Wednesday, 2 October 2013

A tale of three little pigs

Over the years we've lived in West Dorset, we've very often come home from a day out to find a pheasant or two hanging from the front door knob or a couple of freshly gutted rabbits lying on the step.

Bags of beans, courgettes, apples, plants, jars of produce - what goes around comes around. A case of share and share alike.

In our Greek village it's no different, even though we're still new here and the economic crisis is biting hard. We're given bags of produce, eggs, fruit, grapevines and cactus plants. We've been treated like royalty at the panygyri, with food and wine brought to us on plate after plate. A fight's almost broken out in the plateia over who's going to be the first to buy us an ouzo.
The generosity of our neighbours at home and abroad never ceases to amaze me. That's the way of village life, although there are those who insist you reap what you sow. It's about leading a simple life and doing as you would be done by.

Over the past year, we've been saving our food scraps and vegetable peelings and leaving them out for collection to feed the hens and the three pigs.
We've had bags of eggs left on the front door on a regular basis.
Our garden's been rotavated. 
We've had bags of vegetables left in the porch, we've had our trees cut, been given pruning advice and had cheery waves and toots of horns every time we venture outside the house.

This week's been no exception. Two great slabs of lean pork, ten thick chops and a dozen big slices of belly pork were delivered with a fag-in-the-mouth smile to our door.
My sister-in-law, who is staying with us, is not too fond of pork so we've put it in the freezer.

And then we have an invitation to supper next door. It's only a pig's head sizzling away in the pizza oven.
I'm not sure about it myself. I'm a farmer's daughter but, every now and then, a bit squeamish. However, it's a darn sight better than something pale and anonymous and shrinked-wrapped in a supermarket chiller.  At least we know where it came from and it had a good life.

Still, with plenty of garlic and roast potatoes, a whole load of ribs and feta in the oven, we might just get away with it. Although maybe not.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x


  1. Been exploring your site, recommended by our contributing editor, and I would love to use this post in the next issue of the Woven Tale Press:
    If interested, please email me at referencing this post's URL.
    Thanks, Sandra

    1. Hi Sandra - I've emailed you. What a good idea, and thanks to Kelly for recommending the site.


Batten down those hatches, it's recycling day

It's blowing a hooley out there.  The wind is lashing against the windows and the dogs are play fighting in front of the Aga before...