Seeing red (and orange and yellow and purple and green)

Shades of delicious-ness

A sunny afternoon in the Holly Cottage and things are pretty much the same as my last post. I am living in a sort of groundhog day that changes only in terms of its name and the weather. I won't dwell on the detail as there's really not that much time and these days every minute counts. I reckon I have about ten minutes maximum before I will have to feed her and attend to her needs so I must write quick - please read at your own leisure though! 

As I write, Alannah is sitting in her chair and I have one foot on the ground and one foot rocking her so that she is always on the go. Babies are so helpless really - they can barely see what's in front of them and they really can do nothing for themselves. That helplessness will persist for a number of years from now...but then that's why we love them so much and are programmed to protect and nurture them for the rest of our lives. The good news is that she is growing rapidly - she grew twice as much as an average breastfed baby on her first week at home - I know, what is average? - and the ridiculously oversized newborn baby sleep suits that we had wrapped her up in that first week are now becoming snug and tight about her month old body. She's still tiny though, and still blue eyed - I'm waiting for the green to fade in so that she looks more like one of us :) Does anything prepare you for the first real smile though? There was a lot of 'is that wind, is that really a smile' when it really was just wind, but now it's definitely a smile. While I think that to her I am just the 'food trolley' and the most of her smiles are targeted at  her daddy - I do get the odd one and that's enough for me.

When I do manage to get outside - and last week with all that rain, it was a challenge for anyone - the colours of the moment are green and red, and varying shades of orange and yellow and purple. Let me start at the back of the garden and work up. The purple turnips are done - they were pretty massive and got way too big to be edible - they'll add to the compost though and to be honest while 'being pregnant', they really didn't appeal to my overly sensitised palate. The parsnips are still growing - I hope - they are pretty small and were heavily shaded by the next door neighbouring out-sized turnips ;) The beetroots are perfect, happily - still waiting to be relished but well utilised already in the perfect chocolate cake last week. The broccoli, winter cabbage and curly kale are the most rich and darkest shades of green that ever were - in contrast to the blue green of leeks and yellow green of spinach. All of these many shades of leafy green will provide the winter supply of vegetables to the Holly Cottage kitchen - along with the bounty of Setanta and Sarpo axona spuds that are being steadily enjoyed despite the very annoying spots of slug damage (the early Orla variety were delicious and devoured by the two hungry residents way before the arrival of autumn filled the senses - highly recommended). The broccoli and winter cabbages are more long-term investments that were planted back in March and April, while the spinach came in two lots - spring and August planted. The kale plants were the kind gift of another more organised gardener and these are getting more and more luxuriously verdant every day. One thing  though to be aware of - be vigilant and keep gathering caterpillars as part of your daily routine (still). They are voracious and destructive feeders, despite their un-assuming white butterfly parentage!

Apple (pie)s of the sun - heavenly...

Okay - there's the green but where's the red you say? Well apart from the red eyes that seem to be staring back at me from the mirror these days, there are the bright red sweet-peppers, shiny red cayenne peppers (every shape and curly form imaginable), and at least four types of tomatoes. The apples too are red - we have one very special variety called 'Redlove' that we got as a wedding present two years ago. Not much happened with it last autumn but this year the apples are sweet, small and perfectly red inside. It comes highly recommended by this house and is available online from most good garden centres. The other apple we have is an 'unknown' type that was bought in Aldi - we didn't expect much but we were pleasantly surprised - the apples are good sized and tasty, still with that lovely tartness that becomes most Irish grown apples. The pumpkin is pretty special too and I am reluctant to even think about cutting into its perfect marmalade orange form - would that it could sit on the window sill forever! Last but not least - tall sweetcorn plants are a kind of disturbing form in the garden yet - slightly reminiscent of Children of the Corn but way more enjoyable -but so different than the shop bought variety as with all things that are home grown on your own plot.

So how to celebrate all this golden-red-orange harvest? By eating it of course..think apple sauce (apples stewed with nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves and brown sugar and a splash of water) and then put that together in mini-apple pies (shortcrust pastry - 8oz flour with 4 oz margarine rubbed in, add cold water and chill ;) ) ....match these parcels of autumn delight with natural yogurt (yum). The tomato bounty has mostly been sent to the freezer - core the 'stalk bit' out first, wash and put straight into freezer for the darker days of winter (think tomato soup with a sprinkle of smoked paprika). All the peas and beans are tucked away there already with the strawberries and rhubarb, while the sweet and chilli peppers won't make it that far and are sweetening and heating dinner times with great gusto.

Oak canopy of colour

It's all good of course, and all very rewarding for all the days invested since the light started to come back in last February. Time now though to take a bit of a step back and enjoy the fruits of the labour and the change in the seasons - just walking through the oak woods is enough to take your breath away - and let's just see what the next one ushers in.

A week in the life (through bleary eyes)

Tomatoes as big as Holly :)

Nothing will ever be the same - we know that now. The days pass in a blur of early morning moving swiftly into midday, afternoon and back to night and morning that comes again all too quickly and abruptly. There is no night anymore - no designated sleep time, no designated holy rest for a weary body. Night time becomes morning very soon after midnight and so too does the cue for the 2am feed that is barely finished before the 5am feed, that demands the 7.30am feed that leads to the 8.30am feed to the.....you get the picture. There is only one guaranteed sacred quiet time that remains - and that is the time between the grown-ups' dinner time (just about 9pm - more Mediterranean than Irish I know - I blame the Bajan in him ;) ) and the last feed of the 24 hour clock before she is packed up in bundles of pink blankets and lain down through fits and starts for the one three hour of session sleep that she has gifted to us everyday so far in all of the first three weeks of her life. 

These days, instead of having lists of 'things to do' and realistic ambitions of a suite of tasks that must be done for the world to go on (as I previously knew it) - I have basically reduced my expectations to 'getting one thing done in any given day' and that makes me feel like I am still even slightly my own person and therefore not totally and utterly surrendered to the needs of our beautiful daughter, Alannah. One thing every day. And you know what, I am glad to get that one thing done even if I don't get it completely done, if I at least get it started or if I manage to get a thought of it (which is a start in itself if you recount that all of the greatest achievements in life begin with a thought?). Let me give you some examples of the 'one thing' - successfully making dinner from start to end despite having to rock Alannah with one left foot while chopping onions (Monday); baking bread from a start of getting the dry ingredients together early in the day to baking it later that night along with the head chef's dinner creation (Tuesday)....

Chocolate beetroot cake, oh my!
Light and fluffy and chocolatey divine

....complete execution of divine chocolate beetroot cake - it was a push! (Wednesday); hoovering and dusting the first time in four weeks and an article for the Yoga Therapy Ireland magazine (Thursday); helping with the shopping with her in a cosy sling (Friday) and (finally) enjoying the sunshine yesterday and getting around to picking very ripe tomatoes and those nasty weeds along the garden path that have been jeering me for the last two weeks (Saturday). Sunday will be publishing this post - I hope (I think). That is 'one thing' on top of at least twelve feeding sessions, between ten and twelve nappy changes, a wash for Alannah, one shower for me - usually lasting 2 minutes - a short walk with Holly dog and a few cold cups of tea in between (forget about actually finishing a cup of tea while it is still hot). 

And that is how it has been for the first three weeks. What a learning curve and what a dramatic change in existence. We've all been experiencing the change - not least Alannah herself. What must it be like in a world where everything is blurred and you must rely on others around you entirely for your life support. How helpless she is, and how humbling it is to be the ones that are keeping her warm and dry and fed and safe and contented and secure. For that is the most important of all things now and that is the 'one thing' that has engulfed and overshadowed all other seemingly important 'things' that pre-dated Alannah's arrival in the Holly Cottage.  

Muse in pink 

And so, through bleary eyes I draft this on a Saturday night before the last feed and the collapse into warm and cosy bed for three precious hours of dreamtime. Holly is curled up sleeping in her bed, head chef has hung up his apron for the night, and Alannah - like Holly - is lost in her own dreams of who knows what. For how can they be dreams as we know them without colour or shape or form or name or direction? If only she could tell us. But she is giving us a smile every now and then, and that in itself is more than enough reward...

A New Arrival to the Holly Cottage

Beautiful Irish girl - all wrapped
up in Granny's hand knit cardigan

The last few weeks have passed in the blink of an eye. The last time I wrote here, it was to herald the onset of autumn and the promise of the fruits of spring and summer's labour. We spent the first few days of September getting ready for that promise - busying ourselves with long over-due jobs like cutting back the now tiny hedge, taking the dying stalks off the spuds, cutting back unruly spinach, rocket and oregano plants, freezing the glut of rhubarb for darker winter days and making the place ready for the weeks that were coming when there would be no time for such leisurely activities like hoeing drills or pottering about admiring the sweet peppers, chillies and tomatoes developing on the vines. 

This day two weeks ago, time and nature put a stop to my bending and stooping and lolling about as Holly Cottage's lady of gardening leisure. For this day two weeks ago we made the long journey to the maternity hospital (half an hour in pain seemed like forever yet we weren't even close to getting started!), for an event that we were completely ready for in principle yet absolutely and completely not ready for in so many real ways. Neither of us knew what to expect, and I am glad for it. I've often wondered why nature wipes the accessible memory of our birth from our minds - why we don't remember that precious time cocooned in the warm bath of our mother's womb - when we are loved and anticipated and completely encased in the most advanced of all biological intensive care units. I realise now that the memory is with the mother and the father - and the loved ones about them. It is theirs to share and theirs to tell if and when they so please it. Because whatever the pain experienced, the moment that baby emerges, is one of the most amazing moments of any person's life. And while I can't speak for the man, it ranks up there in terms of life changing and eye opening experiences - it is the birth of life itself. 

Born ready ;)  

We went with a natural birth - and while the pain was greater than any preparation by yogic breathing could overcome - the pain is but a memory now to be recalled with laughter and good humour as we realise it was the necessary signalling of our beautiful baby's birth cry. It marked her voyage from where her life began, into the outside world to take her very own first delicious breath of air, and begin her very own life's journey beyond the walls of my (by the end of 41 weeks) outgrown growth chamber for her. 

That nine months of her growing inside of me now seems like such a short time when you realise the wonder of the tiny fingers and toes, eyelashes, perfect skin and bright eyes that she came equipped with to make us love her totally and unreservedly. For since that moment, I am at her beck and call. Where once it was two and a dog, it is now two and a dog and a tiny person that needs us to care and protect her for some years to come. Notice I don't quantify that time, knowing so well that parenting is a job for life. And how bad really? We knew that when we started, and now instead of just knowing it, we understand it. 

Poor Holly of course is traumatised, but she is starting to come round ;) She has been missing her twice daily walks in the woods, but that will come again - but only when we feel ready to take her and her new best friend out into the great big world beyond the half door of the Holly Cottage. So for now, it is sleep when we can, eat at the best and next opportunity that arises, and enjoy gazing at the wonder of what we have created through sleep deprived and still disbelieving eyes. 

And so, welcome Baby Alannah Marie to Holly Cottage - and welcome all the trials and tribulations and adventures to come. And thanks to all for the good wishes and warm welcomes - let the fun and games begin ;)

Summer's End

Rose tinted window of the past

There comes time in the year where there is no denying the obvious - the change in the day length, the change in the morning temperature, the coolness of the evening and the sudden realisation that you may have to stop wearing sandals and flip flops very soon and revert to  the toe suffocating shoes of colder times. Yep, autumn is upon us - but what a summer! We were busy the whole way through it - seems like everyday brings its own jobs that in your head will take only a few minutes but once the gardening gloves come on, time seems to go into a different dimension entirely and next thing you know the sun is setting and you need to start thinking about dinner! 

I wonder sometimes what we would be working on if we weren't grappling with caterpillars, weeds, slugs and overgrowing trees and roses that can become giants in the blink of a fine summer's growth? But it's all worth it - the hard work followed by the watching and learning, and understanding on a deeper level the turning of the seasons and how that is reflected in our own turnings. And for the next six months I get to spend more time than just Saturdays and Sundays reflecting on that and hopefully without too much navel gazing - although I'm sure a newborn won't allow for that - I'll be able to appreciate it even more. 

Any ideas??

So what's happening out there? Take a virtual walk around the Holly Cottage garden - starting at the top - and an entire mesocosm is unfolded. The sunflowers are the first to be taken in - there is a particular one out there now that is covered in fourteen (yes, fourteen) flower heads - wow. Such golden yellow and such golden joy. Then the cover of trailing nasturtiums over the Mediterranean lavenders and the outdoor larder of fragrant herbs - mint, oregano, chives, thyme, marjoram, rosemary, parsley, basil - all frequent visitors to de Holly Cottage pot. And all of that in a space about 2m x 2m. Plants will enjoy any space available, in my experience they're really not all that picky - except the fussy ones, so don't get hung up on those (funny how that lesson translates right across the boards of life!). 

The readiness is all*

Walk a bit further past the bountiful strawberry bed, past the tall sweetcorn that brought a north American feel to the garden this summer, past the peas covered by the Holly dog-proof fence (it doesn't work - she'd put the pink panther to shame with her stealthy prowess), past the bright purple turnips, the inconspicuous parsnips, the tender carrots and the un-assuming beetroot all buried in the ground for now - and down to the corner covered in the dusky pink rose that brought such a sweet fragrance to summer evenings. Here - in the farthest corner of the tiny plot - the last few days have witnessed a transformation. Where once there was no light, there is an illuminated composting area newly built - all clean and shiny as shown here on the day of its making - and ready to take on the stalks of cabbages, spuds, leggy rocket and giant Brussels sprout stems and whatever else gets cast aside in the next few months from the bounty of 2013. 

On the other side of the garden is fruit alley - the scene of raspberry, blackcurrant, apple, pear and cherry tree. This spot was definitely a feasting table for the blackbirds and the Holly dog - we only got a handful of raspberries and blackcurrants, but then we had the strawberries all to ourselves! All the fruit trees and bushes are cut back now and it's Gladioli flower time - long stalks of green that find it difficult to hold their heads with all the lavish pink and red and purple decorating their stems, and that continue to fall under the weight of all that beauty - a bit like the sunflowers!

Flowering frenzy

Moving a bit further around I find myself in the greenhouse - miraculously in one piece after two battering winters - and I am lost in a jungle of chili plants, sweet peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers. I only have to smell the leaf of the tomato to realise the taste of the vine-ripened red fruits - add a leaf of basil and a touch of balsamic and Michelin star quality arrives in the Holly Cottage kitchen ;) After all, good food is about good ingredients. We'll cut the pumpkin today and see how that is - it's a bit early for scaring the neighbours yet but we will chance roasting the sweet orange flesh for dinner after some long day spent watering and picking and tending. The onions are already resting in the shed for the winter - red and white,  fragrant and sweet - and the Cork apples are tantalising the wasps that lost their home in the big clearance of the side hedge. Not to worry, it's been a great year for bees and wasps - the champions of honey production and of keeping other un-wanted aphid pests in check. 

And so, all this can't go on forever. And the heralds of September tell us that it's time to start packing up and readying for colder, darker days - hopefully with their own ample share of sunshine. This summer we were comforted with heat - maybe this year we will be blessed with sunny autumn days and crisp winter mornings, and just a dash of rain every now and then to keep us thankful. In the meantime we must ensure that the kitchen cupboards are full of sweet relishes, chutneys and jams to make the taste of summer last throughout the year. And we are ready on another front too - ready for maybe the greatest adventure of all - but we will have to keep ye posted on that front, no rush! 

This weekend's chutney foray was of the apple variety - a recipe borrowed from a Dublin chef one winter's night. The cooking of it fills the kitchen with the most fabulous of aromas - sweet Middleton apples diced, Asian cinnamon, mixed spice, crushed juniper berries, Californian raisins, Holly Cottage onions and sticky soft brown sugar sweetness all mixed with several glugs of cider vinegar and simmered down for a couple of hours. Now there's a tangy complement to sweet and creamy Wexford cheddar to brighten any winter lunchtime - and it will ;)

Happy Birthday Holly!

On another note - it's Holly's birthday today - all of three eventful years today. And bold as ever - thief of garden peas, lover of rocket and new potatoes, champion of stick fetching and wood foraging, patron of hugs and ear scratches and all-round trickster that can test your will yet charm you endlessly at the same time. Happy Birthday Holly!

*drawing inspiration from Hamlet Act V, Scene II

Life's Expectations

Summer's-end bouquet

This is a post that's being brewing for a while - I guess you could say almost nine months but in truth it goes back a little bit further than that. I think that for any woman, the moment that the switch goes in her brain and she accepts that she just might be ready to start thinking about being pregnant, having a baby, starting a family - all those commonly used expressions to describe an event so utterly life changing and gob-smacking - that everything changes. Life certainly doesn't appear the same anyway - of course that's despite nothing having changed around us, but the change in our minds. 

When I was a zoology and botany student back in the 1990s, most of my reading was Lovelock, Darwin, Dawkins, Huxley and the array of evolutionary thinkers that really crystallised our place in this world for me. The science is fascinating and still unfolding and revealing awesome detail as to the workings of our universe, the origins of life on our planet and the possibilities of life in other galaxies within our vast universe. And I accepted the thinking behind the selfish gene, the urge to leave our genes after us, the finding of the right partner etc etc. and that it wasn't necessary really to do that to have a fulfilled life. There is so much to learn and discover as it is. 

Of course all that science and rationale goes completely out the window when you fall truly madly deeply for a sexy man that basically sets you in a spin, and you give in to the human condition and suddenly you start wanting to have a house, home, ten babies (only exaggerating) and a small farm in an idyllic Waltons-esque manner on a hillside somewhere where everyone is blissfully happy together - no stress and no driving crazy hours to deal with awkward people (you know they're out there!). 

And so, given that the puppy that became Holly has survived three years with us and - despite her own issues in relation to never ever having enough food and always wanting to be in clear sight of us - she seems to be relatively happy and balanced, it was time to start thinking about getting real about having our own babies. Ten is a big number after all and even one would certainly take some time :)

And we did - start thinking about it that is and getting our heads around it - and then we just decided there is never a right time and we should just shut up and went for it. 

Holly and 'bump' - chilling

That's when you realise that it's all a little bit more complicated than just deciding yourself, and everything just happening as you would have it in your own mind. And why shouldn't it? Well, I guess sometimes we are too used to everything happening as it should - like water in the tap everyday, food on shelves in a supermarket and power at the switch of a button - it's all so easy and so controllable really, if even we don't particularly appreciate it for what it is. 

And so as we arrive at the near eve of labour and delivery of the tiny baby girl still growing and wriggling inside me, the past year seems like a dream. 

In June 2012, after a hectic month of traveling and conferences, we found out we were pregnant. I say we, because obviously it it a team effort ;) That was a very exciting time for us. We got as far as the stage when I could feel myself stretching and growing to accommodate this tiny person inside me, and nearly to the point of sharing our news with the rest of the world. But it wasn't to be. At 16 weeks, we lost our little baby 'in the making'. In medical speak they call it a miscarriage. 

I pause here because, no matter how strong you are, how able you are to accept and reason with the loss, the sadness and the memory of what followed is the most difficult I have ever had to bear in my life so far. Fortune and the timing found us surrounded by family in a beautiful place for a couple of weeks immediately after, and in truth it was the kindness of others - parents, brothers, sisters, faraway friends at the end of the phone and amazing nursing staff - that softened the sharp reality of the loss. That little baby turned out to be a girl, and she was delivered on September 13th - her tiny body is buried with my grandparents in a nearby village. We called her Anna, after my godmother and aunt whose memory is an inspiration to me, though she died when I was only aged four years old. And Baby Anna  won't be forgotten, for all the best reasons in the world - like realising how precious life is, how vulnerable we are and what a gift to be able to talk about it and experience every precious breath of it. 

Three months later we came to the shortest day of the year and while it was the shortest, it certainly brought it's own adventure. We were lucky, we had left it to fate and weren't expecting things to happen so fast, but they did. I put it down to all those yogic contortions in Austria, but himself might have other ideas ;) Anyway, to cut a long story short - the test was positive and it was a merry - though just a bit anxious - christmas!

I didn't feel any different for the first week or so, but once I passed week 6 - well, that was when the same nausea returned, as before. From week 6 to around week 15, there was no great pleasure in food. Or anything really - I was just tired and probably a lot anxious despite being positive and ready to accept whatever might happen. The visit to the GP at week 16 was the most worrying, but the heartbeat was there - not like before, and there were signs of  a new person growing inside of me and no reason to expect anything other than good things to come. 

After that, it was fairly uneventful - I didn't start to 'show' until at least 26-28 weeks and we could continue blissfully incognito with a pregnancy that seemed so smooth and carefree, that it seemed unfair to reveal it to the wider world. 

Flash forward to the middle of August and we're on the final countdown. The last few weeks have been challenging - no headstands or shoulder-stands since about week 36, but you really are glad for gentle twists and stretches, and breathing and meditation to calm the mind and body. And so, restricted movement - though a problem to the ego - is really not a problem at all. Heartburn and an assortment of gastric symphonies are my daily companions - ladies, need I say more? And a pressure that bears down on heretofore unappreciated pelvic muscles that can be totally debilitating at its worst. 

Pregnancy means that pretty much your body is teeming in a hormone called relaxin, which basically relaxes every muscle in your body in time for the main event - hence the food coming back up and unfortunate 'accidents' when one sneezes, coughs or laughs. It is certainly not a glamorous time for a woman. And I think it's something that is experienced differently for every woman. Again I've been incredibly lucky - no swelling, can still walk, can still sleep, no gestational diabetes or major emotional breakdowns. 

Despite all of these challenging side effects - the journey is truly is amazing nonetheless - despite the restricted movement, the intestinal challenges, the headaches, the tiredness and the waking up four times in the night to pee - it's absolutely amazing. Your body does it all on its own - you just have to feed it the right stuff and of course avoid the bad stuff. No training required, no diploma or certification necessary - simply an absolute wonder and brilliance of nature. And each one of us started out that way - an embryo dividing rapidly into placenta and person, then body parts, towards a self-sustaining system that once successfully delivered can live for over a hundred years. Wow. Something that is so everyday we might take it for granted. But after the experience of the last year, we certainly don't. 

And it will be a wonder of nature, especially once we break the pain barriers of labour and delivery for the first time in the next few weeks. To be honest - I can't really think beyond that phase - even though I know, and I've been told, and we've been warned on every turn that life will never be the same again. But, after over a year of ups and downs, happy and sad moments, and sudden endings and unexpected beginnings, I think we're ready for that. 

Just a few things to do in the garden before all that of course - peas podded and frozen, beetroot mashed into another amazing beetroot chocolate cake, early spuds almost gone and peppers, tomatoes and sweetcorn yet to be feasted on. Still plenty to look forward to....

Forever Begin

Every beginning is a promise

born in light and dying in dark

determination and exaltation of springtime

flowering the way to work.

Holly Cottage's entangled bank

It's a quiet Sunday morning in the Holly Cottage, just past 6am and a soft and cooling mist is lifting from the garden and resting on the trees that line the estate wall of Charleville. Another few minutes and it will have disappeared, witnessed only by the later night revellers and the early risers. The last few weeks of sunshine and heat have been a gift to the people of Ireland - who would have thought that the long, hard winter would give birth to the long, hot 30 degree + days and the quilt defying heat of the nights. All that heat coupled with seemingly un-darkening nights and eternal days. And even though at times stifling, no one dared to raise a voice to complain or to bemoan the heat, the dry earth or the sleep challenging nights. A touch of grumbling from the farmers perhaps, but you couldn't expect them ever to be completely happy!

Here in the Holly Cottage we duly surrendered to the lazy days of summer - shorts and flip flops took over from the combats and wellies of last year, and even the bikini got exposure to  the Irish sun and was dipped in an Irish midlands lake with the wearer for good measure (a note on swimming with your dog - it's a lot of splashing and pretend throwing of sticks and can cause quite a splash ;) so maybe best to do it far away from the company of other bathers!). 

Strawberry thirst quenching delight
- awesome

The garden has been delightfully, almost free of slug damage and the days of harvesting are well underway. We had to buy a new freezer just to store the abundance of broccoli, strawberries and rhubarb. Peas are packed in there too, but again never quite reaching the brilliance of 2011 when we really must have overdone it on the chicken manure! We left most of the raspberries to the blackbirds and the few lingering strawberries have been picked over by the stealthy work of Holly the dog. She also managed to sabotage a number of pea plants - can't blame her really for munching her way through several pods to get to the sweetness of the hidden delicacies. However, she won't be getting her pearly whites on the next batch and number one gardener spent a lot of yesterday securing dog proof netting about the next crop. We shall see - Holly has a way of getting what she wants though and she does love her peas...

Yesterday was the day to clear out the old pea plants, cut back the raspberry canes and trim back wandering rocket and seeding turnips. The early spuds have already been eaten halfway through and it can only be a week or so before the onions and beans are ready to come out of the ground. No tomatoes yet, although cucumbers are lengthening by the day and there are first signs of sweet peppers and chillis to come (they already had amazing melon and sweetcorn in beautiful Donegal - wow!). In lots of ways we have reached a new chapter for the garden and now we must plan for the late winter and spring harvest so that will require some thought, and also that summer is rapidly moving onto to autumn. Suggestions are curly kale and spring cabbage, and we will try to make the most of the greenhouse this winter, despite our failed yet best intentions of 2011 and 2012. 

Holly proof pea defence

It's been a busy time on the inside of the Holly Cottage as well, and while some might call it nesting, I think I prefer to call it catching up on all those jobs you never quite got round to and the prospect of a small baby in the house that will make this near impossible probably until it is feeding itself and writing its first paper on cosmic theory'. This work involves painting the last of the rooms left since moving in three years ago, chasing patches of mould in the bathroom, getting rid of un-wanted furniture and that most difficult of jobs - clearing out presses and shelves of the accumulated nonsense of stuff that lingers purely on the grounds of nostalgia and it might come in useful or be worn again. But you need to make space for the new to begin and this is the cycle that runs through our lives, from birth to death. Of course new beginnings are not without their own share of pain or uncertainty. That's what makes them so memorable and adrenaline fuelled - be it the joyous ones or the sorrowful ones - and discerns them from the hum drum of normality. 

Yesterday I had a painful morning reciting the history of every item of clothing hanging in my wardrobe to a very bored man and dog - I was struggling to justify their secure place in the wardrobe of the future when space will become even more limiting. Thing is, I could write a book on some of the shoes (oh remember!) and old jeans, tops worn once and dresses that almost sing the memories of themselves dancing in near and foreign halls and still carry the scent of perfume worn for a while and then passed over for another as tastes and preferences changed and developed (I'm reluctant to say matured!) over the past 20 years. Yes, even the catalogue of near empty perfume bottles and Body Shop body butters tells a story of growing up and changing and coming to increasing levels of balance (still not 100% there yet - but then, all that balance could be imbalance?). Of course, this level of nostalgia is often associated with the annual birthday reflections - and list making for the future of which myself and Michelle Quinn of Clara House were expert!

Sweet pea perfume

However, it's sweet pea scent coming from the flowers from Mornington House that the beautiful Katy O'Hara brought over last night that are filling up my senses as I write this morning, and their renewal brings me back to summer days working with my mother in the garden, collecting the flowers for the summer altar in the local church and helping her work her magic bringing a cold and dim lit church every July to blissful pagan outdoors beauty and nature's summer standard. Every scent and sound of summer brings with it a memory of a seemingly past life lived in my short time living on this most generous of planets. This year in particular - those sensory stimuli seem stronger and more urgent in their gaping absence from the four wet summers gone by. It's the smell of hay, the sounds of people laughing and joking while loading big bales on enormous trailers, the endless loads of turf being saved and carried home by bouncy tractors of all makes and eras, the hum of the bees in the lavender, the armies of butterflies along the paths in Boora, the taste of a 99 on a hot Monday afternoon and the sound of children playing long after their normal bedtime into the late hours of the longest days. 

And this - the collection of joyful and comforting memories of childhood summers and rose tinted reflections on the trials of growing up (this growing up lark by the way goes on until our deathbeds  - just so you know), and the setting down of new memories linked with new places, new experiences and new awakenings of ideas and feelings within, that gives us the strength and the want to begin again, and again, and again, and even again. To take up new challenges, to brush off the cobwebs of the wet summers and long winters, and long nights and begin each day with renewed vigour and expectation. For me, this generally comes in the morning time - and sometimes it is such a strong feeling that I actually have a knot of excitement in my inner being and a feeling that anything can happen. Now, truth be told, this rush of excitement generally fades after mid morning when my levels of creativity ebb and give way to a much more sedate and calmer woman, and as always tiredness and fatigue can dampen any level of excitement. The moral is - try to quench these deathblows of excitement before they quench you (yes, I am psyching myself up for sleepless nights). But overall and in general most times and most days, the excitement and anticipation of what may come in any new day is there - however small yet oh so powerful in all its guises, it is a faithful companion and it certainly adds a whole lot of spice to my living ;)

To pull all of this ramble together, the words of the Irish poet Brendan Kennelly are ringing in my ears again and again - I hope you find resonance with their clarity and resounding perception.  

Begin

by Brendan Kennelly

Begin again to the summoning birds

to the sight of light at the window,

begin to the roar of morning traffic 

all along Pembroke Road.

Every beginning is a promise

born in light and dying in dark

determination and exaltation of springtime

flowering the way to work.

Begin to the pageant of queuing girls

the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal

bridges linking the past and future

old friends passing though with us still.

Begin to the loneliness that cannot end

since it perhaps is what makes us begin,

begin to wonder at unknown faces

at crying birds in the sudden rain

at branches stark in willing sunlight

at seagulls foraging for bread

at couples sharing a sunny secret

alone together while making good.

Though we live in a world that dreams of ending

that always seems about to give in

something that will not acknowledge conclusion

insists that we forever begin. 

Time to stop and smell the roses

Summer pink - Handel rose..

It's Friday again - funny how it keeps coming round again, and again, and again....but the name of this day lingers on the mind, it settles in deeper and it releases those magical endorphins in the brain that course through the body to make each one of our component cells - from tired toes to limp limbs - tingle. Friday. Well, it does for me anyhow ;) It's the day when energy seems so low at about 2pm, and then you find yourself at the end of the routine working day and then unexpectedly, you're released from some (only a small some) of your responsibilities for two whole days. Two whole days. Days not to be ruined thinking on the past week too much, and never, ever, ever let it be said you ruined a perfectly good Sunday evening by dreading the thoughts of the chilly Monday morning. No! These two days are to be savoured - and these two days begin with the word Friday ;)

Of course, like any normal Friday, I immediately kicked into action and instead of winding down, it all started to wind up. Quel suprise! It started with a blissfully cool and green walk in the woods - far from tarred roads and artificial surfaces. We had to trip our way over roots and branches and brambles, and bare the soft brown, leaf strewn path as we wound our way through the wise silence of the oak woods. The light that flickered through the tall canopy of leaves was like a stream of golden kisses for those of us who chose to hide from the glare of the bared summer sun (no clouds, no rain....I know!!!).

Staying cool

After Holly's woodland adventure walk it was back to the garden. Now, in terms of yoga postures there were squats, cat, forward bends, backward bends, rotations, balancing acts, warrior I and II, mindful breathing and mountain pose - but to mention the obvious few. All these were manifested while graceful hoeing manoeuvres were conducted to the orchestra of potatoes, beans, peas and salads that all played their symphonic masterpieces this evening. All this earthly music while weeding the drills, thinning the seedlings, tidying the overgrowth and harvesting the never ending red torrent of strawberries that cascade down long green stems amongst endless adventurous runners. 

I'm well squatted now and even Holly seemed to be telling me to stop as the sun dipped behind the tree giants that guard the kingdom of Charleville. And that is the best time to smell to roses - the evening air, the setting sun, the scent of soft pink roses drifting over the host of garden compatriots that were readying themselves for the short night ahead - divine. And then there is the feast of colour to nurture the over-stretched mind of the previous five days - starflower blue, rose red, geranium cerise, golden nasturtium, blushing rambler rose and green green green of promising peas and bountiful beans...sweet. And it's only just begun. Have a great weekend....and wherever you are, be kind to yourself and stop and smell the roses - make sure it's a pink one though, those red ones are always a let down - all that drama has a cost. Don't be fooled :)

Summer in the garden - nearly 10pm....
remember this in December!