My own Harvest festival!

Why do I never have enough jam jars when it comes to making jellies, chutneys and things? I save them every time I finish a jar, so where do they go? Maybe there is a secret jam jar land where they creep off to hide, rather than being filled up again with boring old hot stuff. i once asked the other staff at school if they could spare me some. One person did, complete with marmaladey bits in the bottom. Yuk.

I made 10 pounds of our favourite Apple jelly last week, adding with great pride the two big apples that had made it through the summer on one of our new trees. The rest, needless to say, fell off. I love to see my jars of clear coral jelly, and I know that 10 pounds wont be enough. We eat it with cold meat as well as on toast. My grandmother made it every year, and we had it for tea on the thinnest slices of her home made brown bread.

Today, having recovered from my wretched cold, and having found some energy returning, I made roasted tomato soup for the freezer. We are still picking around one or two pounds of big Marmande tomatoes every day from the greenhouse, and I'm working hard at using them in different ways. The roasted tomato soup is one of Delia's, and keeps all the flavour and colour in. Tomatoes, skinned, halved in a roasting tray, topped with garlic, basil and olive oil, roasted at high heat for an hour, and then whizzed in a Magi mix with a little boiling water and a sliced cooked potato for thickening. Not that it really needs any.

Blackberries, huge, have been mixed with apple and frozen. Onions, the biggest I've ever known my husband grow are being turned into French onion soup. I could do chutney, which I love, but he doesnt, so hardly worth making jars just for the sake of it. We have ears of sweetcorn but havent discovered a way of conserving so we just eat them, with very naughty salted butter.

The next and last thing will be the leeks. Must start consulting my books for things to do with them. I always feel so very Pollyanna-ish and glad when I look at my efforts!

Snuffle snuffle

How can the common cold knock one out so? Maybe this is an uncommon cold, the streaming, the sneezing, the hurt eyes and head, all make me wonder if it is not a sinister French variety. And it is taking its time to go away.
So I have retired to bed, surrounded by what seems to be a library, not that I can read for long, propped up by big lacy pillows, and with lap top for company. Every now and then my sweet husband brings me tea or soup, or even a comforting bar of chocolate.
I went back in my mind to the childhood illnesses, and remembered how my mother would look after me. Lemon and honey, teeny tempting meals, a story read to me, new bed clothes when I was hot and fretful. I wonder if it is only mothers who have the innate ability to know just what the child's needs are, to understand the feelings of illness and frustration that you dont feel any better. I wonder if it ever goes away? Do you always know what your child needs? What will 'make it better'?
The cold will go, is already going. My memories linger on.

At last...The Fete.

It's all over now. The fete was yesterday, a long long day, which started as we left home at 8am, and ended roughly 12 hours later.

The weather was perfect, a hot sunny day. We hadnt , of course, allowed for the fact that there was a small rugby match on, somewhere, which meant that numbers were not as high as we'd hoped. But people came. The start time was 2.30 pm and the French rolled in any time from 1.30 (cant miss a bargain) to 4.30 ( Hmm, thought there would be more cream tea left?) Stalls abounded in what Betty Macdonald called 'toecovers' (is anyone familiar with her wonderful books?) Bric a brac proudly sported an air conditioner, a nearly new cooker and assorted china and, um, objects. Books were pounced upon by eager folk desperate for an English novel. Clothing sold well. The bouncy castle was bounced on.

The cake stall, always a good thing, made lots of money. Sponge cakes, apple tarts,

chocolate cake, all favourites. Bemused French...'C'est quoi ,cette fruit cake?'

English cream teas were a winner, sadly no such thing as Cornish cream exists here, so we used mascarpone, dont mention the calories. Scones , jam, cream, mmmm . And yes, the tea urn was in full swing, good thing too as the first one I collected fused all the electrics. 2 hours wasted running back and forth to Pontivy to get a new one.

Trailing to a finish at around 5pm ,there was only the raffle left to draw. All the right people seemed to win, including the little French girls who had spent their pockeet money hoping for a box of chocolates, a toy lion or a fluffy animal. and when it had all ended...yes, there was still about two hours of clearing up to do. We do have a good team , though, and even though we were exhausted it was great to leave the beautiful monastery garden clean, tidy, looking as though we'd never been there.

We made 1800 euros....success!

Mice

So sad to read Country mousie's blog today. There are many of us in this group who have been through the same thing, obviously in different ways, but we all know the feelings, many and varied.
Even though you have never met someone, you can still feel hurt and sad for them, knowing from experience some of their emotions, some of their feelings. The sadness of one affects all of us.
Although I have been remarried for 28 very happy years, there is still that latent memory of the rejection, the aloneness, the responsibility of being left with children to bring up. The scars fade, the memories die away, but, given a jerk, they re emerge.
So it is good to feel at one with Mousie, to somehow will one's thoughts and prayers towards her, hopefully giving her support and strength. Mice may be little creatures , but they can be very tenacious.

The tea urn..........

Yes, the tea urn. Panic, oh help, and what shall we DO? The week before the church Fete, and what? The tea urn is broken. It is unworking. It is a deceased tea urn.
And as there will be a million Brits at our Fete, (I wish), all unable to live without their cuppa, we have to do something P.D Q.
So who is it that is the only person who knows where the catering supplies shop is? Me. And of course as a revered Church warden, it is part of my remit to go and search out a new urn, fast. Arrive in Pontivy, go to shop....and look in vain for tea urn. Large 50 cup coffee urns abound. Well, this is France ,n'est pas? So I have a little chat with monsieur, and watch the look of bafflement come over his face as I describe a tea urn, an urn for boiling water.......'Elodie, viens ici, mutter mutter' (think he's telling his wife about the mad woman, English of course, who wants a , what? Urn for the boiling of tea?)
A kettle is produced, no, not big enough? Another bigger kettle. No? OK then, well why not buy a large coffee urn and take out the interior filter bits. Well, yes, good idea - if it wasnt 230 euros. We all pause for a moment, me frantically describing English church fete, 60 people wanting tea, boiling water, and finally, the answer comes.
'Why not rent it for the weekend, Madame?'
Oh the darling man. We all beam at each other, problem solved, and at a cost of.........20 euros!
I do wonder what they said after I had left. We had finished up having one of those wonderful fractured conversations, he in pidgin English, me in French, both complimenting each other on how well we spoke the language! And as iI left, he called 'Look Madame, I wrote down the day to collect...and I wrote 'Friday, in English'. And clapped his hands at his own brilliance!

New day

Looking back on yesterday I feel very silly, was that me?? No, someone else has obviously been at my PC, and written moany things.
New day today, the sun is shining. Thank you more than you know for kind words/advice/ shake ups etc. I needed it!
Off to a very long and no doubt boring PCC meeting today, during which I shall draw on my Agenda. I remember when being tutored for A levels, my teacher saying, 'I hope you're concentrating as well as drawing?' It's a habit I cant break, doodling.
I'm running with UPL's suggestion of making a family book. I did one two years ago when we visited the Aussies, so this time it will be for my daughter who lives in Canada. It is lovely to dig out the hundreds of photos, and memorabilia (school reports, music exam results etx) and put it all together.
Have a good day, I'm going to!

What?

What to write? I sit here some days and ponder, what on earth have I got to say that is at all interesting. I dont have children now, to describe, I dont do a rewarding job of work, I am 'just' a retired person, the interesting bits lie behind me.
The fascinating work with children with special needs, the liaison with social services, the visits to homes to try to talk sense into Mum (who was probably too taken up with the latest 'uncle' to listen to our pleas for reading practice (what?) proper packed lunch? school on time). All passed on to someone else. Though looking at the way the funding is allocated, probably not.
Am I feeling maudlin? Just a bit. I think it is the time of life when one sees just how little is in front and how much has gone.....and oh how you would like to go back and do it properly.
But, par contre, as the French knowingly say, of course there is good. I have all day to do my garden, to sew, to design a new patchwork, to play on the computer, to write out the Agenda for the next PCC meeting, to make jam...et al.
Somehow, to one used to a powerfully involved job/life, it isnt quite enough.

Quiet now.

And now it is quiet. We are once again on our own, having seen our friends off to the south yesterday. I love to have them. I love being on our own too! Time to read the paper, time to sit over a coffee and natter, time to think 'Oh does it matter what we eat tonight?'
We have a project on the go, so it's out with the tape measure to work out the size of cupboard we want to put in the newly created study. Mmmmm, catalogues full of shelves, cupboards, bright ideas. Maybe we'll just be understated and put in a cupboard, which will hide the electric meter, and one or two shelves for all the files that one seems to gather. Paperwork isnt my forte, but it's got to be done.
I have things to prepare for the Autumn Fete that our Church is having next weekend, bouncy castle and all. Cakes to make, scones to cook for the English Cream teas that we serve, bottles to collect for the stall my husband is to run. I've sewn my way through 12 lavender bags, all full of my own lavender, and the smell is making me feel slightly woozy! But , so pretty. I hope they will sell.

Perfect week

Visitors arent always 'perfect', but we are fortunate to have two longtime friends who are as near perfect visiors as they could be. We have had a week together, they in need of a break in the course of having a house built in the Lot et Garonne, and we delighted that they have driven up to see us.

The weather helped of course, sunny days, warm evenings to sit out with a drink, scents of sweet peas and night scented stock wafting over the terrace. We have eaten rather too well, it seems, with lunches out at Larmor Plage, and Auray, and coffees and croissants at the bar before early morning shopping. Yesterday we had a BBQ at home, a lunch that started at 1.30 and went on somehow till around 4pm, at which point the men lay in a horizontal position on lounger chairs in the sun. We barbecued pork marinaded in herbs, oil and red wine. We made delicious salads from the greenhouse tomatoes , basil, mozzarella. A loaf of Fougasse, a soft bread liberally sprinkled with bacon and cheesy bits, two bottles of very special 1999 red wine, and a green salad, and our meal was ready.

We topped it off with a wicked pud, bought from the patisserie. As you can see.

What an honour!!

An award!! Such a surprise to find that dear UPL had nominated me as an inspirational blogger. I dont know about inspiring, I find that I can only write the way I am, cant pretend to be otherwise. But it's very nice . Thank you.

Today we have very dear friends staying for a week, so we shall be out and about. Lovely!

12 things etc.

It's hard to limit it to twelve!


They say that the sense of hearing is the last one to leave you. The sense of smell is one that evokes so many memories , rather than sound or sight, for me.





Scents;

The scent of a rose such as Gertrude Jekyll. It will almost overpower a room so strong is it. I love it as much as I love gazing at the perfect formation of the flower.

Of course Lavender, so many people's choice. Difficult to say why,
just that it conjures up all the old memories, lavender in my Grandma's glove drawer, the scent of 4711Old English Lavender on my mother, brushing through the lavender bushes I have had in all my gardens.


Then, if it doesnt sound toooo 'housewifely', the scent of newly washed laundry just as I bring it in from the garden.

Casseroles! Yes, really, and that also takes me back to my grandmother's kitchen. Being a Lancashire lady she always had a wonderful hot pot going.


Strange, as a non smoker, I love the smell of a cigar, but only at Christmas. Mingled with tangerine smells it evokes Christmas for me.

The 'scent' of a brand new book, unread and waiting for me.

Freshly made expresso coffee, mixed with the scent of warm croissants.

Cornish pasties! The smell is better than the feeling that you have a pasty shaped heap inside after eating one.




Sounds;

Any of Chopin's piano concertos, heard so many years ago at the Salzburg festival.

A lawn mower on a warm day, it's a summery sleepy sound.

Birdsong in the morning, outside the bedroom window.



I think that's my 12 done. There could be more, but homework is only supposed to take twenty minutes, isnt it?

Too far away.

This morning my son who lives in in Australia rang me. I love it when he calls as he enjoys a long gossipy chat as much as I do. He is married to a gentle Thai girl and they have two beautiful girls of 11 and 6. They have my son's fair skin but his wife's dark hair and velvety eyes.

He was worried about the report on his youngest daughter who has a slight speech impairment. Having been there last Christmas I dont think it is too much to worry about, and she is programmed to have sessions with a speech therapist.But my sweet daughter in law is taking all the blame and beating herself up as she is sure it is all her fault. Of course she speaks with an accent, she's Thai, but it isnt her fault. the elder daughter speaks normally after all. I think Littlest is in such a rush to get on with all aspects of life that she doesnt give herself time to articulate, just roars into conversation, ignoring order and pronunciation.

Listening to my son I suddenly realised that not only is he a son, he is a father, a caring one. As an ex teacher I can give him advice but he is in charge of his family. He is spending 10 minutes each evening following the therapists programme of reading with Littlest. 'It's her whole life' he tells me. He's getting her sister involved in word games and story telling....all the things I would do. All the things I would love to do as a grandmother..............but thousands of miles separate us.

Slaash and burn.............

It's cutback time in the garden, and I am attacking everything with abandon. The rain this 'summer' has meant that the plant growth has been phenomenal, and things that should be a couple of feet tall are towering over me.

Yesterday it was roses, though I dont cut right back yet, just a suggestion. There will probably be a third flowering from some of them. But all the rest got it in the neck. My lovely furry lamium (lambs ears) is reduced to only a few newish leaves. the beautiful white Achillea which spreaads in drifts around the beds is.....very small.

All the Aquilegias have finished, the delphiniums chopped, and the bronze fennel right down before it can shake its seeds all over the garden. I wasnt quick enough last year and have baby fennels coming out of the beds everywhere.

Weeds of course abound, especially docks, hiding beneath the leaves of bigger plants. Bindweed has been a particular scourge this year too, and it's so hard to eliminate.

But, my penstemons are a riot of colour, the Kaffir lilies are red and Autumnal and there are marigolds and pansies throughout. Trees are just beginning to change colour now, and the Pistachio that we bought (couldnt resist) is going a lovely rusty red. My favourite is the Liquidambar tree, (photo above) its name is lovely and its leaves are gorgeous, reds and golds.

A little bit of gardening every day is what I have set myself, just till it looks ready for Autumn.

Journeys

Journey back. 5.15 am. Relentlessly jolly wake- up music over the radio in the cabin of the Brittany ferries ship. Soft cooing voice. .........Ze commandant and hees staff would like to sank you for travelling wiz Brittany ferries and ope zat you ave enjoyed your crossing........

It would have been fine if I hadnt got so mad at the stupid deckhand who was pushing all the boarding cars together in such a manner that no one could get out of their doors without hitting another car. Little elderly ladies frantically trying to heave themselves through 6 ins of space wielding walking sticks, larger than life Frenchmen crashing doors into other doors. In the absence of anything but a Gallic shrug from the said deckhand I screamed at the 'hostess', much to my husband's embarrassment, who screamed at the deck hand-- and all the cars were then moved back a few feet so everyone had room to get out.

Time in England is precious and my husband enjoyed some happy days on the farm where he was born, with his remaining brother. They pottered round the fishing lakes, the watercress beds, and had a wonderful time catching up. Moving between Barton Stacey, Hurstbourne Priors, to Thatcham where the wedding was held, enabled us to catch up with family and friends. Newbury Manor hotel (pictured above) is lovely, in a perfect setting for a wedding, set on a river into which runs a mill race. The restaurant, excellent food incidentally, had only just been refurbished after severe flooding. the sun shone on the bride, and old friends and family met up, for some of us it was the first time in years that everyone had been together.

Now back to a perfect day in Brittany, sun shining, and ,sadly, weeds proliferating. I'm using the excuse of unpacking before I can force myself to do anything about it!