What else really matters?

1. In order to enjoy life to the full we need to have a healthy body and mind, therefore looking after our own bodies and by default looking after the bodies of our loved ones is paramount.  Also, in my case, trying to widen that circle to my community and beyond.

2. Having a safe (& bonus, beautiful) environment in which to live; we must respect our earth, be conscious of the pressure the world is under and the threat to all life because of climate change and war; we must to do what we can to protect it, no matter how futile our actions seem. 

Daily this is how my mind wanders, from food to our land.  In this part of the western world, in my privileged life and comfort I wonder what else matters? 

Tuesday; I walk to Dunseverick to meet mum for a swim, it’s clear out to sea and the craggy peaks of Arran and the Paps of Jura are on the horizon; we’re less than 20 miles from Alba’s coast, our Celtic cousins.  The water is icy cold, icier every week and we screech and squirm as we splash about, delighted with ourselves.  We chat about our memories of this place, the summers spent on the hot basalt, how it’s barely changed except for maybe that more people visit it rather than solely the locals.  I tiptoe off the to back pool, we always say it’s warmer, maybe it is today.  I swim through the seaweed and tread water in the middle fixing my gaze on the white church in the distance, I lower my head, eyes at the surface so it looks like its hovering on the rocks, manipulating perspective, we all do that.

It's dumplings for dinner (carrot, cabbage and tofu), the middle child’s favourite.  The mixing of the dough is accompanied by homework time, the rolling of the dough is partnered with a glass of wine.  We welcome our guests with a hot bowl of Pumpkin Laksa, shared around a table with candles lit, the fire burning and the hum of conversation.

Saturday; At my parents house I nip out to the greenhouse, run my hands through the lemon balm and appreciate the leafless trees, sad at the bare fig tree.  I take a peak over the old stone wall to say hello to the donkeys, I notice the cobwebs clinging to the gorse in the mizzly mist, we find a couple of wild strawberries, surprised at their sweetness and marvel at strawberries in November.    

It’s pizza night and I offend the Italians by using whatever there is as my topping; leftovers or polytunnel treasures, anything goes.  The pizza dough a vehicle for other delicious things; roasted parsnip, beetroot, green tomaotes, chilli and hazelnut on ricotta garlic sauce.

Sunday; I zipped my coat up to the very top and pulled the hood over my head in preparation for the blast of cold wind.  Leaving the car by the tennis courts I started off across the bridge, the Margy is high after all the rain and the peaty river water clashes with the deep blue ocean creating a murkiness out at the end of the pier.  At the beach the Marram is dancing with the wind; fluffy sea foam and sand swirl around my feet, I march quickly.  The sea seems agitated, she looks enraged, we all have days like that.

I meet five people I know and stop with them all for a brief chat, we’re all blowing away cobwebs, or something else.  The sun comes out when I’m on the top of the dunes and boosts the dull scene to technicolour, the mountain loosens her misty cloak.  They’re threatening the cold becoming colder this week and I’m ready, we need the cold for the full permission to step into the dark comfort of wintering.

After this soul nourishment I started to think about dinner.  It could easily be cheese on toast or boiled eggs and soldiers, like the children, but there’s kale in the fridge and the last courgette and I see the gratitude in the greens.  Fried garlic, lemon zest, olive oil and a healthy helping of a dear friend’s chilli sauce piled on toast.  Food that I’ve made, food that I’ve grown, food gifted by loved ones.  Joyous. 

Monday; Dr Samuel Johnson said it’s ‘worth seeing but not worth going to see’ and from an 18^th century perspective we have to agree it absolutely makes sense, just as we possibly wouldn’t have made the epic journey in the 1700’s to see The Lake District, Bodmin Moor or The Old Man of Storr.  I grew up on this cliff and it never fails to take my breath away, I could see it everyday and always feel it worthwhile.  It’s beautiful and astounding all at once.  On a windy white water day, like today, we watch the gulls over the surf, cormorants diving out beyond and jackdaws on the cliffs, we’re poised for a peregrine.  This volcanic landscape, bigger than us and all our daily woes.  Here before us, here after us.

There’s a trusty spot for three cornered leek, this wild scallion is taking over; the banks where we swung on the rope over the little stream and picked damsons by the path when we were little and on my 15^th birthday party sneaked so much booze I passed out…a low point.  Still ashamed by that memory I wonder if the ancestors of these plants saw me back then, I apologise to them, averting eye contact, then grab fistfuls to take home stuffed into my backpack.  

Later I fill jars with the chutney I made the night before, my harvest of green tomatoes with a recipe merged from a friend and the marvellous Mark Diacono.  Set aside to mature, something to enjoy in 2025.  I bake some after school biscuits and inevitably look in the fridge at the prospect of dinner. 

Just a little snapshot at a life balanced between dedication to nature and food; nourishing and nurturing my family with a healthy dose of both. Us and the world around us, what else really matters?