Summer for one day

What a glorious day of sunshine, a real scorcher that required sun cream and a barbeque. And how lovely that it landed on a Sunday enabling us all to be together, to admire the tulips and have a game of swing ball. There really is nowhere like Sussex in the sunshine.

One a day

It's 9 weeks and 5 days until we leave.

The packing, the clearing, the painting, the selling, the chucking, the planning, the organising and the endless list-making has taken over my life. A move is an enormous thing. A move abroad is even bigger. A move abroad with a husband, 2 children and 2 cats is gargantuan. Some days it feels an impossible leap and others, a natural course.

The consequence being that SussexMama has been neglected, her enthusiastic start has dwindled to a couple of posts a month. So in celebrating all things Sussex I pledge to write a blog a day, a little something saying Thank You to her offerings and teachings.

Spring must have sprung, as the cat finally wanders into the garden after a winter by the fire

Goodbyes and Hello's

The countdown to Mallorca has started. Items are being recycled, sold or given away to loving homes. Skirting boards are being painted, tiles mended, bathrooms deep cleaned and toys debated over. We are renting our house out and taking minimal 'stuff' with us, a chance to welcome a new chapter without unnecessary mascots of the past.

The garden is being tidied for Spring. The bitter winter wind clings on and whips menacingly around my face as I dig and clear the detritus from the last few months. Goodbye Winter and Hello Spring. The bulbs are flourishing with the rare glimpses of sunshine, perennials awaken after their hibernation, peeping through the soil slowly and carefully as if to make sure the winter months have finally gone.

I said goodbye to my work colleagues, a group of strong and inspirational women whose kindness, knowledge and wisdom I will cherish. I have learnt so much working as a facilitator of antenatal classes, met some incredible people along the way and feel enormously privileged to have been a tiny part of couples journey to parenthood.

We are beginning to say goodbye to Sussex and goodbye to SussexMama. And it seems that only when you are preparing to leave something, a way of life, you realise how lovely it all was.

Poo picking

It doesn't sound like a nice thing to do, but I can assure you that it is. Clearing the fields of horse poo is a thankless task to many, but for me it holds so many therapeutic benefits.

There is time to think, to let your mind wander and let all the things bothering you slot into their rightful place.

There is time to observe, all around the spring flowers burst forth. Frothy mayflower and scented bluebells who tower above a carpet of white, starry wood anemone. The insects in the grass, the swallows swooping and diving in between building nests for their young.  A bird of prey, perhaps a hawk, hovers on the thermals in the valley below. The horses graze, heads down, filling their bellies on spring grass.

There is time to listen, to the birdsong unidentifiable but pretty. To hear the silence that is nature. The occasional snort of the horses as they clear their noses and whisk their tails, to swat any early flies out of the way.

Fletch wanders over occasionally to see what I am doing, I talk, he nuzzles in my pocket, sniffs the wheelbarrow and walks away. He comes back at intervals to check all is the same as I work, clearing the fields of his excrement. I think he appreciates it somehow.

It's not a bad job poo-picking. I can think of a lot worse.

Head lists

I must write a blog post, it's been too long. Probably should write a couple of articles as well. And look at my weekend course notes. I need to write a travel story and get published. I just need more money in general. God, I have to finish the neighbours garden before the weekend. Shit, I'm competing at the weekend, it's going to rain. I have to remember his studs, and my medical arm band. I hope I don't fall off. I really want to win. Or do well. Or just get round in one piece. I'm not sure I know my dressage test, will practice tomorrow. The house is a tip. Detritus everywhere from P's birthday. She has to write her thank-you's and I must pick up the cake tin from school. I should call the Grandparents. Actually I need to call the doctors, I'm going to do that now. Will pick up the prescription on Friday, actually am working Friday and then it's the teachers leaving party. Will pick up prescription next week. I must get the writing finished before the children break up. Gosh, need to buy teachers more presents, will have to be bottles of wine from Londis. P needs new shoes, tough, will have to wait. Need to hoover desperately. And clean the fish out, it laid eggs all over its tank this morning but has eaten them all now, least I know its a girl. I haven't prepared dinner. Picnic tea again, I should get off this computer, the garden really needs watering. Need to pick the tomatoes and dead-head the petunias. The floors need washing, the cat litter changing, the washing putting out. Shit, Im competing at the weekend, I had forgotten for 2 minutes. I need to pack my kit and clean his bridles. I need a gin. Better not, it's only 4.30pm. Wonder if he's coming home tonight, do I need to cook? Fish cakes I think. I am slack at everything, need to buck up my ideas and clear out the attic. And sell things on eBay. Did I put sun cream on the kids? Bugger, A has her maths homework left to do. Jeez. The cat just brought a lizard in. In two parts, it had a yellow belly. Revolting animals. Must flea them, they're overdue. I'm tired, need a coffee but just had a coke. Must be more healthy, am so unhealthy I will die soon if I don't get healthy. Don't be a dramatic old fart, just get healthy. The bathroom floor needs washing and shelves are thick with dust. The orchid is about to die, need to water all house plants. And recycle. I drink too much. Must get healthy. I will start tomorrow. Kids need attention, now. Eeeeek, I'm competing at the weekend and it's going to rain. I can't do it, I can do it, I can't wait, I'm so nervous, I'm so excited. I love riding.

Only 5 more school days until the holidays.

Goodbye trees

It's not their fault they're ugly, or huge or un-indigenous. They didn't ask to be planted where they did. The poor old Leylandii with it's fearsome reputation, the stuff of neighbourly disputes and unbridled hatred. Oh the poor old Leylandii.

We have about ten of them at the bottom of our tiny garden. They prevent people looking into to our space and provide a woodland-glade feel, our garden is small but perfectly private and contained. The trees also make wonderful hidey-holes and dens, if you squeeze through them to the back of our land you will find rows of mud pies, stews and garden-gourmet delights for the Queen of Nature. The trees protect and hide her dinner, they gently hug and look after my children allowing them space away from me, a space of their own.

And as you can tell by the title of this blog, they are going next Thursday. I haven't told them, I think they would rather not know. It is not my decision, but a new neighbours, who would rather something native in their place. I don't think I will be able to watch.

When I was five, my mum took me on a walk, I remember it well. It was a National Trust sort of place, maybe I was younger than five as I don't remember my sister being around, but I can recall so clearly a tree being felled. I remember the chainsaw killing the tree and I bawled when it fell. The adults probably tittered at my sensitivity, awwww bless her they might have commented. My mum remembers it like yesterday but she doesn't have to remind me, I can see the tree now and I can feel how I felt when it crashed to the ground.

So I'm going out next Thursday, all day. Our privacy will be gone before the natives grow high enough to shelter our garden again.

Goodbye Leylandii, I liked you very much even if no one else did.

Sussex in June

I have a bit of a farmers tan going on, very brown forearms with white shoulders, and my cheeks are tingling from a day in the sun. The intensity of an English June makes 20C seem almost unbearable, although we daren't complain unless it goes away. My garden is bursting forth, frothy roses adorn the pergolas and arches while cosmos of varying pinks hold still on their thin stalks, for there is no breeze. The cats snooze on the warmed paving slabs, enjoying the under-floor heating long past the sun disappearing behind the trees.

I wait all year for this day. A day when we play outside, eat strawberries freshly picked, drink coffee with our faces to the sun and murmur murmurings of how pleasant all this is. The plants grow daily, the lettuces are ripe for picking and the chilli's look like they may have a chance of making it this year. Long June days, the days of Enid Blyton childhood memories, of chocolate ice cream spilled down school dresses, of birds twittering till 10 O'clock and glasses of icy cold white wine.

             
Ah, June days.

Growing long and eating strawberries in the pretty shade

Flower Show

Nursing a minor headache from the obligatory red wine of a Friday night, my Saturday morning was spent washing potatoes, tying up onions and giggling over googly eyes. For Saturday was the annual village flower show, a country affair, an English tradition with large amounts of competitive spirit.

During the last few months some parents and I have dug, toiled, sweated, watered, weeded and tended to a plot at our local allotment site. On Friday afternoons, groups of little people have trooped down from the school to get their hands mucky, to plant runner bean seeds, courgettes, onion sets and peas. They created an enormous bug hotel out of pallets and pots, they squealed in delight in finding insects and butterflies and they fed all the grubs to the neighbours chickens - some were keen to get involved while others hung around on the peripheries, maybe shy, but usually afraid of the dirt. But there is always a job for everyone, writing the labels, sorting the seeds and discussing the names of the plants and animal life we find in the garden. The hour of gardening at the allotment always goes quickly, the children love it and have pride in their doings - some even came up in their summer holidays to water and weed.

Of course the harvesting is the most fun. Children gasped in awe at the size of the courgettes, overgrown to some eyes but just perfect to theirs. We dug for potatoes like jewels in the cloddy brown earth, we picked long and nobbly runner beans and we pulled up onions bigger than their fists. It was a true delight. A soup was made with some of the older children, a real 'plot to plate' recipe in under an hour - how delicious vegetable soup tastes when you have grown the vegetables yourself!

The children were rewarded for all their efforts, a second for the runner beans, a third prize for the herbs and a fourth plus 'highly commended' for the 'Master Gardener' section. I could see some people looking around very scared - who were these supreme gardeners? If the children put as much enthusiasm down the allotment next year as they did this year, then who knows - we may just be taking home the cup!

The Lottie

The lottie! The whatie?

The Lottie is the pet name for our allotment. She's a good old egg, churning out weeds and vegetables in that order, but we love her so and don't find much greater pleasures than a couple of hours tilling, weeding and planting on our hired piece of land. She was a complete and utter disaster last year, not her fault admittedly, due to rain and slugs. I think we had three leeks, a small bunch of chard, one courgette and some odd curly-wurly pumpkins which had no flavour at all.

I've been ignoring The Lottie this season, mainly due to the darn weather again and also a great, big, chestnut horse has been occupying my time and thoughts. But this half term break we managed a couple of days digging, she's looking quite trim and ready to accept some plants onto her plot.

We planted some celeriac and it's still there the last time I checked. We sprinkled some wild flower seeds and have taken out all the buttercups no matter how gloriously yellow they are. We crumbled the heavy clay soil, as well as we could, in readiness for beans, chard, fennel, sprouts and leeks which are all growing in pots at home. The apple tree has a promising amount of blossom, the horseradish good and strong, while the blueberries, currants, strawberries and raspberries are lush and floriferous promising good pickings later on.

Happy gardening all - here's to a fruitful Summer!

Spring has sprung

The daffodils have all opened at once and the windowsills are singing of Spring. Strangers are smiling and motorists slow down to pass a field of freshly born lambs who know no different, the sun being as it should on their little woolly backs. The air smells of warmth and promise and being cooped-up inside feels like a prison. If you look closely in the garden, new shoots emerge from sleepy perennials, keen to see the light and begin their journey to showy colourful flowers. Spring is on its way and I have never been so grateful, I think everyone feels the same this year. The winter has been difficult and harsh, wet like no other and depressing in its relentlessness. Dare we start to get excited for the months ahead?

Winter garden

I've just been out in our tiny but perfectly formed garden, to feed the birds. They seem to appreciate it at this time of year and I like seeing them from my window. The only other time I tramp up the garden path in Winter is to get the logs in from the shed or to empty the compost peelings into the conical shaped bin. It's so cold and miserable that the worms have all migrated to the centre of the mulch, huddled to keep warm I expect. The perennials are dead and rotten, the greenness of the lawn is mainly moss and I never did get to the garden centre to buy tulips this year, so no colourful Spring display for us.

I see Winter as a chore, something that has to be done, like the house work or filling in your tax return. I see it as a long drawn out affair, like a marathon with Christmas being the half way post but the worst and hardest part left to run. The upside is that the shortest day is nearly upon us, giving us three minutes more light in our day, every day, until the glorious Summer has arrived.

Every Summer I stand bare-footed in my tiny, but perfectly formed garden and breathe in the hums, the stillness, the colour and warmth on the soles of my feet - wishing it could always be like this but understanding there is no yin without yang.

Green soup

With a chink of sun in the sky, I popped down to the allotment with wellies, to assess the rain damage and to check if anything was occurring. There were the usual mole hills, rotten plants, pitiful slug-eaten beans, some unpicked raspberries and the ever encroaching weeds from a negligent neighbours plot.

But there were joys to be found! One big orange pumpkin, two curly wurly pumpkin/courgettes (I'll have to hunt out the seed packet as have no idea what they are), three yellow courgettes, one mini marrow and a great big bunch of swiss chard. I love swiss chard and so do the kids.

"Go in the kitchen, there's an allotment surprise for you!" I said to the children after school today.

Instead of whoops and squeals over the oddness of the curly pumpkins, they both cried:

"YAAAAY, green soup!"

So that's what I made for dinner, 20 minutes from plot to plate.

Our Green Soup recipe

Big bunch of swiss chard, slugs removed
2 onions
Lots of garlic, 4 or more cloves
A potato
Some oil
Stock
Salt
Pepper

Remove the stalks from the swiss chard and chop into small pieces. Chop up onion and garlic. Fry the swiss chard stalks, garlic and onion in some oil, until softened. Add the stock, a chopped up potato and all the chopped green leaves from the swiss chard. Bubble away, adding more stock/hot water as necessary. Whizz with a hand blender. Serve with soft wholemeal bread, chunks of cheddar and a dose of Autumn.

Time

Suddenly I have got some time, not this week in all honesty as it's been manic, but in general - I have time. I haven't been able to say that for six and a half years. You know, since having children.

There is always something to do, don't get me wrong, but if I want to - I have time to stop and smell the roses, or the coffee, whichever is appropriate. The girls no longer need me like they used to. They're pretty self-sufficient these days and happily get their own breakfast, dress themselves and play for hours unaided. I'm here to just break up any quarrels and give them my great wisdom of course. And seeing that school has begun, someone else takes care of my charges and imparts their great wisdom on them, sometimes. So I have time to work a bit, to do the house work, the gardening and allotment, I have time to get a haircut and ride a horse. But the thing is I always made time for those things, so what has changed?

It's the small stuff. I have time to wander around Great Dixter and marvel at the colours of the dhalias, the firey display in the borders, listen to the hum of the bee's and wrack my brain for the long forgotten Latin names of the plants. Without someone needing a poo, without a little one picking the flowers or threatening to, without someone being bored, or hungry, or tired. I had time to have coffee with a friend today instead of rushing off, and we talked while commenting on the dragon flies and the pungent smell of the water mint surrounding the lake.

I like this, having time.

This is Great Dixter, East Sussex. It's incredible. Do go, if you have the time.

Strawberries and babies

We were down the allotment yesterday, just to water my three pumpkins and one courgette plant really. Everything else looked like it had been in a nuclear disaster -  I have put it aside for this year and instead appreciated the small mercies which made it through and beat the elements and the slugs. Soon it will be time to dig the whole plot over, manure and leave for the winter to start anew in the Spring. I am looking forward to that, a clean slate.

After tipping a a few watering cans of water over the plants which needed it, the thirsty, cracked earth drinking it in eagerly, I noticed in the strawberry patch a few glistening red jewels. They certainly weren't there a few days ago.

"Wow, girls, come and look at this...we have hundreds of strawberries....and raspberries.." I screeched excitedly.

Hundreds may have been an exaggeration but we managed to fill a fairly decent sized plant pot with the succulent fruits.

"Gosh, these strawberries are late!" I exclaimed, to myself really.

P piped up " Late for what Mummy?"

And we all giggled about the strawberries being late for our tummies.

But it got me thinking that nature knows no time, the strawberries will be ready when they are ready.

Just as those mothers waiting for their babies to arrive when they are late - 'past their due date' - are coerced into induction of labour because the clock says the babies should be here by now. The baby will come when he or she is ready, as the strawberry plant, they do not have watches.

Lethal leaves

Do you know, something strange is happening in the vegetable garden. The lettuces are growing, the rocket is rocketing and the purple basil is flourishing. We have salad! Look:

This is why I grow vegetables, for the tasty, peppery, punchy leaves which are crispy and full of charm - ie little slug eaten holes and grainy bits of soil still attached. Covered in a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and a splash of good vinegar, this salad accompanies everything we eat from now until October. But you've got to be careful, some of those leaves are damn hot and if you've ever nearly choked on rocket by not chewing it properly and it somehow starts travelling down your wind pipe - then you'll understand how lethal these leaves can be.

Fruits of June

I am trying so hard to be a glass-half-full-kinda-gal at the moment, even though there is plenty to feel blue about when wandering around the garden and allotment. The lupins and delphiniums never achieved flowering thanks to the snails and an over zealous child and a football, the sweet peas have been rain and wind battered when usually I am picking a few bunches here and there by now. Not even the good old gaudy dahlia has shown any promise this year.

The allotment is eerie. Its like a vegetable cemetery, little labels stuck into the hard tilled soil where the plant was supposed to be, but has been decimated by slugs I can only presume. It really was hard not to cry today when 12 french bean plants were standing in a row, devoid of leaves and resembling miniature trees that had been struck by lightening. Even the pumpkins have gone. No courgette glut for us this year. We watered what was left and as I stood facing the war zone, I focused on a bed of swiss chard which will supply us in soup all winter, and the brave little kale plants which are trying so very hard not to be eaten, the few runner beans who have sprinted up the pole as if to stick two fingers at the slugs on the ground and the armfuls of gladioli that will provide colour and cheer in a couple of months time. The rhubarb has been fantastic and we are picking at least six fat juicy strawberries a day, one seems to ripen each time you walk past the raised bed, crying to be immediately picked, eaten and dribbled down the chin.

So feeling happier with all that is good in the world I got to work and became Country Living mum for the day and the kids looked like they had stepped out of a Boden advert.

We made elderflower cordial, rhubarb fool for a dinner party adorned with fresh mint and I am about to make a batch of rhubarb and date chutney - I'll let you know if its any good.

Slugs and snails and...

Spiders, lily beetles and even flies are spared death in our house.

I can't kill anything. Ah that's nice I hear you think, but it causes quite a bit of extra work to remove the creature from where it is being offensive, and placing them in their new hotel. The mice, shrews, rabbits and other live rodents are taken to a field across the road to recover from their feline ordeal, their little hearts beating so wildly as to be seen through their cat mauled coats. The snails are all collected up in a pot, I have taught P to remove them very gently from the plants and walls so as not to crush their delicate shells. She does this with pride and marvels at the bubbles they blow in some sort of defence.

Slugs are removed with implements, a little less cute but treated with the same respect, all moved to a new home over the fence (it's not into someone else's garden by the way but a piece of wasteland perfectly adequate for molluscs) - they probably all come back and find our garden again within a day. In removing lily beetles we discovered they squeak, quite loudly actually, as if to say:

"Don't kill me, I know I lay larvae which decimate your lilies, but I can't help that and anyway, look at my beautiful red shell..." squeak squeak.

Oh OK, lily beetle, you win, have a nice life over the fence and see you tomorrow probably.

Find your yoga

Something was shared on Facebook this week, I never usually bother looking at these things but I obviously have too much time on my hands. It was called '18 life lessons I want my daughters to hear'. It certainly applies to sons as well and to yourself. It made me cry a little bit and also made my day:

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2012/05/18-life-lessons-i-want-my-daughters-to-hear/

All that ranting about education and reluctantly raving of late has had my brain race and muscles tense, I needed to find my yoga. Rebecca Lemmerson suggests to her daughters that::

11. Find Your Yoga.
I don’t care if you ever do a down dog in your entire life, just find something that calms your mind, and devote yourself to it. Find something that keeps your mind and body connected, healthy and working together, because in the times when everything else seems disconnected, it will keep you centered and grounded.

Seeing as the sun was shining and there was a spare hour in the day, I decided to head down to the allotment where peace, calm and nature keep the mind serene. Gardening is such a fantastic way to connect, realign the chakras, exercise the physical body a little and get deep down and dirty. Gloves take away the sensations of working with the sticky, cold clay soil although removing the dirt from under the finger nails may take days. Today the allotment was empty, many plots overgrown and untended, nature clawing her way back and the bees eternally grateful.

You can see here I have been weeding. I love methodically removing the plants from the root, shuffling along on a knee rest feeling pride at where you have cleared. No phones, just birds, the occasional slow worm or lizard, no one else and only small discoveries to be made. In one hour I managed to clear the paths of ever encroaching buttercups, put up the runner bean wig-wams, plant mange tout seeds and erect their supports, plant out the french beans which have been bursting out of the green house at home and discover a little mother spider viciously protecting her white ball of eggs with her life. I could identify with that.

In one hour the mind had stilled, the morning's antenatal class of anxious parents had faded, worries both petty and huge had momentarily disappeared and a sense of an achievement accomplished. May we have many more days without the rain so we can till the land, fill our families bellies with fresh, organic, nutrient-rich food which adds to our emotional well-being to boot.