I'm trying out that term, food sovereignty. What do you think? I saw it on someone else's blog, referring to self-sufficiency, or what i have called vendor independence.
But that's not what this post is about.
Yesterday, i wishfully predicted that we might have a fully hunted and foraged dinner last night.
Not so much.
We did go fishing, and while we were there, we ate store-bought fried chicken and cheese flavored Munchies. I'm a little embarrassed, honestly. But it all worked out for the best because neither of us caught anything all night, AND i lost my tackle (lures, weights, hooks) twice to some giant monster under the sea (tire, log, really big sedentary fish). And then, after i had given up - because we were out of things for me to attach to my line - James' line somehow mysteriously got all turned into a bird's nest on his reel, and we gave up and went home....fishless. Then we just went to bed.
Today, i knew i had to fix my smilax before it became wilted and unappetizing. So, i took this beautiful bunch of smilax...
I cut off the largest leaves, cut the shoots into smaller pieces, cooked it very briefly in butter.....
And it turned into this very disappointing-looking pile of greens. So we didn't exactly have it with lunch - we more nibbled at it before lunch. The good news is that the skeptical hubby says the grass isn't too bad, so if i can manage to harvest enough to make it worthwhile, we can have it with dinner sometime. Groovy.
But before we had lunch, we had a minor triumph in rabbit rearing. A helpful (this time, at least) friend called this morning and said that someone was selling rabbits at the feed store in town. I've told you of our slow-seated movement toward getting a buck to get these rabbits to work fulfilling their destiny.
So we lit a small but mildly effective fire under our seats and went to town to check it out.
And we came home with Oliver.
Isn't he darling? I know it looks a little like he's glaring at the camera, but he's actually a very lovable fella. He lets me pick him up and carry him around, and he doesn't try to scratch my guts out or anything. This, along with the seller's obvious comfort with handling her rabbits, gave me new courage with my does, Dolly, Polly, and Molly, and after i got home, i picked up each one of them and held them whether they liked it or not. AND none of them made me bleed!
Oliver's not quite ready to help the ollies fulfill their destiny. He's a little young. The seller also showed us exactly how to tell when he's ready. Very interesting (insert surprised eyes here). So it will still be a little while before we're on the road to baby bunnies, but at least we're on the inlet to the road. This morning, we were just sitting in the ditch, watching the traffic pass us by.
For those of you who are interested - if any of you are interested in the breeds of the rabbits on my picnic table - while we had planned to get a Californian buck, Oliver is a Californian/Flemish Giant cross. This might indicate that his babies will get bigger faster. We shall see. But he's cute either way.
Those were my small triumphs in rabbit rearing.