Craigies Farm, South Queensferry – micro trip report by Froggee (paterfamilias)

[Froggee]

The exertions of the HfP party must have taken their toll on an introverted Froggee as I did not get up this Sunday until an implausibly late 7:30am. Both boys beat me downstairs by a country mile. I had barely emptied the dishwasher when Mrs Froggee appeared. A request was put in for homemade pancakes by the boys and this was granted by their loving mother. That will teach her to get up so early on a Sunday.

As we ate breakfast, Mrs Froggee commented that, for once, there were no plans. Freddo was not doing gymnastics on account of his most recent ankle sprain. And she was hoping that both boys would go swimming with me to burn off some energy. Kermit was far from keen. Freddo asked if we could go fruit picking. Mrs Froggee said there was no way there would be availability at such short notice. On the basis that I did not feel like taking the boys swimming, I checked. Four spaces were still available for the prestigious 10:45am slot at Craigies Farm in South Queensferry. I asked if we should go. Kermit said no. I booked it anyway.

Woo hoo. No swimming.

Mrs Froggee looked very sad that that would be no swimming…

I then realised that I had to go fruit picking. Doh! I do not mind fruit picking massively but every time we seem to end up picking too much fruit to eat but not really enough to bother making jam. And I end up making jam anyway. I do not enjoy making jam but Mrs Froggee has declared it an entirely blue task. Over the years I have gotten better at jamming. Sometimes I even get it to set. Freddo announced he wanted to make some jam for his teacher which was nice. And definitely kinder than the last time I helped him make jam. That time, he did not question how a handful of raspberries from our garden made a full jar of jam. He merely wrote his name on the jar and refused to let anyone else try it.

We left home shortly after 10am and the drive to Craigies Farm took Mrs Froggee 20 minutes in heavy and un-forecast rain. It cleared up by the time we got there. As Mrs Froggee was turning right into Craigies, Freddo chose to ask the obvious question “do all airports only have one control tower?” No Freddo. A toddler was by the entrance to the farm shop when we arrived. Her father retrieved her just before she started smashing pots which resulted in a major temper tantrum. I am so glad we are past that stage. We went to the cafe where the boys briefly looked at the menu and ran outside to play. We ordered a tea and a coffee as well as a fruit scone, an empire biscuit and a millionaire shortbread. I did not order anything to eat as I did not want Freddo eating a whole empire biscuit by himself. Apparently, I had to help Mrs Froggee with her scone also but Kermit heroically ate his large piece of millionaire shortbread. Mrs Froggee stumped up £18.10 plus a 10% tip.

The boys were sent to pee and it was time for the business end of the outing. I had not noticed when booking, but Craigies have changed their pricing. You used to pay for a slot and this payment was then deducted from what you paid at the end. A minimum spend, if you like. Now it is £2.50 just to be allowed to pick fruit. This is doubly amusing as they will sell you ready-picked fruit for a lower price than they charge for you to pick your own. I can only conclude that this premium reflects the fact that your average pick-your-own fruit picker is a bad person.

We limited ourselves to three baskets, each containing two large punnets and made our way to the strawberries. I asked everyone to please not pick too many strawberries. The problem with strawberries is you can pick them really quickly you see. The plants were laden and it did not take long to fill four punnets. Freddo kept huffing every time he picked a strawberry without its stalk – on the basis it would not stay fresh as long. I chastised him for throwing one away and said we could just eat the stalkless ones first. Various other errors such as when Freddo managed to “pick” half a strawberry plant showed why there was a premium for being allowed to pick your own fruit. As if to further prove this point, Kermit thought it would be funny to pick some blackcurrants and throw them at Freddo.

I blame the parents.

Fruit picking with Freddo is not stress free as I am constantly trying to stop him doing dumb things. The conditions under foot are far from perfect for a child with a recently found tendency to roll his ankle so I was constantly telling him to pay attention and look where he was going. Indeed, I was so busy doing this that I did not pay attention or look where I was going and tripped over one of the polytunnel anchors. Fortunately, I avoided going down and spilling my basket that was fully laden with strawberries. Such an incident would have made Craigies pick your own pricing seem extraordinary reasonable. Various piles of discarded strawberries actually made me feel a bit sad.

The raspberries were more problematic than the strawberries as most were yet to fully ripen. Also, thorny raspberries sometimes fight back against novice pickers. Not to mention their buddies – nettles. Mrs Froggee got scratched and stung which was most likely my fault for not taking the boys swimming. By now, Kermit had decided to be allergic to Craigies and did not take kindly to me pointing out that picking raspberries while clutching a snotty tissue is a bit gross. So he left the polytunnel and sat on his bottom outside looking annoyed at life. But we filled the best part of two punnets. This took much longer than it did to get four punnets of strawberries but that was fine as it was raining again and we were stuck in the polytunnel until it ceased and desisted. Kermit had to come back under cover and even started helping to pick again with snotty-tissue free hands.

Once the sun came out, I declared it time to leave. I considered asking Mrs Froggee to take a picture of me and the boys by the massive new HOLLYWOOD-esque CRAIGIES sign. It would have looked amazing on my Instagram. But I remembered that I am not on Instagram so instead continued on to the cashier. The cashier was delightful and was in an excellent mood. He agreed with me when I suggested Mrs Froggee had been slacking by only carrying two baskets of strawberries and making me carry the raspberry basket. He was sympathetic to Freddo’s protests that the cherries were still sealed off despite there being some very red ones. He kindly explained that they looked great but did not yet taste great. We should come back in a couple of weeks and at 9am as cherries go quickly. I believe him as we have missed the short cherry season two years in a row now. The best cherries I have had in my life came from Craigies. I failed in my attempts to make jam with them as it was too runny so instead called it cherry compôte. It went very well in yoghurt. Obviously Freddo consumed the lion’s share of it but anyone who was given a jar was very complimentary. It really was good stuff.

Where was I? Oh yes – I duly paid £28.40 for 3.55kg of strawberries and £11.16 for 1.175g of raspberries. Because I am beyond sad, I added in the £10 entrance fee and concluded that we had paid £10.02 per kilo of strawberries and £11.90 per kilo of raspberries. By contrast, we could have paid £5 per kilo of strawberries and £8.94 per kilo of raspberries in Tesco albeit for an incomparably poorer product. But £7 per kilo of strawberries and £9 per kilo of raspberries from the Craigies farm shop seemed like a more appealing and labour-free option given that they were exactly the same fruit. And I would have had time for a second cup of coffee.

Mrs Froggee navigated us home (in the rain) via a shortcut I had no clue existed. And I have only lived in Edinburgh for 30 more years than her. Freddo repeatedly told us how tired he was.

Back home, we had lunch. Freddo was keen to get cracking on jamming but I explained to him it is best to let the raspberries sit covered in sugar and lemon juice for a bit. And I needed to sterilise the jars. I suggested he rested given how tired he was. Mrs Froggee then left, taking Kermit shopping. After a while I noticed that nobody was annoying me. Freddo had let himself out, climbed over the wall (which he is banned from doing) and was playing with the girls next door. I went to enquire if he wished to make jam now:

“Can we do it later?”
“Not really Freddo”
“Could you not do a second batch?”
“NO FREDDO”
“But we have plenty strawberries”
“I don’t have any pectin or jam sugar”
“Ok – just make it without me then”

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I went back indoors, sat on the couch and hummed Bob Marley to myself while I waited for Freddo to change his mind. Five minutes later, Freddo came back. He washed his hands for all of two seconds and appeared in the kitchen. I told him he had not washed his hands properly and all he will have done is make the towel dirty. “But I dried my hands on my shorts!”

The jam-making did not go too poorly. I do not wish to spoil the end but 827 grams of raspberries, 799 grams of sugar, and the juice of one lemon produced 1.35kg of jam. I should add that this is a higher ratio of sugar than I would normally use for raspberry jam but these ones were still pretty sharp. The frustrated management accountant in me calculated this as costing £8.14 per kilo of jam, obviously excluding time, petrol, gas and electricity. Tesco are currently selling Bonne Maman raspberry conserve for £6.80 per kilo. And they do not even use child labour.

Anyway – jam making.

I was perhaps overly cautious with Freddo – closely supervising his stirring – but I am still traumatised by the scene in prison drama, Time, where Sean Bean witnessed a kettle of boiling sugar water being thrown over a grass. I imagine boiling hot jam would be even worse. Freddo did however do an excellent job of licking clean the five plates I used to test for setting point. I probably started testing it a bit early to give him something to do. And Freddo really did fully embrace the position of Chief Jam Taster.

With the jam receiving Freddo’s seal of approval, it was time to pour the jam. Freddo asked if he could pour it. I do not bother with ladles or jam funnels as those are for posers. I explained to Freddo that pouring jam is the riskiest stage of jam making, fraught with peril. So, alas it would be safest if he just watched. Clearly this unnerved him as with the caring words “I don’t want to watch you die” he ran out the back door, and went over the wall into the neighbours’ garden. Which he, of course, is not allowed to do.

If I say so myself, I did an excellent job of pouring the jam, largely containing it within the jam jars laid out for that specific purpose. And I did an exceptional job of cleaning up, even identifying the alpha splatter which had somehow made it six feet high on one of our kitchen cabinets. I knew Mrs Froggee would be delighted with the clean-up operation and also as she says that “people like jam” and gives jars away with abandon. It may even be why she has so many friends.

I sent a picture of the now-sealed five jam jars to Mrs Froggee who replied with some of the most cutting words a wife can ever say to her husband – “that was quick!” She then asked after Freddo. I had been wondering about Freddo myself as all was quiet on the western front. I went up to the attic to spy into next door’s garden and saw Freddo and the more athletic of the neighbours’ twins taking it in turns to launch themselves onto a trampoline with cartwheels. The irony that we went fruit picking because Freddo was supposedly not able-bodied enough to do gymnastics was not lost on me.

I went back to the couch and sat waiting to hear one of the most satisfying noises in the world – jam jar lids popping as they cool down and you know they have sealed.

Mrs Froggee and Kermit duly arrived home. Kermit was in a good mood being particularly excited with a manga book he had been allowed to buy. Mrs Froggee squeaked and declared she had just stood on some jam on the kitchen floor.

Maybe I should buy a jam funnel, after all.

The end.

[elguiri]

Am catching up with these excellent trip reports, only 3 of yours to go now @Froggee.

Was slightly sad as no bathroom incidents were mentioned in this one though…

[Skywalker]

Froggee wrote:

I went back indoors, sat on the couch and hummed Bob Marley to myself

That’s exactly what I started doing when I read the word ‘Jamming’ 😀

Fantastic report again 😁

Your story brought back great memories of a lovely day spent at Garsons farm picking beetroot many years ago, although I didn’t try and make any beetroot chutney afterwards!