U is for umbellifers

 

Cow parsley

There are some weeds which I rather like.  I do have my standards but there is something rather lovely about umbellifers standing near autumn hedges. 

Umbellifers?  They are plants with umbrella-shaped heads made up of dozens of tiny flowers.

Queen Anne's lace

Cow parsley is probably the one most of us recognise, although by autumn it has gone from its frothy white springtime self to something altogether more skeletal. The flower heads dry beautifully, catching the low autumn light and looking almost like tiny pieces of lace.  Wild carrot does much the same. Its flower heads flatten and curl inwards as they age, forming those curious little shapes sometimes called a ‘bird’s nest’.   And wild carrot has the lovely alternative name of Queen Anne’s lace. 

S is for Slippers

Slippers are one of the great privileges of retirement. My slippers are not glamorous. In fact, they are from a range of men’s slippers!  I don’t like furry slippers or slippers with fussy bits attached so footwear designed for chaps seemed to fit my purpose better. 

They take me from the kitchen to the sitting room, from the sitting room to the bedroom  and occasionally (on dry days only) outside to the bin.

Autumn makes slippers even more appealing. The mornings are cooler, the evenings arrive earlier and the floor suddenly feels much colder than it did in August.

As I said, slippers are one of the privileges of retirement.  They go with woolly jumpers, maybe a throw or two and a warm drink.  And a very smug/snug feeling.  How about you?

 

R is for rosehips

 In the summer the native dog rose looks lovely in our hedgerows but the flowers died off some time ago and now we have rosehips.  They are just little splashes of colour almost hidden in hedges where the hawthorns have rather more profuse fruits.  Wild rosehip looks as though it has been put there deliberately by someone with a paintbrush.

Wild rosehips were particularly important during the Second World War, when rosehip syrup was made as a source of vitamin C when supplies of some fruits were scarce.  I can remember rosehip syrup being served with milk puddings at school in the fifties.  

I’ve mentioned foraging earlier in this series but I’ve never collected rosehips for food.  I am happy to leave them for birds and other wildlife.  Besides, they look so pretty in the hedgerows.  They don't need to be picked, cooked or preserved to be worthwhile.  They can simply be admired.

Q is for quietness

One of the great rebellions of my retirement is claiming the right to do nothing.  I had a busy working life, was carer for both my mother and my sister, ran a house and garden which were much too big for me and now I enjoy the pleasure of quietness.

I’d hate you to feel that idleness is easy.  I have only to look around and I can see so many things which I should be doing but I struggle and say “nah”. 

The bins ought to be emptied.  The laundry is breeding.  I have lots of cupboards which need to be sorted.  But I'm ignoring all of it.

Even the birds are quieter.  The springtime avian urge for romance is a distant memory and now there is abundant food and they feel little urge to squabble. 

But it isn’t really quiet.  The freezer motor hums.  The occasional car passes.  Even my tummy gives the odd rumble.  Two of those are easy to ignore. 

But mostly there is quietness.

The leaves can fall without my assistance.

The rain can rain.

The washing can wait.

I am content.

 

P is for porridge

 

Porridge never appears on the breakfast table here at Frugal Follies during the summer.  It is strictly an autumn/winter dish.  In the summer I might have overnight oats but the winter calls for something warm and comforting. 

I think breakfast is probably my favourite meal of the day.  I’ve tried ‘em all.

When I was a little girl breakfast was always bacon and . . .    The “and” could be tomatoes, egg, kidneys, liver, mushrooms, fried bread.  Just one of those, not the “full English” of today’s menus.  We never had porridge as my Father reckoned he’d eaten enough porridge as a child and during the war to last a lifetime. Now I eat bacon only when Jack comes. 

I like a variety of breakfasts.  I may have Greek yoghurt but add blueberries, mango, raspberries.  There’s always a mixed collection of seeds and nuts as well. 

Or I might have avocado toast.  Occasionally marmalade on toast.  Or spinach with scrambled eggs.  Or boiled eggs with asparagus spears to dip in, but only if I’ve found yellow sticker asparagus.  I sometimes have baked beans – no toast, just beans eaten like soup.  There’s even a kipper in the freezer waiting for the right day. 

But porridge is an old faithful.  I like to measure out tomorrow’s porridge after today’s breakfast so the oats can soak in milk or water for a day before cooking.  And I have it topped with the same sort of things which I have on yoghurt in the summer

There is something wonderfully reassuring about a breakfast that has been around for generations and has never once felt the need to reinvent itself.

 

N is for nostalgia

 L P Hartley said “The past is a foreign country” but I can’t agree.  The past is so familiar.  Old friends, old faces, old voices.  There are so many in my memory.  All it takes is a smell, a song, an old photograph or even a phrase not heard since my youth.  

So many things from my youth would be strange to youngsters.  Telephones with curly cables.  Televisions with knobs.  But they are not foreign to me. 

I remember childhood summers that seemed to last forever. By the time September came I was well ready to go back to school.  But during those long weeks there were picnics, bike rides, visits, family gatherings. 

Nostalgia wears rose coloured spectacles or rather she takes the ordinary bits of our past and gives them a gentle golden glow.

I sometimes miss things I didn't even appreciate at the time. Waiting for two ounces of sweets to be weighed out from a big jar.   School milk drunk from a bottle with a straw.  Trotting to the letter box to post mother’s endless letters

But I think nostalgia is less about wanting to go back and more about remembering who we were.  In retirement life is no longer quite so full of rushing from one responsibility to another. There is space to remember.

Sometimes those memories make me smile. Sometimes they make me sad. Sometimes they remind me of people who are no longer here.

And that's all right.  We don't have to push the past away just because we're living in the present.  Maybe we can invite those memories in and share a cuppa with them . 

Then, when the reminiscing is over, we can get back to the present.  Nostalgia is a lovely place to visit.  But I wouldn't want to live there.

M is for mums

 No, not mothers:- chrysanthemums.  Gardeners often call them mums.   And I forgot to get some this year!

They are one of those plants which give a wonderful autumn burst of colour, along with sedums, Michaelmas daisies, dahlias and rudbeckias.  Summer doesn’t have it all her own way.  These flowers are the garden’s final burst of colour before winter takes over.

Many gardeners grow wonderful specimens to enter the local horticultural shows but mums aren’t necessarily demanding.   They simply get on with flowering while the rest of the garden is collapsing around them.

As the years go by, I find myself increasingly sympathetic to plants that bloom a little later in life. There is something rather appealing about having your best moment when everyone else has gone indoors.

Chrysanthemums come in all sorts of colours — yellow, bronze, red, pink, white and rather alarming shades that seem to have been invented by someone with a fluorescent paint box. They are wonderfully cheerful.

When the evenings are drawing in and summer already feels like something that happened somewhere else, mums provide a little reminder that there is still plenty of life and colour left in the year.

L is for larder

 

My Mother’s pantry always looked wonderful at this time of the year.  She was a great jam-and-pickle maker and there would be regimented rows of jars on the pantry shelf.  Raspberries, apples and pears from the garden would have been bottled and each Kilner jar held the promise of a fruit pie or crumble.  She’d have made a start on Christmas preparations so there would be jars of homemade mincemeat.  

I sometimes feel I’d like to be like that but I don’t even have a pantry, never mind rows of Kilner jars making me feel like the cook at Downton Abbey!

What I do have is a freezer and a large cupboard.  I’ve been making gallons of soup as well as portions of stewed fruit to have with my porridge or yoghurt.  And I’m building up my supplies of tins in case we have power cuts and the freezer has to stay very firmly shut.

In retirement I have more time for cooking and my supplies of dried pulses and nuts are much larger – many a squirrel would envy me!

There is something very satisfying about putting food by for winter. It feels wonderfully old-fashioned and sensible.

My “larder” doesn’t have shelves that look beautiful on Instagram.  Rather it reflects my lifestyle choice that if the weather is horrid I do not want to have to go shopping. 

 

K is for Kettle and Knitting

There is something deeply comforting about putting the kettle on.  It’s the answer to so many of life’s problems, especially when autumn starts to take hold.   I’ve never been a more-tea-vicar as I don’t drink tea, but a hot drink often hits the spot.

As soon as friends arrive, they are offered a cuppa.  I offer tea (builders variety) green tea (preferred by Jack), coffee (my first choice), decaff coffee (that’s mostly for Annie-The-Home-Enhancer aka the cleaner), fruit tea (I don’t drink coffee after about 3pm) or even instant soup.  There’s something very basic to friendship about offering some sort of hot drink. 

If I’m bored, I’ll have a hot drink.  If I’m upset, I’ll have a hot drink.  If I’m cold, I’ll have a hot drink.  Even when I have my regular zooms with various friends most of us make a cuppa before settling down in front of the screen.

scarves

Then I settle down and take pleasure in drinking it.  And often I’ll pick up my knitting.  I’m getting quite a stack of scarves ready to go to The Salvation Army to be given to homeless people.  There’s even one there commissioned by Santa for a little girl of my acquaintance (I’m a supply elf for when the regulars have a panic on). There’s real pleasure in knitting: the cosy chair, the wool, the clickety-click of needles and the satisfying feeling that I am making something useful.

Retirement is rather good for both kettle and knitting. There is no need to rush. You can make a cup of tea, sit down, pick up the needles and spend a perfectly respectable morning doing very little.

Sometimes the knitting goes wrong.  (I am so "good" at knitting that I can make mistakes on a plain scarf.  But there's no rush.  I can put the kettle on.  A cuppa is the answer to everything.  

J is for journalling

 I know today is the anniversary of a very sad day for the USA so my condolences for all my readers there.  I remember exactly what I was doing when news of the attacks came - Jack's son and his brother were planting a hedge in my garden and I dragged the TV to the patio doors so they could watch the unfolding events in New York.  Unbelievable we thought, but it was all too true.  

On the day I decided to withdraw as covid advanced, I also started to keep a journal and I have kept it ever since.  My journal is a Word document which I find really useful as I can search it easily to find what happened when.  

So I decided to check what I did on this day in previous years.  In 2020 I was just starting to emerge from isolation but I became worried because I came into contact with a suspected covid case so I scuttled back home and seclusion.  Another year I went to a harvest meeting of the WI and reported that it was totally boring.  The year that it was a talk on self defence was much more interesting!  One year I went swimming and reported that I had swum fourteen lengths which I decided was a little too far as I was shattered for the rest of the day.  Last year I was beginning to make plans for my hibernaculum.

And how I wish I had the courage and talent to make a lovely hand-written-and-illustrated journal like Kirsten of A Letter from Home!  Maybe I could try that in my hibernaculum.  

E is for evenings

There is something rather lovely about an autumn evening.

People are beginning to remark that the nights are drawing in.  Summer evenings feel endless which is just as well as the demands of the garden are also endless.  Autumn feels a little more laid-back. 

When autumn evenings are becoming a little chilly it feels good to come indoors, make a hot drink and put my feet up.  Soon I shall find the LED candles which will make things even more cosy

Autumn evenings are slower.  I’m very happy to stay at home.  Some evenings there’s rain and I’m more than happy to stay at home.  I can sew, knit, listen to podcasts or audiobooks.  No pressure.

I hold out as long as possible before switching on the heating, but that first time will bring a feeling of cosiness and comfort.  I no longer have a coal fire but the glow from my pretend fire will bring a sense of well-being. 

So here’s to autumn evenings: warm slippers, glowing lamps, mugs of soup, cosy chairs, good books and absolutely no obligation to be anywhere.

B is for Butternut

Butternut squash sounds like a vegetable that has put on a woolly cardigan, made itself a cuppa and settled down for the afternoon.

Jack  treated me to a plant earlier this year.  We both watched it with avidity.  It has produced but a single fruit.  That single fruit has been cossetted and is a pretty good specimen.  Jack put various things under it to protect it from the slugs and any other nasties which might be lurking and I have watered it. 

And then for its final destination.   I think I will roast some to go with meat but then I shall make soup so Jack can have some to take home.  Such wonderful bounty must be shared!

Butternut squash has a very cheerful colour (mine isn't ripe yet). That beautiful golden orange seems to say, “Yes, summer has gone, but we shall have soup.”  

A joy to be savoured in my hibernaculum.   

 

A is for Autumn

I rather like autumn.  I don’t enjoy getting wet feet, I don’t like seeing the end of summer colour, and I don’t look forward to the heating bills.  What I do enjoy is a season when being at home is a choice which I can make entirely guilt free.

In the summer I feel as if I ought to be doing something or going somewhere, in the winter I try and do a project.  And in the spring, I plan.  But autumn gives me permission to do absolutely nothing.  And I am very good at doing nothing.  When someone asks, "What are you doing today?" I can now answer, "watching the rain."

I rather like changing to my slobby autumn and winter clothes.  Sweatshirts which can be washed and don’t need ironing.  Thick comfortable tights.  Warm, lined skirts.  My warmer clothes will be delighted to be reunited with me.

Soon Jack will come and sort the garden to be left for the winter.  We’ll have the last of the tomatoes and beans and the one, single butternut squash. 

I’ve started to fill my freezer with lovely soups which will also be used to persuade Jack to come.  Porridge is back in business. Apples need using.

And evenings are glorious.  Curtains closed. A heated throw to snuggle up in.

And absolutely nowhere I need to be.   In fact, I can have a perfectly wonderful day without getting dressed properly. 

(I'm doing my usual "thing" to get back to regular blogging - an alphabet of post.  This series will all be about autumn.)

Exit August

 

Phew, what a scorcher!  Our hottest day here was 13th August at 35C, well short of the 40C I recorded on 19th July 2022 but the heat has been much more prolonged this year.  Most of the cereal harvest was harvested in July, weeks ahead of the usual time.  And it has been much too hot to sit in the garden except in the evenings.  

But I have managed to do a few things.  I had planned days out at nature reserves and National Trust properties but couldn't risk the heat.  The best thing has been restarting swimming - we had to stop when oil prices meant the pool couldn't be heated and somehow we hadn't restarted but we have now - I've swum four times during August.

I've bought a new Trundle Truck.  This is a folding jobby which I will be able to take on some public transport, including trains.  I'm keeping the old one too as that is more robust and better suited to nipping around Caistor.

I've met with friends for coffee or lunch on eight occasions.  I'm definitely a lady wot lunches!

I went to a barbecue to celebrate the marriage of D & S.  I babysat D's brothers the night he was born over thirty eight years ago.  He was very ill and needed urgent surgery as soon as he was born so this was an occasion of real joy.

And I am again in demand to lead worship each Sunday.  It's the third time I have covered when this particular group has been without a regular vicar and I really queried if they wouldn't prefer a different priest rather than an old crock like me.  They are lovely: someone comes to help me carry my gear from the car and they put several chairs in strategic places so I can sit down when I want to.  In several churches they put a table so that I don't need to go up and down steps to the usual altar.  Preaching still brings me deep joy and I thank God for the care, appreciation and generosity of these lovely congregations.

It's a while since I posted . . .

 . . . so I wondered if you'd like this list I found.  It's things I've found out since I "matured".

I’ve learned that it takes years to build up trust, and it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.

I’ve learned that whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.

I’ve learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to others - they are more messed up than you think. .

I’ve learned that I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy it.

I’ve learned that artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

(These are from a file which I have had on my pooter for a very long time and some are not my original thoughts.)

Hi, July!

 A whole new month!  I'm still in my salad days  but a new month is still a new month.

I'm booked to take services every Sunday this month.  This is usual for the holiday period.  My friend E and her husband have a narrow boat so they are floating around on a canal somewhere.  I'm not taking all her services as she sometimes does two and I prefer to do just one although I will exert myself in an emergency.  I've also promised to take a midweek service.   Although this is an informal service in a village hall, it takes a lot more preparation than the Sunday jobbies.

A friend has written a book so I am hoping to go to the launch.  

I've got several lunches planned and will enjoy those.

I do not believe that I have shrunk with age, no matter what the ruler at the doctor's surgery says.  Rather, I think the distance down to my feet has increased considerably.  I have therefore decided that someone else can care for my feet for me and I have my first session booked with her.  I'm rather looking forward to that.  

I'm continuing to find UnFinished Objects to donate to the knitters' group stall, raising money to buy various thermal garments for homeless people.  I am rather ashamed of how many I have found but I am rejoicing in getting rid of them.   

How about plan D?

 I was ready for today.  I had one very short service at 8am, (an offer made months ago to help a friend) then home for the day.  I'd decided that I wouldn't wear robes.  I rarely go without them, but I wasn't sure how long I would be vertical with them.  Country churchwardens are usually very accepting of such things.

Last night I was about to go to bed when an email arrived from a poorly vicar: could I take her service this morning?  Her two lay ministers were both elsewhere.  As number four on the list scarcely twelve hours before the service was due to start, I felt I had to say yes.  I was Plan D!

So today I went to two of my favourite churches.  Both stand in the most delightful churchyards.  Each has well kept areas around recent burials, but they also have areas which have been left to go wild.  This sign on one of them explains the philosophy.  I find it wonder-full.  

Salad Days (2)

About the salads.

Cherimoya 

I'm trying to have as much variety as possible in my salads.  So far I've managed asparagus, banana, beetroot, blueberry, broad beans, carrot, cherimoya, cornichons, cucumber, , kiwi, lemon, lettuce, mangosteen, olives, peas, peppers, pineapple, potatoes, raspberries, red cabbage, red onions, rice, spring onion , star fruit, strawberry, sultanas, sweetcorn, tomatoes, watercress, white cabbage

Mangosteen

I've been lucky enough to find a new greengrocery stall at our local garden centre.  It's rather expensive so the lettuces, carrots, etc will be bought elsewhere but they have a few things I'd never tried before.  This week I had a cherimoya, or custard apple.  Can't say I was very impressed.  It tasted OK but there are large seeds to be spat out and the flavour wasn't good enough to compensate for that.

Star fruit

Last weeks I tried a mangosteen.  That was really nice but at £1.50 for a scant dessertspoon of fruit it won't be happening again any time soon.

I also had a star fruit.  I've had then before but not often bought them.  I thought they would look pretty on the plate.  They did.

Hello June!

 

A favourite month for so many people, especially those who like to watch Wimbledon (not me).

I haven't much planned for June, really just a few meals out.  I'm writing that down so I can look back at the end of the month and probably say, "Well, that didn't go as planned!"

And that's the sort of diary I like.  It means that, if a lovely day is forecast, I can go to a nature reserve, or the seaside, or a country house with its gardens or whatever I like.  Or I can sit in my garden and listen to the birds.  

And if the weather doesn't make those happen I can undertake a project indoors.  

An empty diary month?  Nearly!  A lazy month?  Probably not!

(Just after I wrote that I read Kirsten's post for Saturday.  She has been inspired by Rustic Pumpkin  walking to raise money for a charity and she (Kirsten) has increased her step count.  My average in May was just 2188.  I want it to be 2500 in June.)

Salad Days

 It has been a little warm these last few days!  

G, Holly's regular staff, went to London on Monday to fetch her daughter's dog so Holly Dog summoned the relief staff - me!  On Sunday Holly and G  visited me and poor Holly was panting so badly that I gave her frozen gel packs, (often needed by my knees), for her to lie on.  G and I just collapsed like sweaty puddles.  

Anyway, I went to Holly's house and we spent the day avoiding the sun. Unfortunately she likes to sit as close as possible which doesn’t make keeping cool very easy.   Fortunately the house is largely stone-built with not-too-large windows so the heat isn't as uncomfortable as it would be at home.  

While I was there I photographed the tree.  It really is in a magnificent place and is now in full leaf.  I took this photo whilst standing in the porch.

My Hare Days have ended.  It should have been "Hare Today, Done tomorrow" but I did disappointingly little.  I gave away a lot of fabric and some other things but there is still a long way to go to get a tidy house.  I've had to accept that I cannot spend a long time decluttering.  Physically it is too demanding and also I am too easily distracted into looking at books, pictures, unfinished craft projects etc.  My best bet seems to be twenty minute sessions several times a week.  

My Salad Days have now started.   I was inspired by by Ang from Tracing Rainbows who wrote a brilliant post about salads.  I can't claim still to be in the "salad days" of my youth, but I can eat salad!  Over these next few weeks I want to try as many different salad ingredients as I can and to eat them in a variety of places.

And I've celebrated this new "season" by changing the decorations on my indoor tree.  I haven't got vegetables to display but I like my bees and have added daisies.