Tonight the house smells of lovely chicken stock, some six quarts and counting. A gallon and a quarter of chicken meat, hand pulled and shifted thrice for bones, sits in the fridge. The second round is shimmering merrily on the stove top, garlic and light fennel scenting the air. It goes to the tune of six quarts of water, one five pound chicken, shimmered with three cloves of garlic, a pinch of fennel seed and exactly two whole cloves. Add a pitch or two of salt. Simmer for three and a half hours. So the house is scented with chicken stock, slowly filling up all the corners and nooks of the clanhold with its comforting scent. The stock rumbles softly, almost purring as it simmers along. A household music if every there was one.
The weather is turning cooler and the nights roll in earlier. My daughter tells me shortly after night fall that it is her bed time, without any prompting from me. Only three years old and already minding her own schedule. That is my darling Rose.
Twenty two minutes and counting down, until I can transfer chickens and stock to the fridge to cool overnight. I will process them in the morning. For now I think I will slip off and have some blueberry green tee. Good night, all.
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