Shirley’s legendary marmalade sponge pudding.

The one that is the simplest of them all, and in many ways the most satisfying, is Skirlie.

There are many derivations of Skirlie in Scotland as it’s an old, traditional food. Shirleys version is simply oatmeal fried with finely chopped onions, butter, seasoning and parsley or chopped chives. In this version it’s shaped into balls and roasted around a chicken like stuffing to add a savoury, crunchy, filling addition to your roast meat.

The first time I ate it I loved it. It was a revelation in its simplicity and its nutty, savoury taste.

I’ve also discovered an interesting blog site called Cailleachs Herbarium which gives the recipe for a fermented oatmeal called Sowans.

This is another ancient recipe, I suspect not produced or eaten very much these days.

With today’s interest in probiotic foods I’m surprised that this homegrown, traditional Scottish version hasn’t become more known. Sowans is similar in its use of live cultures to the yoghurt probiotic drinks that we buy that cost a small fortune.

Maybe with the popularity of oat milk and the known health benefits of probiotic, fermented foods this will come back into fashion?

With husband a lover of ayran, I’m definitely going to give this a try.