Balmy Days.

In between the April showers that we are blessed with in June, the odd clement day lends itself to the utilisation of lush garden greenery, happily flourishing in the rain. Alongside the daily pickings of salad leaves, radishes and broad beans there are plants hidden around our small corner that make a more unusual contribution to the dining table.

Two of my favourites are fairly similar in appearance but pack quite a different punch in flavour and medicinal value.


Lemon Balm (Melissa officinalis) will soothe your cares away - relieving anxiety, headaches and promoting good sleep, also having a very calming effect on unruly stomachs. The leaves make a simple 'tea' infusion - the flavour crossing a very mild citrus tang with a cucumber type freshness. I have had some success making the infusion into into a jelly with agar agar, lemon juice and Agave syrup which combines in a cunning medicinal dessert, expertly hidden from those in your life who might not be so enthusiastic about herbal remedies! Sadly my jelly hasn't behaved of late and while happily edible it has certainly not been suited to a portrait - you will have to trust me for now that it works.

A more recent trial (pictured at the start of this post) is a Lemon Balm Liqueur. Mix washed, crushed lemon balm leaves with vodka, honey and lemon peel to taste - life is too short to measure these kinds of recipes. Leave to stand for 3 weeks then drain, bottle and store until required. Drink straight as an aperitif, dilute with sparkling water for a gentle fizz or adapt your favourite cocktail recipe as appropriate - I have heard that Lemon Balm Martinis work rather well.

For those of you with eagle eyes, pictured alongside the Lemon Balm Vodka is a second very different pot of delight - courgette jam, a story for a later date...

In the meantime...


Stinging nettles (Urtica dioica) are the vitamin heroes of our small corner - rich in vitamins A, C, iron and protein, they are perfect as an all-round tonic - boosting immunity, acting as a diurectic and even celebrated as an anti-inflammatory. I happily cultivate this 'weed' in abundance around our wild patches, much to the confusion of a number of well manicured gardeners who have left looking a little concerned for the fate of the plot.

To get the best of our nettles I pick the young tops and shoots regularly from early spring and for as long as I can hold them off from flowering (once the leaves are larger and the flowers established the plants become fairly bitter and have some anti-social effects on digestion that are worth avoiding). The leaves should be picked with gloves and washed well, but once cooked they loose their sting immediately and hold a flavour somewhere in the region of a strong and more interesting spinach. Infuse the leaves to make a refreshing brew, substitute them for the basil in a pesto to utterly confuse your dinner guests or make my absolute favourite warmer for grey rainy days - Nettle Soup.


Unless you have carefully doctored your nettles, you will find it is a little late in the year for the right pick of leaves so you may want to hold this recipe for next spring... Fry a white onion in a generous knob of butter until slightly coloured. Add two medium potatoes to the pan (peeled and cubed), cover the pan and sweat for 10 minutes. Add enough vegetable stock (made with a good quality bouillon) to cover the potatoes by about two centimeters and leave to simmer for up to 30 minutes. Add your well-washed nettle tops, having first removed any thicker stalks (about a carrier bag full should make a large batch of soup), simmer for 5 minutes then cool the soup and liquidise before returning to the heat and seasoning with salt, pepper and nutmeg to taste. If you are feeling in a particularly lavish mood, serve with creme fraiche or double cream, otherwise simply drizzle with olive oil and enjoy. This should serve six, or one for a week of tonic if you avoid adding cream and store in the fridge.

Who needs Nytol, Ibuprofen and Berocca when you can simply feast on city weeds?

Sharing.

One of the pleasures of our small corner sanctuary is to be reminded of friends and family as I pootle around the wild garden plot, digging up the endless weeds and squeezing edibles and perennials into random gaps as they appear. While embarking on my green-fingered adventure I have discovered the joy of plant swapping (more collecting and less swapping at this stage) and so my jumbled beds are now a growing patchwork of the various plant-people in our life...

In the early days when nothing else would grow in our weed-infested jungle, Andrew's Golden Marjoram took hold and claimed a patch of ever increasing land as it's own, now adding a Mediterranean highlight to summer salads and stews.


My Mum came into force at an early stage in the garden development and through her extensive network of plant lovers and many years of hard graden labour, she provided us with Crocosmia, Rubekia, Aqualegia, Forget me nots, Verbena, Poppies, Ferns, enough Feverfew to plant a meadow and a multitude of border creepers that I am yet to identify. Not all are in season just now but these provide a flavour...


She also brought me plants with particular memories...

Aunty Ruby's Irises which had always grown outside her front door and the Strawberries that held the main domain in her Birmingham back yard.


Aunty Blanch's Primulas herald the beginning of spring each year but are now happily dormant, awaiting their photo opportunity next year alongside Anna's Primroses.

As I started to understand what could be grown in the dappled shade of our eight adjacent trees, other Mum's filled in the gaps...

Zena's Mum's Rhubarb, much loved by me and the local snails.


Sadly Zena's Goosebury isn't fit for a photograph, it carries a long fox story for another time...

The plant women of my own generation emerged at my birthday two years ago after the aforementioned Fox saga and Rosie's Lemon Balm now rules the garden and provides abundant cups of tea, bottles of vodka and the odd wobbly jelly.


A year later, my next birthday brought Martin and Sabine's Sweet Woodruff which I am yet to make into Maibowle.


And after this years birthday, Rosie and Emily's Lavender is just starting to establish...


... alongside Becky's Heartsease.


The season is only yet midway, still to come are Clare's Beans which I sowed ridiculously late this year, my fingers are crossed for their swift development...


...to be continued.

Fairlight.

A weekend bolt to Fairlight for family, fabric and fauna added to my spring delight.

A carpet of Cow Parsley, Bluebells and Ferns in Fairlight Glen have provided inspiration for the woodland bed back in our small corner. All I need first is to end the reign of the dreaded Blue Alkanet...

If only this sea of wild garlic were closer to home, it would come rather in handy for nettle soup!

While we missed out on this particular pungent hoard, I did come home with a rather lovely crop of fabric from Wayward Vintage in St Leonard's - a more sedate shopping experience than their stall in Portobello Road and with the most delightful sound track and shop assistant you could possibly wish for. I recommend a day trip.


Now I simply need to conjour up a needlework project or two...

Hats and shawls.

My winter hibernation allowed for a little light crochet activity. The last minute Christmas presents were passed on to new homes all too quickly to document but a series of teeny tiny spring hats hovered in our living room just long enough for a snap. The purple, lilac and pink hat now belongs to Sophia, the coral and cream hat to Evie and the grey, pink and cream hat to a 'shundor furi' waiting to be named. Welcome to the world little ladies! The yarn is a mixture of Rico merino and Sublime cashmere/merino - both widely available.

When photographed from above the hats remind me somewhat of Ofili painting attachments - my crochet smells a little sweeter however.


After a round of quicker projects I was ready for a slow burner and using this exquisite Old Maiden Aunt yarn in the 'strange rock n' rollers' colourway, I crocheted a flowery little number as an incredibly late thanksgiving gift for a small friend - 'Amelia's Shawl'.


Now on to 'Mylo's Blanket', I could be a while...

Winter to Spring.

Hibernation lasted a little longer than I had first planned and 5 months have slipped past in a quiet whisper in our small corner.

We felt winter intensely but briefly, with the early snow of December soon giving way to grey January days and more surprisingly to early March sunshine and an April heat wave. This ridiculously early summer called for a celebration of butternut squash and white chocolate cupcakes and rose macaroons - not exactly seasonal but delightful all the same.

There have been worryingly few April showers in our part of the world and as I potter about the garden I notice the full extent of the uneven seasons as I watch my rocket and sorrel bolting, behaving as if it is already August. Scientific precision would be a little boring when it comes to the seasonal cycle but a touch of regularity would greatly aid my veggie crops and my water consumption - the hose has already had a fair few outings, a luxury which I usually reserve until late May.

While I am busy sowing rotational batches of seed, filling all corners of our petite flat, there have already been a few triumphs. My first ever forced rhubarb made an early appearance - and a rather nice rhubarb and orange cake which was consumed rather too quickly to allow time for a photograph, no doubt there will be further opportunities...

For the cooler evenings, I have been using the vegetables in our Growing Communities bag for warming soups while I wait for my own spring crops to flourish. For a thai-inspired carrot soup: heat a generous splash of olive oil in a wide bottomed saucepan. Once hot add 2tsp coriander seeds for 2 mins then add garlic and ginger, roughly chopped, adjusting amounts to your taste. After 2 mins add scrubbed and roughly chopped carrots, approx 2lbs, to the pan and sweat with a lid on for 10 mins on a medium heat. Add enough vegetable stock to just cover the carrots then simmer gently for a further 20 mins. Take the soup off the heat, cool and liquidise. Return soup to a medium heat, melting a good chunk of creamed coconut into the soup, adding the juice of a freshly squeezed lime or two and seasoning with salt and pepper. Once heated through, serve garnished with chopped coriander leaves.


Let me not complete this long overdue post without acknowledging the trigger for my picking up camera and keyboard once again - Foxy has returned.


Having seen no sign of our favourite wild mammal since his snowy footprints in the dead of winter, he appeared in our garden this week as though nothing has ever been amiss. He had been scared off, I assume, by a fox death in the adjacent no man's land - possibly his mate - and the overzealous clearing and bonfires of some of our neighbours. However this week he arrived back in his usual spot - sitting on the lawn as though no time at all had passed, waiting for me to finish the day's digging so he could salvage any unearthed worms. Following his lead - I return as if no time at all has passed to my small corner blog, hoping we will both last a little longer this time.

We will have an interesting summer to share if Whiskey the guard-cat has anything to do with it...

Perserverance.

I waited patiently all summer for my Cape Daisy to flower (well, I tried very hard to be patient but often failed). Many times, as I eagerly inspected the growing plant, a few delicate buds offered promise but then failed to deliver - the bushy foliage busily filling an over-sized pot to no flowery avail. Then all of a sudden this week in late November, as I was diving down the garden to break the ice on the birds' water and pick a few late salad leaves, I discovered a treasure... the Daisy, in its own time, without a gardener rushing it along, had produced two small but perfect flowers.

It is not only the Cape Daisy persevering against the Winter odds - peering out of the fallen leaves this week were a few Nasturtium, the last Feverfew flowers and a few brushes of Heather. Spending the few daylight hours we are left with at a laptop is perhaps a little waste of this brave world outside.

These melancholic musings didn't gather dust for long, as we were granted a visit by the newest resident of our neighbourhood and the new star of this blog...

... meet Whisky the (second) Wonder Cat.



He sadly doesn't belong to us, but lives in such close proximity that on occasion we might pretend he does. He is a mini Maine Coon, a cappuccino replica of Basil (the King of the Garden) who left us a little while ago.

p.s. Yes, in his first portrait he is perched on the top of a Leylandii. Judging by his mews and his subsequent rescue with a plank of wood, it was not at all comfortable and the Great Tit he was chasing at the time was not at all worth the effort.

Hibernation.

Winter touched our corner of the world this morning as the first frost danced across the crisp green grass and embellished the russet leaves of the park. I however was in bed at the time, busy being warm and rested, and so the lovely picture was related to me by Bike Boy on his return from a morning run. 6.30am is a ridiculous time for any human to be outside of their front door so I took these photos a few hours later on my way to work. It is just so difficult to leave for the office when the home corner of the city is so achingly beautiful (in an urban sort of way, with a reassuring splash of concrete at the bottom of the photo).



As my last box of winter warming clothes has been emptied and replaced with a few sad looking summer dresses that will not see the light of day again for six months, I began today a battle of the winter wills, as the urge to hibernate and listen to talking books 24 hours a day while crocheting an alpaca cocoon around myself takes hold.

But it is not yet time for hibernation... although even foxy looked a little grouchy this morning...



So I pulled myself together for a terribly productive day of work with nice happy sunny people, followed by a virtuous (interesting yet lengthy) art panel discussion and then an unusually satisfying close to the day with a glass of 10p wine (two glasses for some) and a little light conversation at The Empress of India. Yes dear reader, you can really, actually, truly, honestly, purchase an alcoholic beverage for only ten pence in this fair city - however only for the next 5 days and only at 10pm on the dot. See 10p Sale!