Lessons from a garden

I love visual parables. That "ding dong" moment when you stand and nod, to no one in particular, and understand.

This evening I was hacking away at weeds at the end of our garden. I was getting carried away because I get angry at weeds. So does my husband, and we work ourselves into a complete tizzy trying to dig them out. I have to be careful not to overdo it as I can set my heart racing much faster than it is used to or is good for it. As I stood up from a five minute froth at the mouth frenzy, I caught this.

One of about 50 foxgloves on our land, winding itself around the branch of a tree. The tree has been struggling to cope. The tree next to it was diseased and we had to chop it down, the one further down we lost in a storm. The trauma of both events seem to have stunted it and it no longer thrives. But this gorgeous plant was leaning against it and winding itself gently next to the trunk and lower branch. Beauty and fragility taking company with something sick and a bit creeky. All of our trees on the border have foxglove around the base, but this is the only one with a companion flower that seems to be embracing it, gnarled as it is. I love that picture of acceptance and care.

The other lesson involves runner beans. I love to eat them, especially fresh from the garden. After planting a packet of beans two weeks ago, I was quite ashamed (though not surprised) to have to admit to the person who gave me the seeds that there was no sign of any shoots, just more weeds! I wasn't surprised or discouraged. I may be the daughter of green fingered magician, but the genes didn't get passed on and this has been the story of my life. I simply can't grow stuff.

Well this evening, there were FOUR shoots next to the poles!!! In 53 years, this is a first, and my nickname as a child, beanpole has suddenly become the most glorious word in the English language!

Foxglove Apartments to rent - all bees welcome

Handbag Therapy

We have two spare bedrooms, and I insist on one of them being cat free. At the weekend I threw a sheet over the Queen sized bed in this room to arrange rather a lot of handbags, ready for a fundraiser this weekend. Knowing that our new ginger likes to sneak in the room behind me if he is quick enough, I checked the hallway before going into the room. No problem, coast was clear.

A day later I saw the door open and this is what greeted me.

I think they have conspired and built a tunnel under the house.

Memories of Dad

For some reason today they came all in a rush, like overdue buses:

Digging like a maniac to prepare the veggie patch for runner beans - dad would have been much more organised!
Cooking with white pepper - an early memory watching dad carefully sprinkle white pepper on his morning fried egg.
The exploding jar of honey in the pantry - Dad's attempt to make elderflower champagne and its subsequent explosion in the bootroom.
The neighbour's new goat - dad always loved goats and I am so tempted to get one for the paddock, just so Dad can enjoy it from heaven.

Love you and miss you so much dad.

Lovely Living

A very enterprising businesswoman in a local town opens her home over one weekend each November to sell handmade goods, and give people the chance to enjoy her garden and summer house. I went with two friends and we spent a couple of hours soaking up the atmosphere, eating fun cakes and drinking good coffee in the garden.

Enjoy the day with me.

Nutmeg, and the All black fruit

Yesterday afternoon I tried out a recipe from a recently borrowed library book. In the absence of dried cranberries, and in honour of our rugby team, I substituted prunes an all black fruit, hoping they could give me a run for my money, haha.

I then grated in nutmeg (also not in the recipe). The cake is wonderful, half way between a fruit loaf and a bread loaf.

Feeling a bit worse for wear today. Two sundays in a row we have got up at 4am and 5am to watch rugby matches. It was worth it! Must have been the lucky prunes!