Foxes, geese and tiny houses

 Order just off to America, to the lovely Empty Nest Emporium in New Virginia - a trio of slinky foxes.

A trio of flower geese - 

 And a street of tiny houses -

I hope the foxes are making friends with the geese...

Work hard, play hard.

Now the winter is finally over, once or twice a week we escape with a picnic - I cannot think of many other things I'd rather do than set off with Andy, a simple bundle of food, the open road and the prospect of a few miles ahead; especially in May, when the lanes are drifting with Queen Anne's Lace and the mild wind is scented with oilseed rape.




The weather is changeable and though we may set off in bright sunshine, dark clouds bounce across from the West, threatening rain. The new leafage glows against the grey skies - that is the joy of an English spring; the moist, fresh, greeness which never fails to fill me with hope and happiness.




As we were tramping the edges of the fields this week, we spotted...




Can you see it? No? Come closer. I can see it, because I know where it is - hidden tightly - there's the clue.




Ah, he's been rumbled - there he goes!




Mr Hare, you are a shy fellow - but now we know exactly where you are!





Choosing the right picnic spot depends on the mood of the weather. Sometimes it is best just to find a sheltered spot and watch the rain clouds roll in. There must be good eggs, and a thermos of watery hot chocolate which tastes ever-so-slightly of mildew.






We shared our breadcrumbs with an excited ant, who had never seen such riches in his microcosmic world. He staggered off, his little back laden with this wonderful new bounty. Somewhere below the earth, in a patch of West Oxfordshire, a new religion has been born. Centred around bread.

Turning the circle of our walk, we headed into the reserve. It is a bumper bluebell year in the UK - our woods are carpeted with acres of them stretching out of eye's reach. And I would hate to be the only British blogger not to show a picture of them.




The woodlands never sound so pretty as in Spring, when the birds are singing their hearts out and the cuckoo is doing what all respectable cuckoos should do.






After a good four hours, it's home to a small queue of impatient geese, demanding crowns. This mega order is almost done and they go off for their photoshoot next Friday. There are little gangs of animals dotted around the studio, waiting to be packed. At times I feel as if they are plotting something.

A rare incursion

It's rarely that I go out of my way to invite people into my home. Too much work and a disinclination for other people's company. But I had a good gut instinct about my recent visitors - both bloggers I've come to know - and my gut, in all its glory, is rarely wrong. We planned it weeks in advance so that we could acclimatise ourselves to the idea, although we all admitted to a few stressy nerves come the great day. However we all seemed to slot together as naturally as if we had been waiting for each other. And so it was that Hen and LiZZie and I spent a glorious day together. Kind LiZZie had bought gift bags - suncatchers of her own creating, lovely greens for nature loving Hen and I. And eggs for me, knowing my predilection for them.






I don't think we stopped talking, laughing and occasionally crying, all day. I took them over to 'my' woods, my refuge and second home.




Hen is one of those useful people (unlike me) who stop every so often and point out a little green thing, naming it and relating its special properties. I now have four more species I can show off to Andy and pretend I am very knowledgeable indeed (unless he is reading this, in which case I am rumbled). I had read that our woods are the last remnant of a huge ancient woodland which spread for miles, but she confirmed it by identifying wood sorrel, a sweet little shamrocky thing which I'd walked past without thinking, and is a typical sign of old woods. It explains the special atmosphere I always feel there.




Appropriately enough, as we returned to the car, a rainbow appeared - very faintly - against the rainclouds. We managed to dodge the downpour and returned home for soup and soda bread. We chatted non-stop until Andy returned home from work and we realised it was 6pm. I have rarely met people I felt so instantly comfortable with, and with whom I could be completely myself. When shall we three meet again? Soon, I hope.