The Plum Man

We have a good life.  We really do.  

An acquaintance, who donates the jam we use at OGH, reminded us of The Plum Man.  He lives in a secluded valley not very far away, and we used to visit him every year to buy our plums.

They are super cheap, and super tasty, and to get to his cottage, you have to trundle down a kilometre of very rough track.  The only way you know he is open is if he puts his sign out. Two or three years ago, we drove down his street a couple of times, but never struck lucky, and we thought that he may have retired, or died (he's not young).

But no, we found out from our mutual friend that he is still going strong, so today we paid him a visit, and got a HUGE box (about 15 kg) of beautiful ripe Mariposa plums for a tiny amount of money.  They are cooking on the stove top as I write this, and the house is filled with a delicious sweet plummy scent.

I shall freeze them, and tonight we are having plum crumble for desert.

The photo?  It's the view from his cottage, and I do confess to cranking up the vibrance just a tiny bit.