From Field to Frozen

The peas have all gone. Where there were stout little pods bulging with fat seeds across a many-acred field there is now only desolation. They came in the night, three huge machines eerily lit up by powerful arc beams, with smaller support vehicles around the periphery. And all night they toiled, and in the morning they left by the exit next to my house and trundled huge clods of earth all along the lane's surface. I slept through it all: ear plugs saw to that. But on a trip to the loo I watched them crawling up and down under a starry sky, chewing up the plants and spitting out what they didn't want. I remember the TV jingle from years ago: "Bird's Eye peas, sweet as the moment, sweet as the moment when the pod went POP!" And so I imagined Romanian workers cramped inside the machines carefully podding and placing the peas into little plastic bags ready for the freezer. It's a relief that they have gone. Such temptation for both Sasha and me, and as her obsession with them grew she grabbed great clumps of plant and pods and crammed them into her mouth at regular intervals on our walks. She ate far more than me.

The rape is being harvested too, and that's another relief because rotting rape plants are not pretty and they don't smell very nice. On our walk this afternoon we watched as another huge machine scythed through the last strip in a field along the lane, and we waited to see what would run out at the last minute. There were several hares in the devastated pea field this morning looking at a loose end, but nothing escaped the last of the rape as we looked on. I can still hear machines at work. The weather is perfect for all this harvesting.

Today I met a friend for lunch in a nearby pub, only she didn't turn up. And so I had a large glass of Sauvignon, lambs' liver and bacon with mashed potatoes and rich gravy, and the best sticky toffee pudding I've ever had. The food was on the OAP Monday-Thursday £8.95-for-2-courses lunch menu at the White Horse at Badingham. Pity Caroline went to the Queen's Head at Denington. She was quite distraught when we worked out what had happened, so we're going again next week. When I got home, on a whim and slightly inebriated, I let Sasha out into the garden and busied myself doing something else while watching what she did. No mad antics, no digging, no peeing. She just pottered about and enjoyed herself, and later she came into the garden room and sat at my feet while I finished my book. She's calmer and happier too, and came every time I called her. Another stage in our development. And such a relief, because keeping her on a tight rein was horrible for both of us. We've moved into another chapter. Turn the page.