Often times as I sit down to write this blog, it is evening and the day has come to settle here, in the cottage… the lamp illuminating the darkness, Jack sprawled out in front of the stove, with both cats in residence upon the sofas…I squeeze in somewhere!
The stillness of the evening pervades the cottage…no television or other distraction to detract from the clock on the wall ticking the time away.
There’s a fine stretch in the day, with the light finally fading around a quarter to seven.
The untidy kitchen bears testament to a little shopping, yet to be sorted and packed away.
Friends have been and gone, polytunnel doors shut tight against the wind and logs stacked by the stove ready to be consumed by the iron maiden.
A pack of wooden, clothes pegs, sits atop the kitchen table, to be unwrapped…Lord save me from plastic pegs that grow brittle in the weather and snap when least expected!
Dried chillies wait patiently for their resting place in the pantry, in a jar, yet to be found!
A book, donated by a friend, promises bedtime reading, maybe even into the wee hours of the morning…I’m enchanted by the cover!
Counting down the days until the Spring Equinox…
Happy Saint David’s Day to all of Welsh connection XXX
Pink Ribes and Spring sunshine are both, most welcome.
There was no need to light the stove this morning as the weather is so mild!
The hens are happy to be out on the land for longer as the daylight hours increase and we head towards the Spring Equinox.
Forsythia is in bloom and the “haze,” of green continues to spread over all plant-life…it is both remarkable and beautiful!
Work continues at a rapid pace here at the smallholding, as Spring is advancing with some gusto…there is little time to get all the work that has to be done out of the way…each year is a race against time!
Produce for sale in the porch at the front of the cottage.
Saint Patrick’s day is not far off…
From Shamrock Song by Katherine Tynan
Irish hills, as grey as the dove,
Know the little plant I love;
Warm and fair it mantles them
Stretching down from throat to hem.
And it laughs o’er many a vale,
Sheltered safe from storm and gale;
Sky and sun and stars thereof
Love the gentle plant I love.
Soft it clothes the ruined floor
Of many an abbey, grey and hoar,
And the still home of the dead
With its green is carpeted.
(If not I?)