A good deal

The rugby ground - to the right of the road here - has been more or less unused for sport all summer: rugby being a winter occupation. Occasional games of community volleyball are played on some mown grass in front of the bar, but otherwise it is left to grow. 

One of the local farmers undertakes to keep the pitches in good nick in exchange for the baylage and hay that he can cut from it when it gets long enough. These piles on the roadside are part of the product of this year's cuts. He then uses the bales to feed his stock, or passes it on to other local farmers.

In a summer like this one, when the rain has fallen and the grass has grown like crazy, it's a very good arrangement for him. In drought years, less so. 

When the Soapmaker came to help free my sticking pantry door the other day, he left with 150g of Sheila Dough-matua, my sourdough mother culture. Today he proudly showed me his first sourdough loaf. What a joy it is to pass on and share the making of real food.