shewhomust | Entries tagged with seasonal

A week ago we said goodbye to D. as we set off on our separate ways from Lindisfarne. This morning we said goodbye again, as he set off to visit Fylingdales, an excursion which was the excuse for a weekend visit. We will not see him again until the morning of his birthday, in a month's time.

It was a good weekend, and I look forward to writing more about it. But today it was back to work, despite the heat.

durham_rambler had two in-person meetings, morning and evening, and I had two pieces of work - and have made good progress with one of them.

But first I had to use my walking stick to push the Velux window wide open, so that the red admiral which was flying around the room could escape.

A couple of small irritations, which need to be written about, apparently, just to get them out of my system:

( Customer service fail I: Majestic )

Yesterday

durham_rambler and I did not leave the island, but went our separate ways, wandering about each at our preferred speed and distance. I went down to St Cuthbert's island:

and spent a peaceful while sitting on a bench listening to the seals mooing to each other on the far shore - and trying and failing to spot the oystercatcher(s) I could also hear.

( Customer service fail II: the Crown & Anchor )

I did not get up at 4.00 am to watch the sun rising: but D. assures me that it did so, before the mist closed in. Another solstice past, and the nights begin to grow longer.

After all the busy-ness and the not-ready of the last week, we are on Lindisfarne and are spending the week here: yes, I'm a bit disoriented by the week starting and ending on Monday, but that's when the cottage was available. So D. and

valydiarosada drove up to Durham yesterday, and we had dinner together, and this morning they set off and visited Wallington (which is almost on the way) and we finished our packing and were away from home by one o' clock. And we all met again on the island at four, which is when we were allowed into our cottage.

We are staying at St Oswald's Cottage - in fact, that picture of the kitchen looking out of the door is very much the view I have as I sit typing this at the kitchen table, though it makes the room look more spacious than it is. The cottage was designed by Lutyens to accommodate the couple who were caretakers at the castle. It is bigger on the inside: you enter through the kitchen, but beyond the living room there is a passageway which leads to the first bathroom and a spacious bedroom; and behind a door there is another passageway, leading to a single bedroom; and another door leads to another bathroom, and another enormous bedroom beyond that.

So that's all very grand. And I am sitting here while D. bustles about the kitchen making dinner. Tomorrow it will be my turn to cook, but with luck by then D. will have found out where everything is (or warned me about what we don't have). I have no thoughts about how we will spend the week - well, not quite, I do have some thoughts. Also later in the week there will be more visitors. But meanwhile, I shall be lazy.

What I learned on yesterday's trip to the greengrocer: that offered the first of the English asparagus for £5, and a punnet of Belgian strawberries, also for £5, I don't need to think about it; I'll have the asparagus. There will be other strawberries, but asparagus comes and goes too fast. We shared them at lunch time, six stubby little fingers, boiled for five minutes maximum, bright green and tender, with a nob of butter.

Thinking about posting this, in the middle of the night when your thoughts go off the tracks, I wanted a word for "things you buy at the greengrocer's" and couldn't think of one. You buy groceries at the grocer's, but what do you buy at the greengrocer's? Well, fruit and veg, I suppose (or maybe fruitandveg). And come to think of it, what are groceries, anyway? "the food and supplies sold by a grocer", says Merriam-Webster, which is pretty circular. Are groceries always plural, or can you buy just one grocery? I think a grocery is the shop itself, rather than, say, a single tin of beans...

I fell asleep before I reached any conclusion.

As if the equinox was a signal, we took not one but two days out, including the first visit of the year to the coast. I though of this at the time as emerging from hibernation, but that would suggest it was the start of something: in fact, I've spent much of the week-and-a-half since then hitting deadlines which had unexpectedly come closer as a result of those two days off. Nonetheless, there are signs that spring is stirring. Starting with those two days off:

On the Friday we accepted J's invitation to lunch and an exhibition about the history of food and drink on South Tyneside: this was to be durham_rambler's birthday treat (deferred). Both J and durham_rambler had morning commitments, but we set off at midday, driving away from the city, where the sun was shining, to the sea fret of the coast. At durham_rambler's request, we lunched at the Marsden Grotto, and gazed out at the grey sky over the grey sea while we ate fishy things. Then on to the South Shields museum, one of those magnificently random local collections:

Here's a selection of their "treasures"; the only information offered beside it is a sign saying "Rory, the South Shields Lion (suggested by Lucas Ball, aged 7)". The exhibition - titled 'SCRAN' - looks very much as if it had been compiled by going through the collection picking out whatever might be fitted onto the theme: a cabinet of Roman pottery, watercolour paintings of local farms, the inevitable collection of Be-Ro cookbooks, oil paintings of local shops, histories of local businesses, pre-eminently Wright's biscuits, whose 'Little Mischief' mascot (a painting by Mabel Lucie Attwell to which they had purchased the rights) is the face of the exhibition. I liked - less for the exhibit itself than for the accompanying label:
Paper bag, mid 20th century, from Duncans grocery: This paper bag is a rare survival, having been used to store wedding cake decorations kept by Elsie Mary Bell (nee Law) who wed John Robertson Law at St Aidan's Church, South Shields on 16 September 1940. Mary's beautiful wedding dress can be seen on display downstairs in the museum's 'Treasures Gallery'.

At the last minute we were tipped off (by another J, as it happens) about an 'archaeology day' organised by the County's Archaeology department: a day of talks in Bishop Auckland Town Hall. Not particularly spring-like - we were indoors all day, and anyway it was raining - but worth the early start: a fine and varied collection of talks (a farmhouse which conceals a Gothick manor house associated with the poet Thomas Gray, mapping the Roman road network, a previously unknown neolithic / bronze age ceremonial site near the Tees, pretty things brought to the Portable Antiquities scheme during the year) and a chance to catch up with J.

There are windows open all over the house. I wish this were a celebration of fine spring weather, but no, it's a sign that the painters have arrived to work on the new windows. The weather is fine enough (the work wouldn't be possible otherwise) but it's still chilly and the house smells of paint.

This means more early mornings - or at any rate, earlier than our usual, up and dressed before the painters are due at eight. Monday morning was a bit of a struggle, no chance of gradual adjustment to Summer Time, but we made it. They - or we - have tomorrow and Friday off, and then they come back on Monday to finish the job. I'm looking forward to seeing how the new windows look once the scaffolding is removed...

We have local elections this year, for the County and Parish Councils. durham_rambler is standing again for the Parish Council, as an Independent. I don't really understand why, because he has, since losing his seat four years ago, continued to attend committee meetings and contribute the the Council's work on planning; and there was no obligation to attend full council meetings, or do anything he didn't feel like. Ah, well, no doubt he has his reasons. So the last few days have been all about submitting his nomination papers and drafting a leaflet, and the month between now and polling day (which is May Day) will be all about delivering those leaflets, with the help of his little band of volunteers. "Does this mean we won't be taking any time out over Easter?" I asked. "Well, we have a lunch date for your birthday..."

To begin at the beginning: / It is spring... I have been re-rereading Under Milk Wood - which is a story for another post. But my, isn't it full of spring!

On Monday, when

durham_rambler went to collect the milk bottles from the doorstep, he discovered that bluetits (probably) had pecked through the foil tops. (This morning, visiting the bathroom at five o'clock, he brought the milk in before the tits could get at it.)

This afternoon, workmen arrived to erect scaffolding up the front of the house: now we are ready for the builders to arrive and replace the windows.

J invited us to lunch on Thursday, which is always a treat.

We returned home to find a delegation of young women on our doorstep, holding a package wrapped in tissue paper. They were representatives of the student household next-door-but-one, there to warn us that they would be having a hallowe'en party, to apologise in advnace for the noise, and to appease us with home-baked brownies. We thanked them for the brownies, and asked what time they planned to end the party, and they said they planned to move into town at elevent o' clock: of course they did, because elevent is the locally agreed curfew.

The brownies were good, and the party must have been good, too: there seemed to be a huge number of people there, and it was very loud. At eleven o' clock there was no sign of it winding down: I heard a couple of blasts of a whistle on the garden, and wondered whether this was a 'time's up' signal, but time clearly wasn't up.

It was loud enough for

durham_rambler (who is quite deaf) to go and remind them of the time: the police advise against doing this, but he found them quite affable: "People kept offering me drinks," he said, "but I just pulled the jackplugs out of the DJ's desk."

Which seems to have had the desired result.

Saffron Walden kept us very busy for two days, one of them at the (extremely stately) Jacobean mansion of Audley End, one of them following a heritage trail walk around the town. I hope to post in more detail about those when I have sorted my pictures (my many, many pictures) but no promises. Being home is also keeping us busy, with work but also with fun stuff, so for the time being, just one keynote picture, a particularly elegant tree at Audley End:

It can't be autumn yet, surely? It's still August. But the heat has gone out of the weather, the days are shorter, the students are returning, and it is blackberry season:

It is nothing to boast about, that the brambles have overrun our garden: I have failed as a gardener, and as a responsible neighbour, too. But

dirham_rambler goes out and gathers their fruit - this is the third or fourth bowlful, and not the largest, either. Yesterday we went to the little parade of shops at Cheveley Park, where there is a greengrocer (also a mini-Sainsbury's, a cashpoint and a charity shop) and bought cooking apples, and there will be apple-and-blackberries for dinner, and more to freeze...

I am so pleased to have found a greengrocer: I also bought Victoria plums and a perfectly ripw avocado (I made guacamole).

May's a funny month: the calendar shows all sorts of high days and holidays, about which I have nothing to report. Nonetheless we observe our own red letter days:

On May Day itself, we neither marched for workers' rights nor danced around a maypole (though we might easily have done either of those things). But I bought myself a calendar of Eric Ravilious woodprints, so the first of every month is a special day. May's image is particularly festive: the frontispiece of a book based on the game of Consequences.

In France, you are likely to be given a sprig of lily-of-the-valley to celebrate May Day. There's a garden that we pass on the way to the Elm Tree, along whose edge lily-of-the-valley grows. Eight days ago, on May Day itself, I saw a single spray of white bells among all the leaves; but yesterday, a week later, the flowers were abundant.

May 2nd was election day, but the excitement passed us by. For one thing, we had already cast our postal votes by the time the day arrived; for another, this is not the year we have council elections. We failed to raise any enthusiasm for the election of the Police and Crime Commissioner, which we regard as a pointless post (as it happens, the incumbent was re-elected). That leaves the mayoral election. We have not hitherto had a regional mayor, and I remain to be convinced that we will benefit from having one. But for what it's worth, I voted for Jamie Driscoll (he came second to the approved Labour candidate).

So you'd think that nothing the Labour Party does would surprise me, but you'd be wrong. Even so, if the party is that desperate to increase its tally of MPs, might I suggest that Diane Abbott would be a better choice than Natalie Elphicke?

It's puffin season! Later this month, Amble will hold its puffin festival. Meanwhile, this is how you train AI to recognise a puffin (but only during the daytime).

On May 9th 1969, Pink Floyd and others played a free concert on Parliament Hill Fields. We were there, as I have said before and may well say again. Tonight I'll raise a glass to the memory

Better get on with cooking dinner, then...

Damsons from the greengrocer; blackberries from the garden.

Salon des refusés: dark but not exactly black fruits:

An outsize aubergine from the greengrocer; 2015 Gigondas from the wine cellar.

durham_rambler returned from taking the kitchen waste down to the compost bin, and announced that he had just eaten the first blackberry of the season. There were more, he said, when would I like him to start picking them?
How many more? - Four.
Start picking, I said, when you can count them in spoonsful rather than single berries.
So yesterday he brought me several spoonsful of brambles, and I scattered them over the top of the strawberries I had bought from M&S. I was surprised how pretty the result was: the blackberries made the strawberries seem brighter, more intensely red, and the strawberries made the brambles look juicier and glossier. It tasted good, too.

Also at M&S I bought some greengages. I wasn't expecting them yet, but then I wasn't really expecting the brambles, either. I love the way greengages pretend not to be ripe, but actually they are usually riper and sweeter than other kinds of plums.

The greengrocer brought me artichokes, two tightly furled thistles, covered with purple petals and each as big as my fist. We had a very leisurely dinner last night: you can't rush an artichoke...

I still have some gooseberries. The last time I ordered gooseberries from the greengrocer they came in a cardboard punnet, and were quite large. I topped and tailed them, and made an upside down cake. These are loose in a paper bag, a mixture of green and red ones (red gooseberries are purple, if you didn't know - or at least, these are) and quite small. It's going to take a while to top and tail them, so I'd better get started; and then do something easy, maybe just stew them. I can't think of any way to cook them to make the most of that mixture of colours.

It's a beautiful bright morning, and I seem to have caught

durham_rambler's cold: my head feels as of it has been stuffed with cotton wool (with added sneezing).

This rather takes the edge off the e-mail that arrived this morning, cancelling tomorrow's lunch date (because of emergency plumbing): that saves us atruggling with the decision of whether we ought to cry off (and yes, I think we ought).

Yesterday we visited the Botanic Gardens: I have never seen so many students there. Presumably it's the season: I don't think I've ever been there when the rhododendrons are in bloom, either. I'm not satisfied with any of the pictures I took of them, though - too much sunshine, I don't know how to handle it. This was the only picture I really liked:

Yesterday being my father's birthday, we paid our annual visit of remembrance to Finchale Priory. Tuesday has been sunny with blue skies, but yesterday was grey and damp. I'm sure that in other years we've seen festoons of daffodils in bloom around the ruins, but this year there was only a scattering of flowers, and the branches are bare:

In Cocken woods across the river, the wood anemones are beginning to bloom, but the flowers were all closed (I didn't know they did that, but apparently so). A couple of clumps of violets looked very bedraggled - perhaps the weather is to blame for that, too - certainly the river is very high, and flowing swiftly.

For the first time this year, when we set off after dinner to walk down to the pub for the quiz, it was not yet dark. Maybe not daylight, but certainly dusk. We may have been a little earlier than usual, but not more than a quarter hour. Perhaps spring really is here.

I have been wandering through the artwork of Maurice Gouju (aka Goujo and Amalric), of which the internet offers an extensive display. Which isn't exactly what I was looking for...

I had managed to decipher the tiny signature on the back cover of my copy of Georges Simenon's La danseuse du Gai-Moulin and wanted to know more, but I haven't managed to find any information about the artist, beyond his name, and of his cheerful poster designs. And I did eventually find his design for Fayard's issue of Simenon novels. He appears to have provided a single design which could be varied by the use of different colours: mine has a grey typewriter on a bright pink background. The back cover shows a glass, a tobacco pouch and a pen. I wonder whether this, too, was used on different books, but I suspect it was, because it doesn't have any particular application to the plot.

This poster for the National Lottery seemed particularly appropriate, as Christmas comes to an end: three kings bearing a double chance of winning the lottery, to wish you a joyeuse fête des rois. Tonight we will go to Phantoms and the Phil to hear three new ghost stories read by their authors, the event which marks the end of our Christmas.

I posted that I was celebrating Christmas a day late, that time had slipped. Not long after, I learned that our traditional New Year guests would have to defer their visit: Time stops again, I wrote. On New Year's Eve, my watch stopped. If this were fiction, I would think this symbolism too blatant, but in real life, that's what happened.

I am hoping that my watch simply needs a new battery: it hasn't had one in a while. I dropped it on the floor, and when I picked it up, it had stopped, which is slightly worrying: but the time it showed was about half an hour earlier, so perhaps I just hadn't noticed. I'll take it to the market stall, and see...

Meanwhile, I am managing without a watch. But I have put up two new calendars (puffins in the kitchen, Orkney by my desk). Happy New Year!

Things are not, in fact, all that bleak. If this cold snap is the work of the Troll from Trondheim, it must be the troll who came in from the cold, the troll who couldn't handle the weather that is routine in Trondheim.

We had heavy frost on Friday: cold enough that I explored the winter clothes bagged up in the drawer under the bed - which have lain undisturbed for the last couple of winters - and I am now wearing the big fleecy sweatshirt which is usually just too warm for comfort.

We woke on Saturday to a blanket of snow; not the thickest of blankets, but quite enough. We had no plans to go anywhere over the weekend, and we didn't. We spent a quiet Sunday afternoon writing Christmas cards - I discovered a stash of cards left over from previous years, and those with the cards we bought at the Christmas Fair last weekend (was it really only last weekend? yes, if you count Friday) will suffice. We used up our supply of second-class stamps, and

durham_rambler walked out to take the stamped cards to the postbox.

The forecast threatened that last night would be colder than ever, but it didn't feel it. There was a dusting of snow on the doorstep when I brought the milk in, but cars were moving up and down the hill with no sign of nervousness.

durham_rambler drove out to a post office and posted more cards, including all the foreign ones - they will robably arrive late, but never mind.

This evening we are due at the Parish Council's festive event; and on Thursday we set off for London. Weather permitting, but the prospects are good.

The first Christmas card arrived this morning: can't complain at that, already a day in to December. Despite which, once again I am taken by surprise.

We visited the Christmas Fair in town: a food producers' market in the cathedral cloister, a craft and gift fair in a marquee on Palace Green. Both were sparser than usual (I almost wrote 'than last year', but it probably wasn't last year, nor yet the year before), both in the number of stalls and the number of shoppers. Occasionally I had to wait for someone to finish a conversation so I could get close to a stall, but there were no actual crowds. We bought a Christmas pudding, some cards - oh, and inevitably, some cheese.

It's been a short week: we took Monday off, too, to visit the Raymond Briggs exhibition at the Bowes Museum (and tea after with A and D). The museum looked splendid in wreaths of greenery and lights, and the exhibition was fun. Its main effect was to make me want to sit down and read the books, but there's nothing wrong with that.

...is it brightest just before nightfall?

Probably not as a rule, but it was today. We were visiting J., to admire her new Bathroom in Progress and tackle some small computer problems. So we were in her sitting room, with its huge windows looking out over the hills; I was looking one way, watching the rain, and commented how dark the sky was already, but J, at right angles to me, pointed out a square of brightness next to the farm buildings, where the sun was reflecting off the back of a van Sun? What sun? But I walked across to look in the opposite direction, and the sun really was visible, low between the clouds and getting brighter every minute.

That's when we saw the rainbow. At first it was just a fragment, a vertical shaft spearing through the farmhouse, fain but clear. As we watched, it grew stronger, and we could trace its length further up into the sky, still almost vertical.

Then it faded, of course, and it was night. But it was lovely while it lasted. Driving home, we saw plenty of Christmas lights already shining; but the rainbow was better.

Pumpkin time in Roscoff - and no two are alike!

And, in news of other harvests, Mrs Collinson has produced 1.5 kilos of tea from her plantation on Shapinsay.

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News from Nowhere

Entries tagged with seasonal

Back to work

The grit in my oyster

If it's midsummer, this must be...

Green/grocer/ies

Five signs of spring

Signs of Spring

Treats and tricks

... and we're home!

Harvest

Free games for May

Black fruit season

Still life with seasonal produce.

There ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Aspects of spring

A timely discovery

The dangers of metaphor

In the bleak midwinter...

Blooming Christmas

If it's darkest just before the dawn...

Happy Halloween!