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From floods and thick jumpers one day, to soaring temperatures and shorts the next, this year the transition from spring into summer has been a dramatic one.

Everything in the garden is on the brink of blooming and soon we will find ourselves in the dreamlike summer days of vanilla scented valerians and sweet smelling roses. I do love this time of year, so full of promise and anticipation, but before we immerse ourselves completely in those heady days of aromatic floral delights, I would like to say goodbye to Spring by paying homage to the simple, and often overlooked, leaf. For the leaf is the emblem of spring, fresh, green new growth that is both nourishing and cleansing after the winter months.

Burdocks and yellow docks are huge and healthy after all the rain and subsequent sun. The way the light plays through their leaves is so beautiful, illuminating veins and cell lines. In nature, structure and aesthetic are one seamless whole.

Is there anything more lovely than the soft-as-bunny-ears leaves of mullein? I could spent hours stroking them.

Silverweed carpets the paths and field edges with it’s feathery lightness. Such a pretty plant though generally trodden on and ignored. Cinquefoil with its characteristic five pointed leaves grows along the banks next to vetch and young horsetails.

The ash trees are finally in full leaf, they were so late this year. There is an old country saying, ‘Oak before ash, we’re in for a splash. Ash before oak we are in for a soak.’ Well maybe this year was the exception that proves the rule.

In the copse is this lovely early purple orchid with it’s distinctive spotted leaves.

And in the garden is Alchemilla, the alchemist’s plant, in all her dew dappled splendour, along with the wonderfully healthy and vigorous growth of motherwort and wormwood. Salad leaves are also growing up lush, juicy and flavourful and are gracing our plates each day.

What a joy to see the regular visitors enjoying the garden as much as I am. This female holly blue (distinguishable by the black tips to her wings) sunned herself on the ivy for several minutes before heading off to seek adventure elsewhere. Ladybirds are always welcome and what could be more joyful that the fat bottomed bumbles flitting from blossom to blossom?

Finally I couldn’t resist sharing a few early blooms. Wild Edric is now covered in flowers, bistort is cheering the garden with her pink candy tufts and chamomile and valerian have shot up and are just on the point of opening.

Wishing you all a wonderful turning of the season.

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It has been so wonderful to enjoy a few rays of sunshine this weekend after the continuous downpours of previous weeks. Whilst I deeply appreciate the rain, there is something so vital and enlivening about the sunshine at this time of year, plus our vey real need to top up our vitamin D stores after winter.

Finally, all the reasons why May is one of my favourite months were apparent; the garden, growing up so lush and vibrant and about to burst into bloom, the cowslips carpeting the Downs and, very best of all, the musky sweet scent of hawthorn blossom on the air.

As I set off harvesting yesterday I stopped down the garden path to admire these beautiful chive buds. Look closely and you will see the little beads of moisture on the inside. Exquisite no? Like the flowers are gently breathing their way open.

Valerian and roses are all set to flower too. I love the pattern formed by the valerian buds and the spiral of the rose sepals unfurling. This was a new rose for me last autumn, bought for half price from the garden centre. It is called Wild Edric and is supposed to be especially hardy for organic growers as well as beautifully fragrant. Well you know roses are my one weakness….

 

Already in flower and pretty as the day is long are the heartsease. To my mind this is one plant that certainly lives up to its name as it lifts my spirits and enlivens my heart every time I see it.

And gone to seed are the dandelion heads. Much as I love my dandys, I snip most off and just leave a few to populate the garden with their offspring. These downy globes of tiny seeded parachutes are both beautiful and very well adapted for survival.

Then out of the garden and onto the hills, where the wild things grow and the sea winds blow.

This sweet little flower is black meddick which enjoys coastal areas and lime rich soils.

Growing next to it was this chickweed, busting into tiny flower-stars and adorned with tufts of enthusiastic dandelion.

Red campion brings splashes of bright colour to the spring hued greens and yellows of the hedges.

 

And speedwell, one of my favourite of all wildflowers, grows rampant at the field edges.

The blossoms of wayfaring tree, Viburnum lantana, bridge the time gap between the flowerings of blackthorn and hawthorn,  continuing the thread of hedgerow beauty that passes to the elder as the hawthorn blossom begins to fade.

Wayfaring Tree

Buds of Elder

Cowslips are all over the escarpment, enabling me to harvest just enough for tea and a small quantity of infused oil. Remember cowslips are endangered in many parts, though they grow freely here, so cultivate them in your garden for a sustainable harvest unless you have a very prolific source nearby.

One of the things I love best about this time of year is the ability to pick herbs so freely for fresh teas. I am enjoying again my old favourite of lemon balm and rosemary from the garden and there is nothing like a tea of cowslip and hawthorn tops for relaxing in the evening and ensuring a good night’s rest.

My oils are left out in the day, infusing in the full sun, then bought into the warm at night. Like this they should be ready in only about three days. This would not be sufficient time for tougher plants but these fresh flowering tops will give up their constituents quickly in the bright warm sunlight and may risk rancidity or losing their vitality if left out too long.

I have bombarded you with enough pictures for one post but I’ll be sharing thoughts and images from the first hawthorn blossom harvest sometime next week.

What are your favourite things in May?

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I have lived the majority of my adult life in East Sussex and over the years have come to love the South Downs with their soft rolling beauty, their expansive views over fields and sea and their wide variety of wild flowers and grasses. As today is Earth Day I thought it would be a fitting time to pay tribute to a part of the Earth that I feel so connected to.

Our house nestles beneath the chalk hills of the South Downs on the clay of the Low Weald, with views stretching out to the sandy soils and remaining pockets of ancient woodland of the High Weald to the north. The variety of different soils and environmental conditions in this part of the world make for a fascinating array of plant and wildlife, all within a relatively small area, including heath, woodland, wetland, farmland, the coastal regions as well as the chalk downland itself.

The North and South Downs, with the Weald between them, lie across a good part of southern England, running east to west, forming a series of hills, ridges and valleys. Interestingly they were formed from one large upfold of the Earth’s surface which has eroded away at different rates due to the different rocks contained within it. This diagram (borrowed from the ever helpful Wikipedia) shows how the Downs have eroded away to form the furrowed landscape we know and love today. 

The dense clay soil of our garden changes to thin chalky grassland only a short walk up towards the Downs. As the soft clay was most easily eroded, these areas form the lowest points in the area and support different types of plants due to holding more water and nutrients. The old saying ‘as different as chalk and cheese’ comes from the distinction in areas like this between the thin, chalky soil of the Downs themselves, only suitable for rough grazing by sheep, and the dense clay which would support the lush pastureland suitable for cattle farming and therefore, cheese making.

As different as chalk and clay, or cheese.

The chalk of the Downs, laid down over some 20 million years, is made of a soft white limestone that is formed from the skeletons of long passed marine creatures, interspersed with bands of hard flint. It never ceases to amaze me how these hills that seem so solid and unchanging are made from the bodies of creatures that lived nearly a hundred million years ago. It is a daily reminder of inter-being and connectedness, how everything we see only is because something else was, how nothing and no one is alone or apart, how everything flows into one and we are all a part of each other. Above all it is a reminder that, in the scope of history, my own concerns are but small ones.

The escarpment that shelters our house is one of our favourite places to walk and we spend many hours gazing at its beauty, picking herbs and dreaming.

Walking up it you are rewarded for the steep climb with wonderful views of the surrounding area, mostly fields and small patches of woodland with reservoirs and waterways glinting in the distance.

You are sure to meet a curious sheep or some of the friendly resident wild ponies on route…

and at the top you are greeted by the sea, stretching away before you to the South.

Even though the soil on chalk downland is thin and dry, it is still one of the richest habitats in Western Europe. It is characterised by its springy grass, kept short by grazing animals, with patches of scrub mostly made up of hawthorn, blackthorn and gorse. Many wildflowers, including rare orchids, that do not do well in other conditions, thrive here on the lime rich soils. Poppies, cowslips, yarrow, scabious, round headed rampion, self heal, clover and bedstraw carpet the slopes at different times of year as well as a wonderful collection of native grasses. Many of these species are threatened which is why it is so important to conserve chalk grassland habitats. Much of the South Downs is now a national park and there are many conservation efforts underway which is heartening. My husband and I are both members of the Sussex Wildlife Trust, one of the 47 local Wildlife Trusts that cover much of the country. You can find out your local branch here.

These flowers attract a number of rare butterflies and insects too like the beautiful chalkhill blues.

The history of the Downs is rich and fascinating and archeological evidence shows they have been inhabited for thousands of years. Once upon a time they were covered in forest but it is thought the majority of trees were cleared as much as 3,000 years ago. Flint mines, hill forts like the one pictured below and numerous burial mounds have utilised and altered the landscape long before the Romans came.

Iron age hill fort

Though I have always found the Downs to be breathtakingly beautiful and a wonderful place to wander, it took time to feel really connected to them. Being first and foremost a lover of woods and glades, the high chalk hills with their incessant, pummelling winds felt somehow too intense and I would always seek out the most wooded areas to walk in.

Since moving to our current home however, I have come to see the very essence of Mother Earth in the sweeping lines and curves of the escarpment we view from our windows each day. Just like people, the land wears the forms of its history and narrative. It has been shaped by life and death, by rock and by salt sea winds, by wildlife and farmed animals and by the hands of many humans.

And it in turn has shaped our lives and our hearts in numerous ways, some of them too subtle to name.

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The thing I love most about this time of year is the tangible pulse of life running through everything. The plants are arising, unfurling, awakening, so much is happening and yet there is no effort involved, no one is managing it or controlling it, life is fulfilling its own purpose all around us.

So often I am forced to stop and acknowledge that all the lessons I need in life are there in nature, taught to me by my garden or the hedgerows, implicit in the rising sun or the waning moon. Life just is, and we are nothing but life.

Though there isn’t much in flower right now, there is still so much variety in shape, form and colour in my little garden, each bud unique, none more beautiful or better than the other.

Rosemary flowers opening

Lovage uprising

I love watching the first leaves of seedlings appearing and then seeing how they differentiate later on. The first leaves that appear are actually cotyledons, part of the embryo, so they look similar in all dicot plants. The next two leaves to appear will have characteristic features of the particular species. If you look at the borage seedling below you can see that the first two leaves are plain where as the later ones have the characteristic furry, furrowed look of a borage leaf.

Borage seedling - isn't it beautiful?

Each new leaf displays both beauty and function as the sun illuminates veins and cells. Unlike people, plants have no problems being completely themselves and displaying their vulnerability without attachments.

Raspberry leaf

I love to watch the new buds open on the forget-me-nots and lungwort (pulmonaria officinalis) and observe the freshness of the new seasons growth on the more subtly hued plants like lavender.

Lungwort

Lavender

And what is more perfect in nature than unfurling ferns? Each one follows such a distinct pattern yet no two are alike. Like nature, like us who are no different to nature, they stand on the knife edge between order and chaos.

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Spring is the perfect time for getting up close and personal with nature. Unlike later in the year when gardens and hedgerows are adorned with blossoms, bright flowers and expanses of green, in early spring you have to really look to spot all the small beginnings of beauty, all the tiny possibilities emerging from seemingly dried out twigs and all the unfurlings of potential and change.

First forget-me-not opening

It’s the perfect time for going exploring with a magnifying glass and gaining a more intimate view of all the wonders of spring. I have two that I recommend, the first is an average magnifier, bought from an art shop for about £1.50 and useful for getting an overview of leaves, buds and insects. The second is called a loupe and is used by jewellers for closely examining gem stones. You have to get really close when using a loupe but it’s great for examining little details of a plant like veins, hairs on stems or stamens.

Magnifying glass and loupe.

On a pleasantly warm spring day you can pass hours like this and the rewards are as innumerable as the marvels themselves. It’s a wonderful activity to involve children in and such an inspiring way of appreciating a whole new dimension of the natural world. You can start to connect with things as if a much smaller creature and your imagination is fed by this new way of looking. Each tiny hair on the gooseberry leaves becomes defined…

Gooseberry leaves unfolding

Each bud so vibrant and alive in its becoming. Someone else was also appreciating this one.

New buds on the fig

Each new leaf displays its uniqueness. Veins, ridges, hairs, colour variations all become dramatic parts of a landscape when viewed so intensely.

Bright spring growth of Wood Betony

Tiny seedlings become like little trees.

And there is enough to wonder at in a single bud to keep you busy all morning.

Downy buds on the blueberry

Looking closely at a leaf displays its many forms and colours. What first appears to be just red and green also has shades of yellows and purples, browns and blues.

Young rose leaf

Like the Frech soldier and writer Xavier de Maistre, who, in 1794, wrote the quirkily charming Voyage autour de ma chambre (Voyage around my bedroom) in which he explored the confines of his own room then wrote about it as if it were a great travel epic, we too can become strangers in a familiar land.

You can engage in this voyage even if you don’t have a garden of your own, as simply looking at a few houseplants or a window box can become a great adventure of discovery. Failing even that you can plot adventures through the un-explored territory of your fridge’s vegetable compartment. How marvellous is this cabbage? How worthy of wonder and gratitude.

When we start to look closer, appreciate the small and the overlooked, then we can never be bored, never uninspired and never ungrateful again.

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A Song of Ice and Fire

Well Imbolc arrived a few days ago, heralding the beginnings of spring… and bought with it the winter.

Last week we had the first really cold days of the season and today we woke up to a blanket of snow.

The perfect weather for a stroll down the lane, marvelling at how different everything looks after the snow comes.

The few colours to be seen in the starkly beautiful landscape are that much more present and vibrant in contrast with their surroundings.

Icicles hang from the branches, frozen in time, mid-drip.

And teasels bow their heads under the weight of the snow.

The Helichrysum, or curry plant, in the garden looked particularly beautiful, its silvery leaves caught between ice and morning light.

I love the way this weather highlights different aspects of the trees, making me see their forms in a new and inspiring way. Branches of oak and willow looked particularly lovely, their forms intensified by snowlines.

We saw tracks of rabbits, pheasants and foxes alongside our own great stomp-prints.

Can you see the little rabbits out on the lane?

 Some were understandably less enthused at venturing out of their burrows.

Whilst others were very happy to come inside, warm their claws and discover new treats on the kitchen floor.

Whilst we are warming up by the fire, I spare a thought for all the other creatures who will find it difficult to gather enough food today and make sure there is plenty of seed out for the birds.

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While chatting on the phone to my Dad over the autumn months, he mentioned several times how amazing the fungi around where they live have been this year, so it was exciting to look at his photos when we visited over Christmas.

There were some really fascinating species, including some that I have never seen before, so I thought I would share a selection of his pictures along with a few tidbits of information that I gleaned along the way.

I must warn you that I am far, far from an expert in mushrooms and I may well have wrongly identified some of these, so if anyone out there knows better please let me know. And of course don’t pick or eat anything without being 100% sure of the species.

First up we have this little beauty which I think is Russula emetica, better known as The Sickener, it won’t take much imagination to work out why!

Also lots of common puffballs which can grow singly or in large groups and are edible when young.

These amazing fellows are Laccaria spp., I think Laccaria laccata which is the most ubiquitous, though as their common name is The Deciever and cap colours are variable, I could have got it wrong!

They start off flatish, then curl up into themselves looking like some kind of exotic sea creature and most species are edible.

There were plenty of Fly agaric, Amanita muscaria, a mushroom which never fails to bring me joy. It’s no wonder they have worked their way so firmly into folklore and the popular imagination, looking as magical as they do.

These unusual looking visitors are actually the fairly common Yellow Club but the white version below, sometimes called Fairy Fingers, is quite rare.

Here are some Common Inkcaps which, though edible, cause nausea, palpitations and other unpleasant effects when taken with alcohol. According to Roger Phillips they were once used to cure alcoholics in an ingenious form of aversion therapy!

I was very excited to see this Earthstar, Geastrum triplex, which I had read about in Christopher Hobbs’ book on Medicinal Mushrooms. Apparently it has been used in Chinese Medicine as a tonic for the lungs and throat. According to my guide books it is not considered edible but Hobbs says it is decocted into tea and drunk to reduce inflammation in the respiratory tract.

Here’s some beautiful Parasols, before and after opening.

I thought this one might be a Shaggy Parasol but my Dad thought it was another common one , what do you think?

I think this is a Butter Waxcap because of the faint striations at the margin of the cap.

I’m not too sure about any of these though… ideas are most welcome!

And last but not least and somewhat more easily identifiable, here is the man himself, in full Yule regalia. Doesn’t he look grand?

Learning more about local mushrooms and which ones can be used medicinally is high on my agenda for 2012 so hopefully by the end of the year I’ll have some more interesting information to share with you.

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Early Winter Sun

Despite the warmer weather we are merely days from December and, even if the temperature is mild, the low winter sun orientates me at the change of season. I love to go out walking on days like these when the sun gleams through the leaves and even the dead stems of roadside plants are lit up with beauty.

The juxtaposition of vibrantly green grass, golden leaves and bare grey/brown branches against a bright blue sky makes for a starkness that is at once deathly and vibrantly alive.

The Burdock seeds catch on my coat and ensure I slow down enough to appreciate their perfect form and subtle beauty. Can you see all the little hooks they use to ensure they are carried near and far? Look a little closer…

Rosehips still bedeck the hedgerows with little flashes of colour whilst Hawthorns are now browning and becoming dull. Their sinewy branches and great thorns look somehow prehistoric and wild as the leaves die back and expose them fully in all their savage beauty.

One of the plants that catches my eye most at this time of year is the wonderfully witchy Black Bryony which winds and twines amongst the branches of other plants. She dangles temptingly juicy red berries like little Christmas ornaments draped through the trees, just ready to seduce the unwary passer by into an eternal sleep. Though it was once used sparingly in herbal medicine, the whole plant is highly poisonous. Maude Grieve tells us, “Death in most painful form is the result of an overdose, while the effect of a small quantity, varying not with the age only, but according to the idiosyncrasies of the patient, leaves little room for determining the limit between safety and destruction.”

And on the subject of Christmas decorations. It’s almost time to hang some mistletoe in our house, just to ensure a maximum number of kisses throughout the month of December!

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This Too Shall Pass

Many have heard the story of the great king and his search for truth but, as this evening is a cold one and I hope you are sitting at home around the fire, perhaps sipping some chai or a little sloe gin, I shall wait for you to get comfortable and then I will tell it. At least I will tell it as I think it may have happened.

Once upon a time, in a land far away to the east, there lived a wise old king. His palace was great, his court was fine and his accomplishments were many. He never wanted for anything and was constantly engaged in one entertainment or another. He was very learned and had read the great treatises and scriptures of many a land and many a faith. Though he had realised much and people far and wide thought him to be deeply wise, still he felt something was missing.

So one day he gathered together the very cleverest of his advisers and all the wise men and great sages of the land and he charged them with finding something that was always true. Something that was true when he was happy and true when he was sad, that was true in the springtime and true in the winter and that was true in his greatest victories and also in his greatest defeats. The wise men were perplexed, ‘what is that which is always true?’ they asked themselves. They each set off to the far ends of the Kingdom and then further beyond still, to many distant lands, intent on discovering this truth that the king had asked from them. They agreed to meet back at the Kingdom after one full year and tell the King what they had discovered.

All but one.  He stayed in his little cottage at the edge of the woods and tended to his garden. When the villagers and courtiers passed by they said, ‘ that is the lazy wise man, he hasn’t even gone to meet with the priest in the next town, just sits in his garden watching the birds and the clouds or gazing into the trees. The King surely won’t be pleased with him.’  And so the year went on and the wise man observed how the spring turned to summer which turned to autumn and how the plants in his garden died and returned again. He saw how the birds came and went and even the great trees would pass eventually, and when they did, they would give new life to many insects and creatures.

After the year had gone by all the wise men met up in the Court ready to astound people with all the clever things they had learnt. They told tales and riddles from lands far and near, spoke words of subtlety and cunning and made every man’s head present hurt with the thinking. But the King was still not satisfied. Finally our own wise man, from the cottage by the woods, stepped forward and said to the king, ‘Sire, I have seen that which is true. It is true in my garden and true in the forest.’ At this the people laughed, ‘silly old fool’ they thought. ‘It is true throughout your Kingdom and true even to the very ends of the Earth. And it is true in my own heart.’

‘So’ said the King, ‘what is this truth of which you speak?’

The old man bent his head and spoke softly as the last leaves of Autumn drifted through the windows and on to the Palace floor. ‘And this too shall pass’ he said, then turned away and walked back to his cottage in the forest.

At last the King was satisfied.

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More Autumnal Delights

I have never been able to decide which is my favourite season, they all have their beauty and each fills me with its own unique sense of magic. Right now though, I can’t imagine what could be better than these bright autumn days and chill evenings spent reading and drinking chai by the first fires of the cold months to come.

There are so many things to love about this time of year. The crackle of fallen leaves…

 

and the fantastic fungi.

 

This last one I believe is Ganoderma adspersum a native relative of the much celebrated Reishi mushroom. You can read Stephen Church’s account of it’s medicinal uses here.

The glistening cobwebs that catch the light and leaves as if gathering mementos of the season’s fading beauty.

And of course the trees themselves, all burnished bronze and breathtaking in their passing.

Then there is the food too. Squashes and berries, fresh walnuts cracked open with a hammer, kale and  mushrooms. From the first ripening berries through to the last fading leaves, autumn is truly a season to delight the senses.

Now is the time for nourishing our bodies, our minds and our souls with good food, rest, time spent in nature and loving company before the arrival of the harsh winter months. This simple pumpkin soup was blended with plenty of onion, garlic and ginger and topped with tamari fried mushrooms. Easy to digest and full of goodness, it’s perfect for this time of year.

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