Daisies and memories

  

When I was a little girl growing up in Devon, the seaside souvenir shops sold pretty ceramic door plaques painted with flowers and names on them, for children’s bedrooms. Needless to say, in Devon, in the 1970’s, ‘Gretel’ was not included, to my eternal disappointment. My mother must have mentioned this to a local pottery artist, as one day this kind woman presented me with my very own personalised egg cup. Naturally I was surprised and delighted - and only slightly disappointed that she had (as was often the case) spelt my name incorrectly. But it was a lovely gesture and I still have it over fifty years later and this rare photo of my mum and I together, all the more precious as I lost her just a few years after this was taken. 

Up a lace lined hill

We have had such glorious weather these last few weeks that it has felt more like summer than spring. This is the time of year I love the most, when the country lanes are lined with frothy trails of Queen Anne's Lace (or Cow Parsley, to use it's more common name). In search of a view, I headed off to a hill. Because to get a magnificent view, there is always, annoyingly, a hill to be climbed. 

I think the last time I attempted this mile long uphill drag was about seven years ago, on my dear old 'acoustic' bike Marjorie. I pushed her almost all the way to the top. To be fair, it is the kind of incline that only the really fit and hardened would be able to manage. This is the edge of the Shropshire Hills and very popular with serious cyclists, who seem to enjoy the endless ups and downs.  

On No.6, with pedal assist of full throttle, I actually made it two thirds of the way up before dismounting. Pushing is a chore. but when the scenery is so lovely it's nice to take things slowly and drink it all in.

At the top, the views across Shropshire are simply breath taking. Below you can see across to Wales, with the Long Mynd snaking low across the horizon.

Across to the north and even further views out towards Shrewsbury and beyond that,  the Cheshire Plain.

I had planned to go further this day, but I was quite hot and tired, and No.6 wasn't fully charged. We were only a few miles away from the cottage and it was past lunchtime.

The blissful reward after all the effort of getting to the top of a long hill is naturally the prospect of going down it. I think we covered a mile in about five minutes and were home in under half an hour.  

There was no question that I had earned my carbs. This is a small batch bread roll loaf made with just 250g of flour. It's perfect for my needs and one quarter is more than enough for a meal. 

I don't think there are many more satisfying meals when you are properly hungry - especially after exercise - than bread and cheese. Unless it's bread and cheese with piccalilli. 

There are lambs, green fields and olive rolls

 

It's hard to believe that at the start of the Easter weekend it was so chilly that I lit the fire when I was working downstairs. But that is part of the charm of a British Spring - it is by nature capricious and teasing; one day lifting your heart with a light breeze and cloudy sunshine, the next going into a cold sulk and making you wish you hadn't switched to a summer-weight duvet. 

I've managed a few more excursions on No.6 - it's been so long since I was able to get out and enjoy my favourite time of year that I am drinking in the fresh greens and scatterings of tiny, demure flowers sprinkling the hedgerows. And, of course, lambs.  

There have been almost no April showers though and the intense, dry heat we've had has given us hot blue skies and baked fields. 

Continuing my rediscovery of baking, I attempted a batch of rustic olive rolls the other day. I haven't made bread for a long time and this dough was almost ciabatta-like with a generous amount of precious olive oil (now used only for special occasions, since the price of it has almost put it out of my reach). 

I wish I'd left it in this shape and made a small loaf, as it looked perfect at this stage. But I went ahead and formed small buns, which turned out fairly well. I should have left them to prove for a little longer, but that is the fault of myself, not the recipe, which can be found here at Apron and Whisk. 

There are, of course, other recipes out there, but this was the one I felt comfortable with.

I'm using my mornings to paint and am having a steep learning curve remembering everything that I've forgotten. So progress is slow, but I've almost finished 'Lucifer and the Angels', seen here in all it's very large glory. 

I began sketching it out on Boxing Day and it's been a drawn out affair as I have had other things to work on. After so many years in the wilderness with anything art oriented, I think I'm back on track. 

Apple cake and pear blossom

 

Spring  this year is quite spectacular and my pear tree is heavily swagged with generous sprigs of creamy blossom. It is a fleeting delight, as the little petals are already being blown adrift by the strong westerly breeze and speckling the garden like fat snowflakes. 

I had a craving for a good, filling cake, the kind you need after 3pm, when lunch is a distant memory and dinner is a long way off. I had four ancient apples to use up. Wrinkled and soft (a reproachful reminder that I should have eaten them weeks ago), they were peeled, cored and sliced, loosely following this BBC Food recipe here for Dorset apple cake. The cores and peelings I put out in a quiet spot for the birds and already the blackbird has been visiting that corner. 

I tweaked the recipe a little; I accidentally added an extra ounce of flour as I am using a tablespoon to measure out ingredients  (my old Salter weighing scales have finally given up), I didn’t have soft brown sugar so I used castor,  and I layered the slices at the bottom of the dish, Tart Tatin style, because the pattern looked so pleasing. 

Then the batter was slopped all over it and more sugar sprinkled on top. 

It came out far larger than I anticipated; it is a rather plain looking and stodgy ‘fill you up’ cake, which is, after all, what I wanted. I have frozen half of it, as I cannot possibly eat that much cake this week and it won’t keep as well as a fruit cake. But it does go nicely with a cup of tea.

I took a slice out with me last Sunday, when I cycled out for a quick solo sketching trip at a nearby church. 

It’s taken me twelve years to feel like myself again after everything that’s happened, but this year I really think I’ve turned a corner and I’m enjoying doing the things I used to love again. 

Country social

 

Not living in a village it's quite rare to meet up with neighbours, unless it's a brief chat while out walking (which is usually quite enough for me). However, at the weekend I received an email asking if I'd like to join in with someone's surprise birthday celebrations. It was a small, spur of the moment gathering, nothing formal and just a ten minute walk away. I accepted and then panicked about what to make and take with less than 24 hours notice, as if there is one thing I learned from my mother, it was that under no circumstances do you visit someone empty handed.

Overnight I churned ideas about in my head, trying to fudge together a recipe that used ingredients I had to hand (because I'm a long way from shops) and that would be not too simple but not too complicated. In the end I decided to make little pasties filled with feta cheese, cumin baked crushed chickpeas with garlic and lemon juice and strained frozen spinach, encased in rough puff pastry with an egg wash and sprinkled with sesame seeds. 

Of course this was not the uncomplicated plan I'd been aiming for and I was already exhausted from a long day of sitting in on an interview panel for my other outside work. But I rested in the morning and eventually started pastry making a few hours beforehand. At one point, I looked at the pastry and the bowl of filling and thought 'shall I just make one big pie?' Then I dismissed this very sensible idea and began cutting out dear little pastry rounds, painstakingly filling, crimping and trimming them into miniature pasties. It was worth the effort though, as they looked pleasingly like proper party food. I had just enough time to bake them, half an hour before I was due to meet up with a local friend who was going to walk with me to the party. I was only five minutes late.

   

Now that we are in official British Summertime, the longer evenings are a welcome break from the short, grey days of Winter. This Spring has been exceptional and so we wandered slowly down the lane, enjoying the mellowing light and long shadows.

The hedgerows are spattered with tiny floral treasures of Celandine, Primrose and Stitchwort, with the promise of tall, fronded Queen Anne's Lace to follow, later in the month.  

The field across from my cottage is just coming into flower. I love the smell of rapeseed and for me it is the quintessential smell of early summer, as well as adding a cheerful splash of citrus yellow to the landscape. Not so pleasant if you suffer from hay-fever though; poor Jean-next-door is suffering already from it.   

It felt strange to be out and socialising, but I knew several people there, including a couple of older women who have moved away and who had been ferried in to enjoy the meet-up. I was put in the awkward position of having to guess someone's age and tentatively suggested '80?', to be met with a rather pleased guffaw followed by 'don't be daft, I'm 90'.

It was a joyful occasion, with the birthday celebrant being suitably surprised and delighted. I was content to sit on the edge and chat to people as they came to me. I had a small glass of champagne and enjoyed being part of something nice. This being a British Spring evening, the setting of the sun was our cue to wind up the festivities and soon we were packing up, chivvied along by a cool Easterly breeze that had picked up as the light lowered. A short and tired walk home was all I needed to round off the day and return to the cottage, where my warm bed was waiting.

Shropshire lanes and Shropshire hills

I’ve not been able to cycle for a few  years now, due to middle-aged knees that don’t work well; the last time I tried was about three years ago and I had to give up after half a mile as it hurt too much. Buying my own e-bike is not an option as they are way beyond my means, however thanks to a new local hire scheme, I have the use of a very swish and sturdy bike for a nominal fee per month which included servicing and most repairs. And it's made such a difference to my life. 

I have called him No.6, after a favourite TV series 'The Prisoner', because there are 100 of these identical bikes, and more to come, all branded and with trackers in so that usage can be charted. Something about it reminds me of The Village and the big white ball, 'Rover' which bounced and chased anyone who tried to escape. 'Be seeing you'.

My mental health, along with my other conditions, has not been good over the years, but being able to get out a couple of times a week (even if it does take me an hour to get ready and overcome my anxiety before setting off) has been amazing and transformative. Spring is slowly creeping in and the weather has been glorious, so this morning I set off for a big circular jaunt through the single track lanes that branch off the larger roads. (I realise that if you're reading this in the USA or another big country, my definition of a larger road is probably somewhat different to yours!)

The pedal assist has been a game changer and makes cycling so much easier on my knees. This is Shropshire Hill territory though and there are many ups and downs. Some of the inclines are just too steep for me, but I don't mind getting off to push, even though I was rather envious of the few 'man machines' who were powering up and past me like bionic super cyclists on non-electric machines - or 'acoustic bikes' as they are now known.

I managed nine miles today and even though my knees are very painful, it was worth it, for the freedom, fresh air and exercise. As well as the sense of achievement and improvement to my mental health.

Marjorie is having a well deserved retirement in the porch, because even if I may never ride her again, she will always be my special bike - the one that Andy bought me when my old Hercules bike was stolen and because he knew I'd never had my own new bike before. I just wish he was here to cycle with me and overtake me on the steep hills. 

No place like home

 

Just dropping in to add a bit of humanity to an internet that seems increasingly bloated with bots, false news and AI. I’m still here, in every sense of the word and hoping to be staying in my scruffy home for a little longer. My cottage isn’t the prettiest but she is much loved. She is a grand old dame of over 130 years old; we are both a bit tattered around the edges and feeling the cold. 

There have been one or two changes in my life, including my finally having a diagnosis for autism, to add to my ADHD. I wasn’t surprised and I was glad to get it confirmed. Not only does it explain my many struggles throughout my life, but at last I am able to access the support I badly need. It’s been a difficult and lonely time since Andy died twelve years ago, but I feel as if I’m at last emerging from some kind of horrid coma, with at least one positive thing happening soon. So here is a big wave from me and the cottage, to all who continue to visit here. The evenings are getting lighter and there will soon be snowdrops. 

Sheep and Poppies safely graze

My most successful designs come when I am drifting off or doing something else, and my latest lino cut, 'Safely Graze' was scribbled out during a meeting. My ADHD means I find it hard to do many everyday things, but I find I can concentrate better on what's being said if I have a pen to doodle with on my works notepad. Thankfully I work in an enlightened and supportive environment, so I'm not only allowed to do this, but am encouraged to do so. Once I had the basic idea down, I worked it up at home into a more solid sketch and began carving it out. It's a tense time, as I fear making a wrong cut and stuffing the whole thing up. 

As I was shaping the framework of the landscape, I realised it would work better with an extra tree line; the extra weight gives more balance to the weaker side of the design, where the white sheep's head is resting.  

I had thought this would be a straightforward printing, as it is only one colour with the red poppies tipped in by hand. However I had to sort out a recurring slippage problem with my proof press and went down a rabbit hole renovating my old nipping press, before finding a solution which worked with the proof press...all good fun. So that took several days off my schedule. But eventually, by the end of the week, I had a run going. I've decided to keep this one as an open edition, to make it a little cheaper than my last 'Summer in the Park' print, which was an editioned run due to how darned tricky it was to get the registration right. 

This one hasn't been all plain sailing, as the poppies are hand stencilled with pigment ink and I can only do a few prints at a time before my concentration slips and I start making mistakes. (I have a little cat design lined up next and it really is going to be simple and sweet!)

I have the first batch of 'Safely Graze' for sale here, in my Etsy shop; selling prints is helping me get through a difficult summer (as needle felt sales are very seasonal) so every purchase is valued and enables me to stay here a little longer. 

            

'SAFELY GRAZE' FOR PURCHASE HERE