The Wildling

Nature is always throwing up surprises, and a mature apple tree was one such lovely surprise find. Found as it was amongst the more familiar oaks and willows ( and telegraph poles)  of the marsh.

The thick, gnarled trunk  reached up over 30ft high. Supporting a sweeping curtain, of gracefully bowed branches offering up their bounty of fruit.

Into the 'Apple Grotto' beneath the tree we walked. The floor was thick with fermenting windfalls, yielding with a soft crunch underfoot.

The fruit gave no clue as to its identity. It was a jumble of reds and greens, little and large and pitted and smooth fruit. Every one crisp and juicy with just enough tart 'real apple' taste, to make them a delight to eat.

We pondered its origins, a lone apple tree all out of place on the edge of a marsh. Was it planted there as a young tree, or had it survived against all the odds, growing from a pip, from a once discarded apple. A Wildling.

I much prefer the latter, and as we left we thanked the tree for its fruit, promising to return in spring to see it dressed in fragrant blossom.

                                     
                                          The ones that got away.

Banana Jam

We are probably well past the jam making season now, but I happened upon a recipe for Banana Jam. I like to look for something a bit different, so I thought I would give it a go. This is only my second attempt at jam making, so I am by no means an expert.

I altered the recipe slightly to allow for my love of cinnamon, I'm sure better cooks than me could think of other lovely flavours to enhance it.
6 very ripe bananas, 1lb sugar, 3tsp lemon juice, sprinkle of cinnamon.

Mash bananas, add all ingredients together, stir. Bring slowly to the boil, and then boil rapidly till it reaches setting point. Pour into sterilised jars.
It seems to boil away to nothing so I only really got one and a half jars full. Which might be plenty depending on how it tastes when cool.

Weasel's Snout and Goat's Beard.

Country lanes filled with the froth of cow parsley, woodlands carpeted in bluebells and cornfields ablaze with poppies. All evocative of the British countryside and recognised and loved by many people as they create a huge visual impact when in flower.
Spare a thought for the smaller more overlooked wildflowers or 'weeds' that pop up amongst our flower beds, lawns, waste and farmlands. Beautiful to some, boring to others, many even a nuisance. I covert a lawn full of daisies, of the sort my Grandpa would ruthlessly mow out in favour of neat stripes.

Having a love of gardening from an early age, encouraged by my Mum, {who is always to be found with a little book on wildflowers, trees or seashells tucked in a pocket somewhere} I now find I am developing a new appreciation for even the most insignificent of wildflowers, and with this the intricacies of the wildlife they support.

Lucky to live close to two nature reserves, my first forays over them appeared to reveal nothing of interest, and I was rather struck by the seeming lack of wildlife. However, taking children with you, and looking through their eyes, suddenly opens up a whole new Lilipudlian world of wildplants and creatures.  Encouraged [bored] from an early age to look for interesting things "aww not MORE plants mum", I am always happily surprised when they point out little gems. Soon this empty reserve was revealing many secrets.

I have had lots of little wildflowers coming up in the garden again this year, and how could I not love them with quirky names such as 'Weasel's Snout' and 'Goat's Beard'. I have happily mown round clover and little plantains and even the odd daisy. The hoe has been retired and campanulas have self seeded through the cracks in paving, naturally softening the edges. I am sure I will never get round to planting enough creeping herbs to do the same job. I may regret it, but dandelions can never be a weed when you have guinea pigs, who love the green leaves, and I almost encourage them by leaving the fluffy clocks for the children to blow about the garden.

The plant nursery I am planning [ mostly in my head] drifts on a whim between dazzling annuals, hardy perennials, aromatic and medicinal herbs,  and now surely, dainty wildflowers. As many plants cross happily  between all these boundaries it wouldn't be difficult to incorporate them all.

Lucky really, as I have to do something with all this Wildflower seed I have sown.

An Evening Walk

Harvington is a little Hamlet I have a great fondness for, having previously spent many years living there. we have walked the dogs over every inch of countryside, and whenever we return, it still feels like home.
We set off for our evening walk to watch the sun set over the lower lake at Harvington Hall. Children and dogs running excitedly ahead, through the ancient gateway of a derelict walled garden.

A gaggle of geese effortlessly glide over our heads, jostling for their place in formation, noisily honking a commentary as they pass on by.

We stand next to the sullen, dark water of the lake. the reflective surface broken fleetingly by a flash of silver, as a leaping fish quickly 'slaps' back into the water.

The cornfield alongside the lake is illuminated by a final burst of light from a coppery sun. A living playground for the many swifts, swooping and darting across it's surface, ready to mob any flying insects.

Poppies and wildflowers creep nervously from the hedgerows, to weave in amongst the field edges. They offer a subtle splash of colour in an endless sea of golden, nodding ears.
A hazel tree anounces it's presence at the head of a small wood, peppering the floor with fallen nuts. Beaten to it by the squirrels, most are already hollowed out whilst still nestling in their silky, frilly cases.

Ultimately the sun melts away, and dusk slowly settles around us. We amble back, hands full of small, tart blackberries. Pockets full of nut shells, feathers and pebbles, all chidren's found treasure.
Darkness begins to tempt it's secretive residents out of their daytime slumber. The joys and pleasures of which remain for another walk on another night.