When not digging holes and moving plants around the garden Lyra, Mum and I have been out and about nature duding. It’s all go out there.
Down by the river the whin is already in flower and, as it warms in the sun, there’s the first trace of the the familiar Hawaiian Tropic scent of summer. It was when I was dangling over the ledge trying to smell the whin that I first noticed a curious buzzing. I couldn’t see any bees on the yellow whin flowers and the noise seemed to be coming from ankle level. Curious, I began to scout about and on closer inspection I could see loads of tiny finger width holes in the path with dark coloured bees buzzing in and out. It looks like a huge underground colony of carpenter bees has been established in the decomposing roots of one of the beeches that came down in the last big storm.
The river is getting busy again, with the sound of Fishermans’ voices, nattering boat to boat drifting up to the path, as we pass. I counted four canoes on our last visit. Lyra’s preferred paddling spot falls between two beats but so far she has only had one indignant swan and a couple of curious ducks for company. All along the flood defences clouds of pale pinky purple cuckoo flower have suddenly emerged – a rather soothing contrast to the yellow of its sister oilseed rape, now starting to come out on the fields below, filling the air with a musky, sickly smell redolent of certain flavours of Impulse body spray in my teens…Hayfever season is upon us, with the bright flowers of maple trees and the final inflorescence of the willow catkins twisting the knife.
In the woods there’s a sea of bright green wild garlic underfoot and a froth of foam on the blackthorn which bodes well for next year’s sloe gin. Raymond has gifted me his prize stock of jars and bottles as a token gesture to downsizing for the big move (currently in progress) on the strict understanding that some filled bottles will find their way to the new abode. The lure of the magical “bottom path”, providing an easier route than the dangerous footpath through the woods, that I had spotted recently pulled Mum, Lyra and I along the other day. The early stretches were lovely, a quiet stroll through the vaults of a great green cathedral. Alas, the path vanished into a tangle of brambles and scrub and we had to scale a solidly vertical climb of mud and tree roots to get out. Mum now has the bit between her teeth though and has suggested we start at the other end to see if it is clearer that way……I foresee disaster.
In the grounds of The Hirsel itself it is little critter season. There is bona fide gambolling from the lambs and they are up to twelve calves now in the Hirsel fold, with four little blondies (which look for all the world like giant lambs when they are running around). The calves are getting curious now, wandering over to peer and moo at Lyra. Perhaps they know she started life as part of our own little fold. Strangely, whilst Lyra’s totally unfazed by our giant coos, she finds the calves rather unnerving and makes sure to nudge Mum in front of her as bulwark. Ivor, the Hirsel bull, is currently having a well earned rest round by the walled garden before the calves are taken away to the nursery field and he’s back on duty.
What with all the rambling and gardening ( I resolved to keep this on a separate post for some reason, largely now lost down the back of the drawer, but as the tulips are lovely and the nuttery is looking splendid I’ll just sneak in a few pics….) I’ve not had too much else on lately. I managed to finish Lachlan’s birthday jumper only a week late and Mum’s birthday crewelwork mat (first of a series hopefully) actually on time. Keith’s jumper will have to be for his official birthday I fear….Cake making, however, can’t be avoided as a girl needs fuel. Anyway, the latest (grapefruit and fig) worked well so recipe here
