Pondlife and other stories

by Karen B

” Very soon after, there are Frogs everywhere. Big ones, patterned ones, tiny ones, all popping their heads out of the water whilst the Newts do little back- flips up and down and in and out of the muddy water”

I have help in the garden today; an old fashioned Devonian gardener who has offered a days labour in exchange for lunch. He hacks down huge and high overgrown hedges as if cutting Chives for a salad and then turns and breaks up all the heavy soil in the Meadow Garden as if sifting flour for a sponge cake! I trundle up and down the field with my favourite wheelbarrow; happy to see such heavy work being done with such ease, I kick over the mole hills with my wellington boots and watch a charm of Goldfinches flitter and dazzle amongst the buds of the Cherry tree.

With so much work getting done in one day, I wonder, could we take a look at the pond? Neglected and overgrown, choked with grass and garden weeds, I could not imagine that anything would survive there. I had seen Frogspawn in the past, but then I had seen it all die. With hands as big as spades, the gardener scoops out grass turf, soil and stones from the pond and within moments has a Newt in his hand. Very soon after, there are Frogs, everywhere. Big ones, patterned ones, tiny ones, all popping their heads out of the water whilst the Newts do little back- flips up and down and in and out of the muddy water. And I sit in the sunshine, my heart bursting with happiness at the discovery of this whole new water world in my garden. I feel so grateful that these special creatures all came to my pond!

I drift off to sleep at the end of a perfect day, enchanted by the sudden increase in my wildlife family and full of wonder at the nocturnal adventures of these magical, mysterious, transformational creatures as they slip out of my pond into a dark, damp night to explore.

Fabulous; it’s Friday!

by Karen B

When a shaft of Spring sunshine hit the citrus, greeny- yellow and hot pink of this impromptu floral theatre, the Primula Victoriana plants turned their black-brown and golden faces to the light and just glowed.

Have a FABULOUS Friday and a great weekend. x

 

The King in the Car Park….

by Karen B

Purchased in a vintage shop a few years ago, this sweet lace garment came with an intriguing label made from an old Players cigarette card featuring Richard lll.

Today, the mortal remains of this controversial King have been interned on consecrated ground in Leicester Cathedral in the county of my birth. Thousands of people from all over the world have travelled to accord the King the dignity and honour denied him in death. Slaughtered at Bosworth Field, less than 10 miles from where I grew up and 500 years after the Wars of the Roses, his coffin was scattered with soil from Fotheringhay Castle, where the King was born, Middleham Castle in Yorkshire where he grew up, and Bosworth field where he died.

The body of the last King of England to have died in battle and whose bones were discovered underneath a car park in Leicester, has finally been laid to rest.

King Richard lll

1483-1485

Getting myself back together; Patti Smith style

by Karen B

” Patti Smith taught me I can draw my own door and walk through. When I feel the weight of ageism and the weight of sexism pushing down on my shoulders, I think of her and try to negotiate my life in the same way she has hers”

Shirley Manson

It’s time to celebrate; we are all living longer! The down side is that because of that, many more of us can expect to experience some major upheavals in our lives as we party our way to old age. I’ve already had one life meltdown and watched in horror as my score on the Holmes and Rahe stress scale went sky high and my direction, morale and personal identity spiralled into the abyss.

But something strangely amorphous seems to be evolving out of the destruction of my previous life and I wonder, if this mysterious, indefinable ‘something’, which I just can not explain, could be the start of a shift towards a new beginning. And I wonder if a new, post apocalypse photograph of me might be able to identify something that I could not yet explain myself.

So, a blow- dry (to boost confidence), 2 glasses of Prosecco ( to prevent the facial paralysis usually only associated with dental surgery which I am expert at mimicking once a camera is focused upon myself) and half an hour doing my make-up and we are ready to go. 45 photos later and we finally come up with one where both Josef (the cat) and I are reasonably happy with the way we look.

And yes, I think there is something different about me. I am not looking beaten down and broken, I am looking o.k. And I do want to try to ‘draw my own door and walk right through’ just like Patti Smith, but not in a defiant way, but in the way I would do if I was just being myself; a mature woman who is reshaping her life.

I already wear the same Ann Demeulemeester boots as Patti, so I might just have a head start. But if the boots don’t work, I think I can rock a cool look with a dress and some wellingtons!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bébé Choux de Bruxelles on Fabulous; it’s Friday!

by Karen B

Sweet, edible buds, tinted purple and green, make these bébé choux de Bruxelles as pretty as a vase of flowers and a delight to eat.

 Happy Weekend  to All My Friends!

 

One Spring Day on Dartmoor….

by Karen B

This post is dedicated to my friend, Robbie, of Palm Rae Urban Potager  and to the memory of her beloved dog Punk, who was her constant gardening companion.

The air is at once softer and more gentle, yet at the same time tentatively hopeful and new. The Crocus buds are fat and in bloom as Otto the cat and I tread the wet, mossy grass together and try to make sense of this unexpected, Spring- like day. Cautiously, we go into the greenhouse and wonder if we can trust in the moment and not be driven back indoors by a harsh, cold wind or a sharp, spiteful hailstorm. We take a little stroll and Otto scampers off to check out his favourite outdoor sleeping quarters and I rush around, full of joy. With not even a breeze blowing, the sun comes out and we both settle down, Otto to his battered velvet cushion in the greenhouse and I to the Kitchen Garden.

We both begin to stretch and shake off the shadows of Winter. The sky is blue and heavenly, and my little heart sings.  If you want to know what that feels like then take a look at this beautiful little film showing some very special and happy dairy cows finding their freedom and going out to pasture after a long winter in the cowshed.

With much still to harvest in my Living Larder in the Kitchen Garden, I dig up all my remaining carrots and bring in my crop of baby Brussels Sprouts. I feel real gratitude for this day; for my companion Otto and for the difference he and a beautiful Spring day in the garden have made to my heart and soul.

Raspberry Vinegar and Other Stories….

by Karen B

Cocooned under duvets and blankets, the bed piled high with books, packets of seeds, boxes of tissues and Josef the cat, I cough and sneeze my way through a winter cold. In the night, when I can’t sleep I slip into the world of Victorian England through the eyes of Mrs Beeton’s book of Household Management. Whilst I have been ill, the house has fallen into untidy chaos, the ashes need taking out from the fire, and I haven’t blacked the fireplace since I was about 22 (yes, I really did used to do that). Surely Isabella Beeton’s guide to every aspect of good household management in Victorian Britain can help me in my hour of need?

I wade through chapters describing how to cook dinner for 18 people in September, how to singe poultry, how to keep beef, how to apply leeches, how to clean the banisters and, now we get to the crux of the problem, how to issue instructions to my Parlour Maid.

Now I know why I am ill and run down ! I have been trying to run a house, cope with two demanding cats and a large garden and all without  domestic help. According to Isabella, good household management requires a Butler, a Footman, a Second Footman, a Coachman,  a Groom, a Stable Boy, a Lady’s Maid, a Parlour Maid, a Housemaid, a Dairy Maid, and Laundry Maid. And if the full compliment of staff can not be afforded, then at the very least, I need a General Servant.

Feeling by now even more exhausted, but a little peckish I turn to Mrs Beeton for some ideas about what to eat when feeling unwell. Published in 1861, this book is full of recipes to aid the recovery of the convalescing patient and I can’t wait to see what she suggests. But dishes such as Calf’s Foot Blancmange, Eel Broth, Gruel, Stewed Rabbits in Milk or a beverage made from boiled Irish moss make me feel positively bilious! Weak as I am from coughing I feel like summoning my Lady’s Maid, or the Butler, the odd job man, even the postman would do! Anyone who might save me from Mrs Beeton’s stewed rabbits in milk! This Victorian night time reading is turning into a nightmare!

I decide to get out of bed and make myself a soothing drink with my homemade Raspberry Vinegar made from my Grandmother, Dora’s recipe. When I was a child she would warm the rich, red mixture for me on the Rayburn as I sat on the wooden stool beside her. And with my toes on her colourful, handmade rag-rug, she would hand me a little cup of this magical, sharp and sweet mixture which soothed, warmed and calmed my sore and tickly throat then, as it still does now.

I pour a generous amount into a favourite glass, as I would a cordial and top it up with hot water and extra honey and I let the memories and pleasure of being in my Grandma’s kitchen and being taken care of flood back.

For when we are ill, we all feel like little children again and want to be taken care of, don’t we?

Raspberry Vinegar is also perfect for making vinaigrette, for pouring on ice-cream or for using to deglaze a pan when pan frying meat. It can be for blended with olive oil and sprinkling over roasting vegetables and is a truly versatile kitchen commodity

Raspberry Vinegar is also perfect for making vinaigrette, for pouring on ice-cream or for using to deglaze a pan when pan frying meat. It can be for blended with olive oil and sprinkling over roasting vegetables and is a truly versatile kitchen commodity

 

Martisor, Friendship and New Traditions

by Karen B

The north easterly wind rattles my ancient sash windows and the Snowdrops close their petals tightly against the chill. Pulling on my warmest hat, I head out to the garden to set up my little French grey painted table outside my gate. I have been selling pots of Snowdrops decorated with feathery moss there.

This is the first time I have done this and it is such fun! I leave an honesty box padlocked to my gate for customers to leave their payment and every day the change in the tin has exactly matched the number of Snowdrops sold. And when I set them out, they look so sweet and hopeful; a little sign of Spring, cushioned by moss. I check my calendar and Spring is not due to begin here until March 20th. This is like torture! Surely there is something I can do to speed things up a bit?

Then the happy solution drops into my inbox in a post from Lucy of  all right choices. Lucy lives in Romania where her country’s celebrations of Spring start today, on the first day of March. Little gifts decorated with red and white string are made or bought and given to loved ones, to mark the day. For it is believed that the person who wears the gifts decorated with this special string will enjoy a healthy and prosperous New Year. You can read all about this ancient and traditional way of marking the arrival of Spring in Romania in Lucy’s post.

I asked Lucy if she would mind if I shared in this special day by making some little gifts for my own family and friends and she seemed to be as excited about it as I was! So, here is what I made……

Little posies of Snowdrops and Ivy tied with red and white string.

Thanks to Lucy I have introduced a new tradition into my home, helping to link me with new and old friends and suddenly, Spring seems just that little bit closer.

Happy Mărţişor!

 

 

 

 

Fabulous; it’s Friday!

by Karen B

I bought my first Tussie-Mussie from the quaint shop which sells herbs and plants at the American Museum in Bath. The only Museum of American Decorative and Folk Art outside the United States, this is a very special place full of treasures and artefacts and somewhere that I visit as often as I can.

I have been making Tussie- Mussies of my own ever since- little nosegays of herbs, greenery and flowers all imbued with meaning. These miniature posies were very popular in Victorian times when the Language of flowers meant that secret messages could be passed to the one you loved. Creating something on a tiny scale like this is such a special thing to make and do and each flower seems to stand out like a little jewel in its perfect fresh foliage setting.

Here is my Tussie –Mussie for you!

Have a Lovely weekend!