Concrete fences and their charms

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Forgive the inadequate editing of this blog. The pics have appeared before the text,which was not the idea.  I have yet to master the intricacies of Blogger .

Detail of the variety of painted and unpainted concrete and metal railings property known in these parts as 'Blenheim Palace' in the background.

Part of our new wall, nearly finished, adjoining our neighbours' gates to the left: 'Buckingham Palace'. What were they thinking?

Our own gates with as yet unpaved drive

Old, maybe abandoned, property opposite Blenheim Palace. But they have a letter box.

Another immediate neighbour, 'Next Door', and part of their fence. Part of our property in the background.

'Blenheim Palace', one of our new neighbours with incomplete boundary wall.

Looking at the houses in this region tells me something about both the history of Poland and its economics. So many of the houses appear to be new builds, and many more have been and are being refurbished. Great care is taken these days defining property boundaries with a variety of fence and gate styles. These range from painted cast concrete fences, one section after another around the whole property, to a variety of communist era metal fences, quite pretty, which tend to be attached to older houses. Our own gate is from that period, and I am keeping it. But here we are bounteously surrounded by painted concrete that Henry says are made of pastry.  

'Next Door' with pastry fence and our yellow house and 'Buckingham Palace' in background

From our upstairs terrace looking over the as yet unpaved drive, the unfinished well and my new garage. In the background is 'Blenheim Palace'.

Again from upstairs looking over the land between 'Blenheim' and 'Next Door'. This has been bought and we will have yet another palace and yet new neighbours.  In the distance is the new boundary wall for 'Blenheim'. We tried green for our side of the concrete but I am not sure. Plants will soon cover it.

As for the economics: there are so many really rather extraordinary properties built in the last 10-20 years that peak my curiosity. Before, Polish migrant workers could not return because of war and then because of communist rule, but now Poles can not only return home but they have good money to invest in their palaces in which, presumably, they will retire. 

A little house in our town. This is not one of the palaces built for retirement.

I can’t complain about all the cooking. For one thing, I love to eat. And eat well.  Here we have the freshest ingredients that I can’t let go to waste.  Plus having started on the bread journey I am determined to work at until I have got it. Following a few disasters I decided to go back to basics. It is all about taste, and though former loaves looked pretty they didn’t taste of much at all. Now I am working with starter dough and learning all I can about natural fermentation and how this effects taste, in a big way!  Never mind all the fancy recipes with poppy seed and what have you, right now I am trying to get a really good basic bread, (every time!) that is fluffy and tastes great.  So, today’s lunch was borscht with bread. I thought this loaf was far too dense, so judged it a failure BUT, it tasted great.  That same evening family dropped in and scoffed the lot, so can’t have been so bad.

The borscht was made with our own beetroot, of which we have tons. And they are so sweet!  Not like the Sainsbury’s crap.

I was struck when in San Francisco by the West Coast attitude to Europe, viz. their architecture, Hey, we are 6000 miles from you guys… (or from civilization, as I thought of it) so who’s to say its wrong to, say, top an Egyptian column with a Corinthian capital? We think it looks good, so it’s staying. After my first shock and prudish horror I could appreciate their view. Similarly with baking, or with anything else, they do it their way and it can be good. Not that a mix of Corinthian and Egyptian is the best idea anyone had. However San Francsico bakers did come up with the original sour dough bread, which is a unique, rather strong taste. I didn’t actually like it that much but using starter dough definitely adds flavor and interest.

So, where does that leave me? I am combining US and French methods and attempting to get the best from each of them.

A gate in the wall of the Stopnica monastery

Still life with exercise machine. As if we dont have enough, we were given these beautiful pumkins. Quince tree in background

Twenty-six years ago this month, my son Tom died of leukemia.  He was 18. I have a friend who’s son, Ben, was friends with Tom. Every single year on the day, 16^th  September, Liz emails or sends me a text. For 26 years!  Sometimes I had forgotten. Then I felt bad and had to work it out with myself, to forgive myself. Sounds daft.  As I write this it seems so long ago that I had to do the sums again.

I was right.  My father at 97 is in the last months of his life. Then it will be my turn to be the oldie.