Speaking of mending...

Several of you have mentioned that you can't make comments to the blog, sorry about that. I've fixed the default: must have googlemail to will receive all emails regardless of how lowly. Silly Google, one might thing they were working toward world domination or something.

Something new...

Josephina's

Larimers Square, Denver

16" x 20"

Some of you know that we have my mom visiting for the holidays. It's been great fun having family about; I've forgotten what it's like to be around someone who's so familiar with you that you don't have to finish sentences. It also means that we can lean on one another for things like clothes mending and blog mending. Yes, that's right, my mom has her art blog up and running, showing some of her recent work. So, if you have a minute, pop over and ooh and ah.

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat,
Please to put a penny in an old man’s hat;
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do;
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you!

Mother Goose

Happy Holidays!

This is a project completed at the care home where I work. Each hand represents a resident and has a wish or resolution for the new year. It hangs in the entryway and will be dismantled at the New Year when we'll read the wishes and resolutions.

Downsizing...

Last June, you know, in the summertime and six months after my introduction into gingerbread engineering, I volunteered to make gingerbread house kits for our annual church Christmas fundraiser in December. It's a good cause; it could be a good moneymaker... and, it would be good to revisit gingerbread and see if I had learned anything at all.

So, with lots of notice, I planned and shopped and organized ... and with Alastair's help and a healthy sugar high, I actually finished with time to spare. So, thanks to Martha, twenty kits found good homes, which was a huge relief because I can't imagine what I would have done with them otherwise.

Thanksgiving

To those of you who have seriously annoyed a turkey today, Happy Thanksgiving!

For me, dinner was cheesy pasta, aka mac 'n cheese. This is a big occasion for me, I kid you not, because I haven't had it in over two years. After years of avoiding the stuff having met my quota in early university, I returned to the dish with Alastair's help and a little bit of mustard powder or salsa, then it was off the menu as I await the day my system tolerates cow's milk again... still waiting.

Well, the mustard powder went a long way tonight, as I grated the precious ewe's milk Wensleydale eagerly sold to me by our local Waitrose cheesemonger and then melted it into my roux. It was so creamy and tangy, I could almost forget it wasn't cheddar. Far from the salty orangeness of the fast meals I relied on when I couldn't figure out how to adjust mom's recipes that fed 5+, and yet still the same sort of salvation.

Bless that cheesemonger!

Ely Cathedral

With the arrival of a houseguest, I always look forward to the new territory we'll explore together. Alastair and I don't often play tourist whilst living in Cambridge and are often grateful when we host houseguests for the opportunities they offer to do so. Most recently this meant a trip to Ely to visit the cathedral. I have to confess that the origins of the trip were to mostly take advantage of the lovely drive to Ely filled with fire-y autumnal leaves, and the big skies in contrast with the dark soils of the fens. It was just luck that we learned that cathedrals were a special interest to this particular houseguest.

Off we went, in pursuit of lunch and cathedral touring whilst the clock counted down to that evening's whisky tasting. The drive was beautiful, lunch quayside was an unexpected treat, and then the cathedral. Mind you, that cathedrals in the Britain don't have the reverent quality for me that others do. They can be awesome with architecture and displays but they don't have that ... something, which can leave me silent in grace, perhaps it's because of their size or perhaps their opulence or no, none of those rule out the others. Ely's cathedral was breathtaking and huge, especially when one considers the size of the town, and something I'll look forward to visiting again. Thank goodness for houseguests.

Something for everyone?

Post Office, St. John's Street, Cambridge

Happy Hallowe'en!

Death of a Drummer
about 1670-1680

Joachim Henne
North Germany
Elephant Ivory

Victoria & Albert Museum
London

Compost

I make compost all year round from kitchen waste, grass clippings and any other plants/cuttings that stand still long enough but there are two problems: some weed seeds manage to sneak into the pile; and adding a little every week means that the compost decomposes slowly. But, in the fall, you get large amounts of material at once as you harvest crops and plants start to die back and then you can make a big, hot compost pile which decomposes faster and cooks all those weed seeds so you don't spread weeds as you spread compost.

A couple of days ago, our neighbor Basil cut down his runner beans and dropped the remains over the fence for me. There must have been 10-15 cubic feet of stalks and leaves in the pile so I moved the existing compost pile aside and rebuilt the pile alternating layers of fresh material, cardboard and old compost and then watered the pile. The old compost is there to act as a starter but why the cardboard? It seems that decomposition needs a mix of nitrogen (fresh green stuff) and carbon (woody stalks, dead leaves and cardboard). Once it gets nice and wet, the cardboard also provides bedding material for worms and gives them somewhere to flee to if the compost gets too hot for comfort. The worms, of course, come from the old compost which was absolutely crawling with them (as well as beetles, bacteria and other soil-friendly organisms) and will do a great job of breaking down all the fresh material.

A few days later, I have added an insulating layer of fresh grass clippings (which worms don't really like - c'est la vie) and some more top layers of cardboard and the compost is getting quite warm to the touch. I'm hoping that it will get hot enough to cook any seeds that snuck into the compost. Those worms had better dive into the bedding layer in case they cook too!

We do have one wee problem with the compost though - it's been attracting fruit flies which have then flown into the house and are driving us nuts. I guess they must be attracted by the kitchen waste (did we suddenly start eating/tossing more fruit in the last month??) so I'm trying to find a way to keep the flies away from the compost in future. Top of the list is switching to vermicomposting (worm-powered composting) for kitchen waste. I already have lots of worms in the compost so what's different about vermicomposting? It turns out not much: I have to add a lot more bedding material and I need to bury fresh kitchen waste under bedding material (which I'm hoping will keep the fruit flies out). Most important though is I have to pay some attention to the worm's diet. It seems they like to be fed every day or two (so the food doesn't mould before they can eat it), they don't like acidic food, citrus peel, garlic or onions (which Edye doesn't eat either) and they don't like grass clippings (so I'll keep kitchen waste in a separate pile from garden waste). A bit more hassle than normal compost but all the reports I've read say they produce beautiful rich compost that improves soil structure, encourages earthworms to pull material down deep into the soil and fertilizes the plants.

Best Laid Plans of ...

Camping, Fowlmere

Well, our vacation plans were foiled by trains, illness and weather. After postponing our vacation because Squeak was sick, Alastair brought home a cold from Belgium... ooh, how exotic!... gave it to me ...I would have preferred chocolates!... and it showed itself on what would have been the first day of our trip. The colds shouldn't have posed a problem except that our vacation was meant to be a 100-mile cycling journey along the Norfolk coast which commenced and ended with train rides from and to Cambridge (100 miles each way) but neither train was running that week and bicycles were not allowed on the alternate bus option, on top of that Autumn/Winter reared its head offering a week-long weather forecast of wind from the North (brrrrr) and rain. Not keen to tour 300 miles in five days under those circumstances and call it a 'holiday', we scrubbed our original plans, saving the mid-week reservation we had at Morston Hall, more on that in a later post.

Above are photos (if you click on the photo, it will open up a small photo album) from our mini-camping/cycling adventure. Since everything was packed and loaded AND Alastair and I have never camped together ever. On principal, we mounted our bicycles for an overnight in a village not far from home. We cycled a mild and pleasant 10 miles to Fowlmere where I experienced my British camping site. Camping in England is a bit like staying at a KOA. Our tent was nestled between two caravans (trailers) on an old apple orchard. There was hot water to wash dishes and showers for a 50 pence piece. Alastair called it our Shakedown Tour. We almagamated our camping equipment, discovered that we're still cold even in our three-season equipment. But the important things worked: tea and coffee. Dinner and breakfast were enjoyable although arrangements will be necessary in order to eat off the wet grass and outside the tent... there wasn't a rock to spare.

Harvest Time: El Tiempo de la Cosecha

At long last, it's time to cook! Since we've returned from our mini-camping trip, we've been feasting on tomatillo treats: chilaquiles, stewed fish burritos, and just plain salsa. It's been worth the wait.

The best part is that world domination is imminent. The seedlings I passed along to my nutritionist friend, Marie-Ann, are now producing their own yield and she is loving the recipes shared thus far. Exponentially speaking, the world is not my oyster but my tomatillo.

Romanesque

 

What do you suppose I should do with this?

Found in our little green grocer in the village, it insisted that I take it home. Frankly, all I could think of to do with it is to frame it. It's a cross between a broccoli and a cauliflower... so apparently known to its friends as broccoflower, which I don't think does it justice. The sign on the basket said Romanesque.

I suppose it will be eaten raw with a dip, but I'll keep you posted (pun intended).

Day in Town.

Trinity College


Alastair and I headed into the centre of Cambridge on Saturday to do a bit of shopping and have dinner. If you've heard from Alastair his views on Cambridge on a Saturday, you'll appreciate that this is especially brave. Fortunately, it wasn't as crowded as one would expect. I imagine most of the tourists with families have headed home by now and all the mums had shopped themselves to exhaustion preparing for school to start this week.

I pocketed our camera since I've grown tired of arriving in town only to curse not having it. Perhaps this is me growing, learning. We took advantage of the summer sales a bit, revived at Starbucks in Borders, then recuperated over bento boxes and Kirin beer at Teri-Aki. Not a bad day.

Brass Flowers along Bridge Street

Tomatillo Verde

I mentioned earlier that my tomatillos needed a bit more sun. It looks like they just might get what they need if the forecast holds out. This little husk needs to fill to bursting over the next couple of weeks. All of my fingers are crossed.

If you're experiencing a little too much sun and heat where you are, perhaps you could send some our way. Much appreciated.

Summer Sun II

 

Looks like Squeak's not the only one to see some creative shade...

My first piece of art...

Click on photo to enlarge

Our time at home has been spent out of doors this weekend. We caught up on our gardening and did a couple of projects, plus Alastair had a good twenty mile cycle around nearby villages.

The project in the photo above has been on my mind for months but I've been slow to put it together... in fact, my first attempt failed as I overcompensated with the mitre saw which complicated things because I couldn't walk myself through the error. Thankfully Alastair repaired my attempt, was keen to play with my framing tacks, et voila!

Inside is a selection of sempervivum and a couple of other succulents that I've collected over the last couple of years. Behind it is layers of mesh, sphagnum moss and sisal. It hangs in our back garden on the far fence, but can be seen from the front gate. If you come for a barbecue, it's the first thing you'd see.

Had you been here last night...

Last night, had you lived nearby, we would have invited you to dinner. The weather was warm with little breeze, the barbecue was hot and the sweetcorn just pulled off the stalks in our garden.

Our menu was:
Grilled swordfish with salsa verde (pineapple sage, capers, lemon and mint)
Steamed corn on the cob
Green salad (mixed lettuces and tomatoes (from the garden) plus avocado and celery.

Fresh apple and blackbery crisp with oats

New Zealand Montana 2006 Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc

Missed you!

Summer Sun

Until Sunday, life here has been sunny and warm; even Squeak chose to find some shade. It's been lovely here, warm enough to eat outside and even barbecue. Things just changed and consequently, I think everyone on this island simultaneously shook their heads and sadly wrote off summer... not me though, I'm not British yet. I have tomatillos that still need a few more weeks of good weather to flourish.

More to come, promise.

So, these last few weeks have been filled with good news, sad news and waiting for a certain someone to make her debut. It's been bittersweet. All the while, the garden continues to grow, with Alastair and I dining on zucchini these last three nights and that's all from one plant. (I thought we'd learned from two plants last year, grin.) The tomatillos are madly producing their lovely little lanterns, the corn is doing its very best to mature two cobs per stalk and there are four pumpkins working hard to make this Halloween our very best. Soon, we'll be canning.

Happy Birthday, Casa Haggis!

Our little web log turned one year old a few days ago. My, my, how time flies. It's been fun to share news and experiences with you in this fashion. I hadn't planned to like it so much, which is good since I hope to continue it for a while. I mean I have to tell you about my vacation, don't I?

Some of you have taken the time to comment on the posts or email me directly about something on the blog. Thank you! It encourages me to write more. That's good, right?

Where's Edye?

Superior Mirage: Chicago

It's best seen if you click on the photo above.

Clouds in Chicago

Wild Orchid

This morning, I was surprised by the telephone in the early hour of seven. Gill, a friend from the library, was wandering over to our local reserve to view the Bee Orchids and did I want to come. I've never seen a native wild orchid, only those tropical orchids gifted or purchased. So, early morning wander and new discovery? I think so!

We cycled to the center of the reserve near the big oak tree, ambled passed it and into a marshy field that I often pass when I take the neighbor's dogs for a walk. It was a grey morning, threatening rain, which was actually really good at allowing all the colors to show through. I think I would have walked right by them, had it been sunny.

Actually, I might have walked by them all together because they are so small. None of the flowers grew above my knee and I spend most of the morning on my hands and knees, soaking clear through my jeans with the marsh moist. The bee orchid was so small, almost a micro-miniature of the similar lady's slipper orchid one can often find at the florist or in client-based offices where the reception area is meant to entertain you whilst you wait. I had to really look for the bee orchid because it often wasn't higher than the grass that surrounded it. And, I must confess, it paled to the common spotted orchid that grows near it. This orchid, seen above, was complex with patterned leaves as well as delicate detailed ink trails on its petals. It surrounded me in every shade of its mauve purple. Nearby, was another orchid I have yet to identify, a yellow petals stalk with long fangs it seemed. And, beyond that a small fern known as an adder's tongue for its snake like blossom. It's not bigger than a finger, as illustrated in the photos I've linked to below.

The sun showed itself just enough to illuminate a few photos which I have assembled the best of in a slide show just for you. At the end of the slide show is a 20-second long film of a bee orchid, which has a tiny drop of pollen dangling in its center. I hope you enjoy it all.

How to cook artichokes

Some of you, who saw the post on Physalis about my artichokes, asked how I cook them. So, I thought it best to share it here. If you like artichokes, it's really worth paying attention to this post because I'm going to save you about 25 minutes and get you to the table sooner. I am also going to invite you to post any suggestions you might have about the process and what to dip artichoke leaves in, perhaps you're in the mayonnaise camp, perhaps you prefer melted butter, or maybe lean towards hollandaise... or another sauce. Do share.

Now then, the best way I've found to prepare and cook artichokes is to half them in their raw state, clean out the flower with a sharp paring knife removing all the inedible fringe and the youngest of the leaves that are a bit of faff (that's British for a waste of time). After you've cleaned out these parts, put the half into a bowl of water with the juice of half of a lemon to prevent it from browning, whilst you work on the rest of the artichokes. Rinse and repeat.

Meanwhile, you'll need a pan with a lid that allows for all the artichokes halves to rest flat in 1-1/2 inches of water. See above for an illustration. Fill the pan with boiling water and add a slice of lemon, a few whole peppercorns, and a bay leaf. Feel free to ad lib here. Bring the pan to a simmer and add the artichokes. Lid the pan and set the timer for 15 minutes, a good place to start. The time will vary depending on how many you're poaching. When you can smell them, they're definitely done, and I prefer them less cooked than that. So at 15 minutes, I fork them like a potato to see if they're tender. Once they're at the consistency I like, I remove them from the heat and the water, because they'll keep cooking. If I'm serving them at room temperature or refrigerated, I'll rinse them with cold water to stop the cooking process.

And, that's it. No pressure cooking, no need to work hours before. And, you get a well-presented veg that doesn't intimidate most people. Unfortunately, this means Alastair actually likes them and I can no longer barter for his heart.

P.S. You can cook them in the microwave, but since we don't have one, I had to get creative. I really don't miss the steam burns when unwrapping the plastic wrap.

Love comforteth
like sunshine
after the rain

-Shakespeare

It's raining today,
not so much love...

Physalis: The Tomatillo and the Cape Gooseberry

A couple of weeks ago, Alastair and I were finishing off a long weekend of gardening and discussing how best to keep track of all we're doing, when Alastair suggested that I blog a journal of sorts, keeping track of weather and progress. It was a great idea, one which I've been playing at ever since. It's still in its infancy, not even walking yet, but there's a personality in there somewhere... If you're interested in what's happening in our garden, then perhaps you could wander over to Physalis: The Tomatillo and the Cape Gooseberry

Now a funny thing about this website, there's a creative spelling in its name, not the name you see here but the one you'll see in its URL. Apparently Cedric thought of it before me, way backin 2004, so it's his. Instead, I got creative with the spelling and added an 'l'. We'll see how much trouble this gets me in. Regardless, you and I know it with the proper name and there's a link to it on the right hand side of the blog under Tasty Morsels, so you don't have to give this little paragraph another thought.

So, why Physalis? It's the latin name for two of my favorite fruit: the tomatillo and the cape gooseberry. The tomatillo I grew to love in the Americas, the cape gooseberry I discovered on this little island. They're related and lovely to grow, which I hope to show you over the next couple of years. We should have tomatillos this year, cape gooseberries next. There's a third member of the phyalis family that might show its face on the blog, but one can't eat it. It's a flower called a Chinese Lantern, and is a delight, too.

Untitled

What do you call a blog entry that goes like this...

For our birthdays this year, Alastair and I bought cycling shoes and clips for our bicycles. The cycling shoes are the kind that look like normal shoes and the clips are like a metal paperclip in the toe of the shoe that springs free from the pedal with a twist of the ankle. I've never used them before, and we went out for a practice run last Saturday. As we left Alastair said he'd like to take a longer route through two more villages, and I realized that I would want warmer clothes, so about twenty feet from the house, I made a U-turn, too close for comfort and BAM! fell down. I can't say that I even fell off the bike because I was still clipped in, I probably looked like the wind just blew me over.

I have some strange memory of getting a bicycle for my birthday a number of years ago. Anyone want to bet that I fell off that bicycle too?

Tuna Rice Bowls

On Friday, we were treated to dinner at Satnam and Susan's. I have only dined with them a few times, but knew up front that I was following in the footsteps of a global audience. I am one of hundreds from around the world who have graced their dinner table. This particular evening was highlighted by Satnam's mother joining us. Good timing, I think.

Friday evening's menu started with strawberry and orange smoothies, then carrot, cilantro and honey soup, followed by Tuna Rice Bowls. Satnam used a recipe from the Herb Farm's cookbook, which he obtained on one of his jaunts across the pond. Lucky us. Even luckier, we ate from a beautiful piece of tuna thanks to Susan's savvy and negotiations at our local Waitrose fish counter. Yes, I noted the necessary skills for me to use next time.

Jumping right in at the rice bowls, Satnam sat down to chop and slice all the necessary vegetables at the dinner table so we could talk and salivate as a group. Avocados, cucumbers, mint, coriander and nori sheets were all waved in front of our noses. Then, Satnam unwrapped the tuna, something I haven't seen in a while... a wedge of tuna that makes me imagine exactly where it came from on the fish. After sharpening his knife and cutting the tuna, Satnam seared it in an almost smoking pan. A quick assembly and voila! a fantastic, filling salad. Yes, salad!

We finished the meal off with pineapple and mango dressed with sugar-tossed basil. It's a tough way to start a weekend as nothing I ate the rest of the weekend held a candle to Friday night's food.

Temporary Exhibit: Children of the Second World War

Back in February, I took advantage of the former church centre premises and held an exhibit of some work done by the local primary school in partnership with our village nursing home. I had done some mask work with both communities last year and was invited to a small party showing of the work at the nursing home. Apparently, this year's school curricula are examining the Second World War and with some funding from the national Heritage Lottery fund, the local city government, and the Cambridge Film Consortium, a local dramatic group got together a group of students to interview home residents who were children of the WWII. The results were shown at the party. The results were so evocative that I asked if I could show it in the then vacant space on the main street in town. Working with the local history society and the coordinators of the project, we came up with a strong exhibit of resident quotes and student interpretations, along with some visual aids in the form of artefacts such as rations cards, gas masks, flags, and music.

For the following five days, I hosted the public exhibit, which means that I know every word of the ten minute loop of film footage including songs, classroom exercises and interviews. I think I dreamt about eating a potato sandwich one night, which was Elsie's 14 year old memory: 'You've never lived until you've eaten a potato sandwich'. And, poor Alastair's grew quite tired of hearing me hum a tune sung by a very special home resident who's 102 this August. (By the way, did you know that every British citizen who lives to 100 receives a telegram from the Queen herself?)

I think we have all heard the memories of our parents or grandparents as they experienced blackouts and food shortages in the States. I certainly remember my grandmother talking about them. What I didn't know until moving here was that Britain suffered severe shortages due for primarily to its geography. It's deeply woven into the nation's memory. Frugality, which can be the bane of my existence at times, has reared its head on a number of occasions be it with food, books, even broken things. I wonder how much of that is a reflex of muscle memory born in survival, just like the reflex to avoid flame.

As an island, Britain had fewer land resources to rely upon than we did in the States. This was complicated even more by the supply ships not making it through to British ports. As a result of the depression and these shortages, health was poor and the Ministry of Food issued
daily milk ration to children in schools and heavily purported the benefits of cod liver oil, rosehip syrup and concentrated orange juice, which by the way isn't available in the stores here like it is in the States today. Several of the visitors to the exhibit shared memories of collecting rose hips here in East Anglia to sell to the government as a way to help their family's income and support of the nation's war efforts

Other memories were from the children who were evacuated from London to protect them from bombings. These children were sent by train or bus to rural areas where they were housed until it was safe to return, sometimes being evacuated twice. One woman told of six children to a bed, three at the top and three at the bottom.

Women were tasked not only to work in factories but to work on the farm, as the men who weren't fighting in the war were volunteering for Local Defence Volunteer Corps (Dad's army), the women house evacuated children, and made do with the weekly rations and creative exchanges of clothing, preserves, and any foodstuffs grown or raised.

A adult weekly ration consisted of something like:

Butter: 2oz (50g)
Bacon and ham: 4 oz (100g)
Margarine: 4 oz (100g)
Sugar: 8oz (225g)
Meat: To the value of one shilling and sixpence (1s.2d) per week, approx. 15 cents today)
Milk: 3 pints (1800 ml), occasionally dropping to 2 pints (1200ml)
Eggs: 1 fresh egg a week
Dried egg: 1 packet every four weeks
Cheese: 2 oz (50g)
Tea 2 o (50g)
Jam: 1 pound every two months (450g)
Sweets: 12 oz (350g) every four weeks

But, there were no guarantees that the stores had all this available at once. At some point, it was encouraged to return stale bread to the butcher so pigs could eat it. Clothing was also rationed and a motto of 'Make do and mend.' is well known. The clothing factories and employees were employed for munitions.

Meanwhile, something mentioned often was that there was a sense of hope that this would pass. This rang true for me as I put two and two together: On V Day, now known as VE Day (Victory in Europe) to distinguish it from VJ (...Japan) Day, street parties brought everyone out to share whatever might have been stashed away for a celebration, for example tins of fruit. If people didn't think they were going to make it, why save something special for the future?

One of the most moving parts of the exhibit was a point brought to my attention by a woman who was an infant in the war. She had no real memories of the war only the years following. She noted that the generation who were children or teenagers in the war will soon be unable to remind us of this time, that it will be lost to the history books and that this would be a great loss for Britain and the world.

Love Green!

Growing up in southern California, I have a romantic relationship with fruit smoothies. I grew up with them: they were often breakfast, and even sometimes lunch and they fortified many a long distance swim. One of the few things I can say that I've possessed all of my adult life is a blender for this very reason. This tradition continued in the UK, where much to Alastair's dismay I purchased a blender, which he could only attribute to margaritas. Tsk, tsk.

Now, can you imagine what happens when a SoCal girl and a Scottish boy share breakfast? Yes, it's very interesting. I live in a land where the quintessential breakfast consists of savoury (salted) porridge and on Sundays, a Fry-Up which consists of fried eggs, bacon, sausage, blood pudding, fried bread and for those of you wondering where the heck the vegetables are... fried mushrooms and a tomato. If you've traveled in the UK, then you understand.

Fortunately, Alastair only inhales a fry-up when we're staying in B&Bs, and even then we try to avoid it. Instead, I married a man who's default breakfast is porridge with orange marmalade as the closest thing to fruit which might accompany it.

So, what has happened? A meeting of the minds: porridge with smoothie accompaniment, usually it's blueberries, banana and apple juice.

This time, I indulged an attraction to green smoothies and followed those fruits that are most available around here, thanks to imports from Israel and Spain: pineapple and avocado. And, the smoothie was great: smooth and just sweet enough.

Here's the recipe:

1/3 pineapple, cut in chunks
1 avocado, peeled, pitted and cut into chunks
1 banana
2-3 ounces apple juice

Adjust to taste. Serves 2.

Cambridge Snow

Well, not really. .. but that's what I thought.

Last Friday, I went into the city centre (center of Cambridge) to take my citizenship test. On my way, I passed this college garden covered in spent blossoms. Unusual enough to come back afterwards I couldn't resist taking a photograph.

And, yes, I passed the test, now begins the paperwork for the application. Party probably scheduled for, umm, 2008.

Click on photo to magnify

Today, this is Cambridge. Fields and fields of rapeseed (aka canola). You're probably familiar with it as a vegetable oil, but it's also used for animal feed and as a biodiesel fuel. It's left to seed in the field, so subsequently we have 'wild' rape growing in our irrigation canals and along the roadsides.

Everywhere I look this seems to be the view, and my hayfever loves it. It'll be a couple of months before life returns to normal... or wait, maybe this is normal, I forget.

Spring in Cambridge

River Etive, Scotland

A few more photos...

Water water everywhere and not a 'yak to sink

We're not in Cambridge anymore (well we weren't a month ago when we took this photo). We're up in Scotland, walking along the banks of a class 5 river looking at the waterfalls and I'm thinking that my kayak is something like 5,000 miles away in a basement in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Back in Cambridge, the river Cam is a little flatter, a little more sedate, and you don't need hiking boots to hike along the bank.

(I used to do a lot of hillwalking on the west coast of Scotland. The River Etive is near Glencoe a little south of Fort William.)

Holy Trinity, Dunoon

After a couple of days in Glasgow visiting Anne and wandering old favorites, we set off for an afternoon ferry to Dunoon, on the north side of the River Clyde, to visit a friend with new digs: church, cemetery and rectory all on a promontory looking out onto the river with a reservoir and forest behind her. Pretty special spot.

Our visit was short, an overnight with dinner at Loch Fyne Oyster Bar in Cairndow about a 35 minutes drive from Dunoon. Loch Fyne is where my mail order fish comes from. So, that coupled with the fantastic location should make for a glorious evening, but after a meal there, I felt let down. The food just doesn't hold its own and I suspect it's because the chef isn't cooking his or her choices but a prescribed menu. Ho hum, at least the company was good.

After a good night sleep in the rectory, we awoke to sunshine and good coffee. (It helps to have an American making it!) The sunshine and views drove me to wander to each window. Each holding its own special gift, but one stood out from the rest where a deer with the start of its fuzzy antlers was having breakfast. It looked at me and unimpressed went back to eating. Of course, that reduced me to five-year-old antics, running to get Alastair and camera. Citified, for certain. Didn't manage the camera, but it was a good preface to heading further north.

Trailer: Spring... coming soon.

We all know that when we wash our cars or have our windows cleaned, it will rain the next day. Well, apparently, we should know that when one installs a clothes line, it will undoubtedly storm.

Fifteen minutes after I put out the inaugural load of towels, our warm weather headed south literally, as winds from Greenland swept down bringing hail and snow. I haven't used the clothes line since; Alastair has, but I think it was under protest. Our glimpse of Spring is gone, instead Winter is back. Yesterday, I spent my time at the gym staring out at blizzard conditions, white out and horizontal snow. In an hour we had a good blanket of the stuff. It didn't last, never seems to here. The sun shines through the storms pretty regularly. This morning, there's a crust of frost on everything. Hopefully, all that green showing last week got the message and hunkered down before it's too late.



So, here I am left with little evidence outside of the 70s I relished last week. Instead, I'm finding comfort and color in a few branches of cherry blossoms I brought inside. These should carry me through until the time changes Sunday and it warms up again.

The flower shop across the street from Kember & Jones.
(That's the postman on the right.)

Breakfast in the West End

Not a stone's throw from where Alastair and I lived on Highburgh Road, there's a new cafe/restaurant/deli called Kember & Jones. I'd read about it as a brunch spot in a weekend newspaper and put it on the list of things to check out. The review said to expect queues, which is a promising sign for breakfast... I mean, the fact that a group of Scots would actually get out of bed for breakfast is breaking news.

Alastair and I walked over from our B&B next to the River Kelvin. It was cool, crisp and clear and there was much to note on our walk, but I'll share that later. By the time we reached K&J, I was starving... and guess what?! Not a queue in sight. We grabbed a table near to the window, sitting next to a German couple. The first sign that we might be a little early, don't you think?

The menu had all the expected items from muesli to traditional breakfast, and --- waffles with fresh strawberries and blueberries. Do you need to ask what we had??? They were wonderful, albeit small and more like dessert than breakfast, but enjoyable nonetheless. The coffee was good as was the fresh squeezed orange juice. Geez, one might think I was back home.

About twenty minutes after we arrived, we witnessed the queue of people, it was around 11am and within ten minutes there were more than twenty people waiting for about 10 tables. The paper called that one, alright.

We slipped out, noting the deli foods we'd be back for the next day to picnic with in our travels.

Generosity.

At the grocery store, a dialogue something like this transpired:

- That's £44.26. Do you collect school vouchers?

- Yes

- Do you have a Nectar card?

- Yes. [And, I reach back to the woman behind me and hand the clerk hers. ]

- Those aren't her points.

- No, but I would like to give her my points.

- That's naughty. [Swiping the card]

-No, it's generous. [Smile]

- Well, then... [he tears away too many school vouchers, smiling] These are vouchers that weren't taken today.

-Thank you.

I must remember humans have amazing capacity.

Alas, Spring!

All seems right in the world today with the exception that I haven't been able to post photos on the blog lately. I'm not sure why and am frankly not bothered at the mo'. Today is a day to be OUTSIDE in the lovely 70 degree weather. BBC Weather claims that Cambridge is a mere 55 degrees Fahrenheit with poor visibility, I think they must be in shock and won't accept that we're having a spring day that gives Barcelona a run for its money.

Primeval

Foothills of Ben Nevis, Scotland

Sunny day, warm enough not to be cold, not a soul around. We hiked through a series of mountain biking trails and managed forest before we wandered off the beaten path.