Nature enriches my life...

Mr H smiles as he walks through the door...what are you up to? 

...Two years ago during the watery summer my sunflower seed began to sprout from the sides of the bird feeder so as the window cleaner watched with a smirk on his face, hands on his hips, I  picked out the 'sprouters' and gently eased each one into a pot filled with seed compost.





...to my delight they threw out a sunshine display in my kitchen garden despite the constant deluge of wet stuff.







Mr H said why don't you collect the seed...so I left the flower heads to dry out and this years sunflowers were born. This summer down at the allotment, with a golden smile, I told inquisitive passers by ...they are all grown from bird seed.

So here I am picking my way through this year's harvest to discover the seeds which the flowers have made. 

Since my nursing career stopped growing, I am occupied by the richness of Time and the Magic of nature...




...yesterday I said to a friend who was trying to juggle her busy life : take a few seconds in your day to see the colour of the sky, take in the detail of a leaf, stop to feel the wind on your skin or listen to the birds sing before you get into your car...when you add up these seconds it's as good as any holiday

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”

— Albert Einstein

Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow

- Helen Keller

Mud on my nose in the veg plot

I wander out of the back door singing along to Smooth Seventies radio station:

 ..."How happy you made me oh Mandy, Well you came and you gave without taking and I sent you away oh Mandy"....as I snip at my sweetcorn kernels bursting from their skin... 

(the song takes me back to a teenage holiday in Kidwelly when my sister (Mandy) and I fell in love with the camp-site band - yes all of them!!) ..."and you kissed me and stopped me from shaking and I need you today oh Mandy"...

I bend to pull courgettes from the plant which is spreading its tentacle like stalks...roasted home grown vegetables in mind for tea...

I lean forward bellowing "I'm standing on the edge of time, walked away when love was mine"... as with flailing arms I grab at the wet, slippery compost bin...still singing.."caught up in a world of uphill climbing, the...arrrgh...mud is...oooohhhhh..."

"in my eyes"

Mr H always says one thing at a time; but do I listen..Never!

Kaleidoscope - a fairy garden

With a cheeky grin on Valentines Day, Mr H presented me with a gift...

I smiled and left it on top of the piano.

Then in need of some seeds for the allotment I opened the box. A small yellow plastic propagator, a round of compacted soil and a tiny packet of seeds fell out followed by flying fairy stickers.

I wet the compost and magically it grew and grew until it filled the propagator.  I sprinkled the seeds and watched them on the kitchen window ledge. They sprouted into hundreds of green shoots which packed the tray like visitors at the Chelsea flower show.

I carefully split the fragile seedlings into pots and promoted them to the greenhouse where they continued to shoot towards the sky until I was forced to transplant them into  'Lottie's' flower beds. There I sprinkled magic dust and waited....

Each time we water the allotment I skip (I wish) in a circle around the flowers singing to Mr H...

 "I grew these flowers from seed;  I grew these flowers from seed; heh ho the poppy  O; I grew these flowers from seed!"

Red and pink poppies sway in the breeze;  pink and blue cornflowers bob on their stems

Wild flowers which for me have no name, twinkle in the sun..... 











Technorati Tags

Gardening, Allotment

I just can't make scones

Like a panda Mr H has his head amongst the bamboo as leaf covered stems swish through the air hitting the ground at my feet. 

Sitting on our blue bench I strip leaves from the canes; soon to be the climbing frame for my peas as they sprout juicy green pods at the allotment.

The sun sizzles on my left foot and shoulder so I slip inside for respite as clotted cream cries from the fridge:

I need scones...

Like slipping on a comfortable pair of shoes I pull my Nans Bero book off the shelf. A food processor short cut means ten minutes later the smell of baking wafts into the garden and Mr H pops his head around the back door with a grin.

My scones from this book are always so light they float above the plate.





But disappointment oozes from my pores as I lift the trays out of the oven . My scones should have risen as tall as Mount Everest, instead they are as flat as the Norfolk Broads.

I blame my scone failure on poor old BT; but it could be the out of date flour...

An extra dollop of clotted cream, a thick sandwich of home made blackcurrant jam and blissfully unaware Mr H sinks his teeth in.

Hats on for Highgrove

The golden rays hit my head like fireballs, I rummage in my hat drawer and drag out my brown cotton 1960s' cap.  Mr H nips out for a haircut and car wash despite the fact that I have told him the Prince and Duchess will not be taking tea with us. He has a day off from work for our early birthday celebrations; a tour of His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwalls' Highgrove Gardens followed by a champagne afternoon tea. 

Mr H paces the kitchen floor as I turn from side to side to check my refection in the glass microwave door. I demand a photo for my blog before we set off, I snatch a second hat from the drawer as we leave...


We are asked to leave cameras and phones in the car and surprisingly I feel free as my eyes can seek without occupation.




The tour guide makes the small group giggle as he shares snippets of rehearsed gossip; we meander along behind him as he introduces us to plants and sculptures as though they are his best friends. He provides us with an insight into the methods used to maintain the organic principles used for the gardens.

Like a snake the group winds its way into the cottage garden, as we pass through a gate calm strokes its fingers across my soul, a lump rises in my throat and behind my sunglasses tears brighten my eyes. I cannot explain why this garden touches me as it does.

I turn slowly as the waves of colour engross me; multi coloured Aquilegias, my favourite flower are dotted everywhere; round headed dark purple Aliums, which I have planted at home, sway in the breeze. The garden is tucked between meticulous hedges and my urge to sit and absorb the tranquillity is broken by the need to move on. 

Mr H offers me the shooting stick he is carrying and I sit as the guide shares more Latin plant names and stories about the gardens' development.

He teases us with glimpses of the wild meadow before we arrive at the path surrounding it. My eyes devour the golden glow of millions of Buttercups, interspersed with blue/purple shades of bluebells and Carnassias mixed with late flowering cream and yellow daffodils. They share the field with fresh green grasses and budding wild flowers awaiting their turn to burst into colour. 

We pass through a maze of garden rooms, each one is individual yet they blend together like waves in the sea, I could go on and on....

My Brain Tumour experience has switched on the headlamp of wonder as I admire small miracles of nature. It was a privilege to see these gardens, I will return..

Not wanting to be outdone by the Queen of hats!, we left with a cap for Mr H purchased from the Highgrove shop.

Oh by the way I changed my mind about which hat to share this day with...

Technorati Tags

Highgrove-gardens, hats, brain-tumour,

Hidden Chelsea

My teeth rattle as the wheels rumble along the uneven paths, bums and backs swarm like bees hunting pollen.  I glimpse flowers, trees and grass between legs, a bit of stone path, rectangular shrubs, iron art work; like a jigsaw without the picture I am unable to piece the gardens together.  I stand from the wheelchair and see a tree surrounded by flowers but moving further is thwarted as others vie for my space. Mr H is anxious I will tumble and persuades me to sit back in my throne on wheels.

When Mr H manages to secure us a spot, I snap at eye level flowers and sculptures hanging from the sky. Macro photography is my passion so not being able to see the bigger picture matters less.  As we trundle along Mr H plants sweet kisses on my head as he describes the water features, buildings and sculptures he sees from up high.

Share my day in this pictorial video blog: (have the sound on)

Thick clotted cream oozing from warm scones lathered with lemon curd and strawberry jam devoured after pale finger sandwiches followed by more cake than Mr Kipling could imagine; finishes off our wonderful trip to London. A Christmas present cream tea in a five star hotel from our dear friends.

Having My Wings Clipped - Interesting Bums

I used to fly everywhere, zipp in and out of traffic in the car, pop out to the shops, think nothing of spending a whole day out, I could walk for hours regardless of terrain.

Now, like a new Mom, I ensure I have planned everything to loo stop detail to give my outing a chance of success. A day out on Saturday at the Malvern show required a Mobility scooter, rented from Event Mobility, a fabulous charity which provides scooters at events and shows.

I booked one a couple of years after my tumour surgery, smiling to myself in the knowledge that I would only be using it once; we enjoyed the show peering at stalls, a special day surrounded by flowers and a group of friends. But the following year I needed one again, the feeling of failure lingered behind my smiles; perhaps I hadn't worked hard enough at the gym or at walking. I didn't go last year.

This year I decided it was unfair to deprive Mr H of the day, and time with friends would be good. I am beginning to accept that scooters play an essential part in days out; I plan to employ my helmet smile and smirk strategy.

I booked my scooter in advance. Dressed in four layers, hat and gloves I sit on 'Celebrity' and win the fight against the cold as it waits impatiently to seep into my bones.

Mr H and I arrive early so that I get a chance of seeing things before the ant like crowds appear, the floral marquee is a joy, the smell of lily's fill my senses as I  pass on snail mode. I am the first to spend money as I treat myself to three Auriculars, their exquisite petals will give me pleasure on my table outside the back door.








We meet up with friends when they arrive but separate after a coffee and chat. I encourage Mr H to dip in and out of the plant stalls while I linger on 'Celebrity', most of the stalls are too small to ride into, I park up and get off when my itch to mooch overwhelms me.

The crowds build and Mr H walks in front waving his arms like a bird trying to take flight, creating space for me to manoeuvre along the paths. I try not to drive over toes as I stare at  bums, some get a longer stare than others, small and pert versus, large and wobbly, I wonder what mine looks like when I am off the scooter.

The myriad of bums and backs soon prevent glimpses of stalls but I persuade Mr H to explore and find the plants we desire.

Sunday Mr F(atigue) teases, he suggests I have energy when I wake, but as soon as I try to hoe at the allotment I feel awful and Mr H says 

sit down you look ashen.  

The three hours in the car, constant movement and concentration at the show have drained my battery...again.

My wings may be clipped but as I step outside the back door today I spot my lettuce leaves breaking through the soil and my new Malvern Show plants grin at me, pleading to be planted. 

Grubby in the garden

The garden calls for attention, its sullen stare makes us feel guilty as it has taken second place to the allotment. We dedicate our bank holiday weekend to it and are rewarded with blue sky, floating clouds and sunshine.

I want to sort out my small vegetable patch which has pride of place outside the back door next to the greenhouse. This year I have more space now the allotment is an established member of the family, I will grow mixed lettuce leaves which I can pick, serve and eat straight from the garden, my own back door vegetable shop. I will also plant some aromatic herbs.

I want to do so much but Mr fatigue still has me in his grip.  Mr H said I should add 'Grouchy' to the Blog Title, cheek. I want to try and lay a small path to make access to my veg plot easier but he replies: 

A) we haven't got any slabs

B) are you off your head

C) where on earth would you get the energy or balance from to lift and lay them...

D) I will do it once we have bought some...

Grrrrrrrr. I storm off....slowly...

Like a stubborn Carol Klein I try to move pots, dead head plants and clear the patch but ten minutes in I feel sick and my head is heavy, low work does not suit me. Mr H takes one look at me and says enough:

Why don't you re-creosote the shed instead? It's a sit, stand job and I will do the veg plot

Good plan..Smooth 70's on the radio I hum my way through songs as I turn me and the shed dark brown.

  

After the surgery Mr H would put a sun lounger out at the front of the cottage and it was a joy just to sit and watch him while he gardened. It was hard for me to stand from the chair let alone garden. Like a judge at the Chelsea flower show I would mark his efforts out of ten. I progressed to short standing up jobs; trimming the lawn edges was my favourite with long handled edging shears. Now I can do short sharp bursts of gardening. 'a bit at a time' is my motto; but I always want to do more.

My main job is to make drinks and provide snacks, I offer Mr H a banana when he sees me munching but he is not so easily fooled:

Open your mouth

No

He moves towards me and I back away, Open your mouth, let me see what you are eating!

Giggling I move away as I tell him Banana

He spots my treats in the kitchen, my sweets are banana flavoured so I am telling the truth...sort of.

Growing A New Life

I have sunflower and sweet pea seeds on every windowsill in the kitchen. Each morning as soon as I get downstairs I peer into my pots and when I spot a green stem or leaf, a squeal slips through my lips. I chat away to my seedlings as I prepare my cereal and pop my pills, I have learnt from Prince Charles that my plants will respond to this quiet stimulation.  I turn the radio to Smooth 70's; they prefer that to noisy news and up to date stuff. I am sure they bop to the sounds of Stevie Wonder, Barry White and the Carpenters; I deny that the movement is caused by my footless swaying at the kitchen sink.

Growing is like dealing with change; it takes too much time and needs more patience than I can keep stuffed in my converse shoes!

When my life changed in November 2008, I assumed (we have been here before ..assume makes an Ass out of U and Me!!) that once the surgery was over and I had bounced back up onto my feet again, normal life would resume. 

I chose to ignore the words of the neuro registrar on day one...if your tumour is benign you will live but it will be a different life.

Recovery, like growing, is part lottery and part hard work. I watched other patients in hospital refusing to do exercises, whereas like a diligent student I did all I was given.  My bedside neighbours and the nurses watched bemused when, with my left hand, like a shelf stacker at the supermarket, I repeatedly moved everything off my table onto the bed and then moved them back again. My home-made occupational therapy worked as I regained the use in my left arm quite quickly.

But my attention to gardening is less thorough and brings groans of frustration from Mr H as I pull out flowers instead of weeds, only half fill seed pots with soil and don't water as often as I should.

My new life is growing, work is replaced by writing and hobbies; I put in my hours at the Gym and baby pool, at home I have a list of exercises too long to fit on one page.  But the changes are never enough...like my seedlings they need time and patience and perhaps some, despite trying, will never pop through the soil....

Everyone should have one!

The perfumed aroma of fresh manure fills my nose, gloves make grasping fistfuls of straw and horse muck almost a pleasure..no peg on my nose.. I am becoming immune...

Lottie the allotment is looking well, she grins a green grass smile as we approach; the sun performs a glorious welcome amidst a pure blue sky...

We tackle listed jobs, the ninth bed sighs as we fill her with dark brown compost from last summers flower tubs, she will soon be nursing raspberry canes and gooseberries. I sit on my throne, an upturned water-butt stand, and settle twenty strawberry plants into the rhubarb bed...better than being joined by my bum! Mr H does the heavy work trundling to and fro from the water trough with full watering cans...

Snacks accompany regular breaks, my oatcake sandwich surprise has Mr H grinning (oatcakes stuck together with a spread of lemon curd..savoury and sweet... yummy), Jamie Oliver beware.... On my deck chair I tilt my face up to smile at the sun, my skin rejoices ...at last spring is in the air...

Fellow allotment holders stop to chat, they ask if I will be doing cream teas once the shed is up; yes of course and champagne...Mr H wants Rachel de Thame from Gardeners World to cut the red ribbon.... In that case I will invite Monty Don!

Back at home our red faces glow with satisfaction as bacon sandwiches are munched. Then Mr H falls asleep on the sofa....

My nephew must not be told I am eating bacon  I am a vegetarian..uh hum...well a pesce-crispybaco-tarian.....he says I am attention seeking!!