Spring pops and a little escapism

Cold, bright, cheerful spring days with the sqawk of seagulls, bleating from lambs and a multitude of metal wires clanging against masts around the harbour.  A happy soundtrack.

In the shelter of the walled garden at Bangor Castle, we walk, our spirits lifted by the intensity of colour.  We'd retreated there, far from a crowded gathering at Church - my lovely mum was overwhelmed by the noise and bustle of the full pews of friendly and familiar faces and the quiet of the garden with its gentle waterfall was needed.

I guess this is all part of journey onwards from intense grief.  She's 80, and had known dad since she was 13 or 14 - a long time loving one person.  I'm learning there's no single script for those who live on - we're all finding our own way.  Spring bulbs and lambs help though.  They're hopeful; just when everything is dark and gloomy and seems dead, new life, new growth emerges to startle and encourage us to keep going.  

Back home, I lit a wood fire in the chiminea and sat with a hot drink, warm jumper and my much thumbed copy of John Seymour's book on self sufficiency and day dreamed - my way of escaping.  I was hoping for wisdom on what to plant in the raised bed that will be built over the next few weeks - but lost myself in the mysteries of managing a small holding - which I don't possess, probably will never, but can still dream about....

Ah autumn...

There's a very definite change in the atmosphere.  Farmers busy themselves with essential work while the weather holds and just beyond the fields, the waters of the Irish Sea are a little rougher than of late.



Lamps are switched on earlier in the evenings, the spiders are weaving cobwebs overnight on an industrial scale in my home- they abseil from the ceiling, dangling right in front of my eyes.  I've hand-transported a few bold beasties from the house to outdoors, fully aware that I'm just slowing down their progress as they find their way back in for the night shift. It's still too warm to keep the windows closed.



I spotted this fabulous village sign on a work visit this week.  For years a friend thought it was pronounced Tamla O'Frilly.



Today, the sultry, heavy weather sent me to the hedgerows with my parents for blackberries.  Smaller fruits and less juicy this year I think, but enough.  Maybe we're following on from other pickers or maybe July just wasn't wet enough.  Lots are still red and runty and probably won't get enough rain now to swell then sun to ripen.



Drippy jelly action in the kitchen tonight after book club and in the morning, sweetness added and a few pots of brambly goodness to put away for the dark months.

365:102 Gorse or Whin?

In one county it's gorse; in another it's whin. It seems to have two smells too - in strong sunlight, it's almost like coconut; other days it's like vanilla. Today, I'm just grateful for the splash of colour it brings to the wee roads near the village where even a blast of salty sea air can't knock the blooms off.

365:101 happy days

Here comes the sun... and the wild garlic along the road into the village. Is it my immagination or is this a little earlier than usual? I always associate the garlic with bluebells and May? Anyone else locally spotted the bluebells out yet?