The Beginning of Spring

Spring

We have had a funny spring. Heavy clouds cover the sun, and the high winds from the north seem to try their best to dampen our day. But there is an awakening in my garden. Small shoots, swelling buds, and the daffodils in bloom. Spring is gently waving its magic wand, and nature is responding.

The mint is the first of the herbs to show itself. The chives gamely follow at an alarming pace. Thyme looks like it is time to raise. Somehow, this wakes the rosemary. The best of all is the camellia, in full bloom in a cascade of bright pink flowers, that light up the bottom of the garden. Another star is the common hyacinth, keeping the olive tree company. Although the common hyacinth does not look common at all, they are beautiful flowers of pure white.

This reminds me of a poem by William Blake:

The trees are coming into leaf

Like something almost being said;

The recent buds relax and spread. Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again

And we grow old? 

Michael Morpurgo was asked when he thought it was spring.

“To me it is not the first daffodils flowering or the Robin, often seen as a symbol of the season's arrival. It is when you feel the warmth of the sun on your back.” 

The banner image is from last year end of March, We visited Sculptures by the Lake with Robert and Lauren. I must say it was a great day.

Moving House

I am alone at home with the dogs. I say the dogs, as the Middle Smiths are moving into their new home today and have left their small dog with me. Moving is a stressful time, and having an overexcited dog you have to keep an eye on is going to add to the emotional turmoil we feel when we move. Susan has gone along to offer her words of encouragement and advice. Michael is helping Gary with the heavy pieces of furniture. I did offer to hire a man with a van to help them move, but alas, they decided to do it all themselves. We can only hope it all goes well and the arguments are resolved and forgotten when it is all over. 

Good luck in your new home. The mortgage might seem high, but at least it is not going to some greedy landlord. The other advantage is if your shower stops working, you will not have to phone the grumpy letting agent and wait three weeks before it is fixed. You can just do it yourself. The joys of owning your own home are plentiful. 

Mothering Sunday 

Mother’s Day or is it Mothering Sunday? Well, it turns out to be quite simple and complicated at the same time. I have researched their origins and discovered the differences, or similarities, of these days!

Let’s start with one we are more familiar with: Mothering Sunday. According to Christian tradition in the UK and in parts of Europe, it is held on the fourth day of Lent. It was originally a time when people returned to their ‘mother’ church. The church or cathedral is the place they were baptised or attended services when they were children. 

Mothering Sunday became less religious as the commercial value was exploited, mainly by the Americans. During WWII, the US troops brought the commercial version to England and it gradually went from a religious day of celebration to a celebration in honour of our mothers. The Americans call it Mother's Day, and in England and parts of Europe, it is called Mothering Sunday. So if you live in the UK, it is Mothering Sunday.

To make matters a little more confusing, Mothering Sunday is held on a different date, sometime in March. This could make it pretty easy to forget, but fear not, Tesco, I must add other supermarket chains are available, will remind you a month or so in advance, every little helps.

Every year, we treat our mothers, grandmothers, stepmothers (anyone with the word mother in their title) to a meal, flowers and chocolate. We also tend to buy a card that makes a significant dent in your bank account (you noticed).

This year was no exception for Susan. Michael and Matilda took Susan and I to a little-known eatery called The Cowshed, well little-known known we thought, packed, but Michael had secured an outside table. We were warned that the food would take 40 to 50 minutes to prepare. seems they have expanded their sitting area but not their kitchen. Susan was spoilt with flowers, chocolate and a card, no, only joking, once they had bought the card their budget had taken such a hit, they stuck with the card only, well they did pay for breakfast. 

The Cowshed, very friendly and casual. The staff are enthusiastic and very accommodating, and the cafe has a rustic atmosphere.

What was the food like, you are asking? Good. Would I go back there? Maybe, food was good but on the pricy side for what is essentially a posh cafe. Thank you, Michael for a lovely meal and remember, the time we had together is priceless. 

My one gripe is, why is everyone obsessed with sourdough bread? It is very chewy at the best of times, but when toasted becomes impossible to cut or chew. I call for the humble slice of normal bread, lightly toasted, to be reinstated on the menu. By all means, offer the sourdough as an alternative for those with strong jaws or sharp knives. I, for one, do not taste the difference or appreciate this artisan bread; best left to those who do.