Friday Finds in the Irish countryside

Emi, Maxi and I have been busy catching up with my parents this week, going around all our old haunts and doing some serious amounts of chillaxing ... does that word even exist?

This is our village, Aughnacloy, set amidst the rolling, green hills of South Tyrone:

It's a pretty little corner of the world with lots of lakes and rivers, all teeming with wildlife.

The weather hasn't been all blue skies and sunshine, but, hey, there's a reason why Ireland is such a green and verdant place ... . 

My mum has an old-fashioned cottage garden with beds of hardy perennials, and a vegetable patch that always seems to have something edible in it whatever the time of the year. She grows a drill of sweet peas in with the vegetables, just like my grandparents used to do. Here are this year's plants:

I so wish that I could blog a scratch card to give you a whiff of their wonderful fragrance; they are simply divine. We entertain ourselves arranging them in vases to spread their fabulous smell throughout the house. It's such an evocative scent. Wherever I am, the smell sweet pea instantly transports me back to Aughnacloy in the summertime. 

In July the garden is a kaleidoscope of colour set against the vivid green backdrop of the fields all around.

And there are lots of other perks that go with living in such an out-of-the-way place. There's no one looking over the garden fence to notice that you're riding up and down on a too-small bike with a HUGE motorbike helmet on. If you fancy taking a spin, you can go right ahead and throw caution to the wind - unless, of course, your mum's around to take photographs and show the world ... . Oh, and please, nobody tell his friends that it's a pink bike.

When we come over here we do lots of long country walks, dogs at our heels, and our heads bent together as we shoot the breeze.

In Celtic mythology the lakes, the rivers and the sea shore were important: this meeting of the land with the water was believed to be a special place from which it was possible to access the world of the spirits. And for my part I've always found the lakes especially magical. Maybe it's some sort of inherited sense of awe and respect that's come down the generations from my early ancestors. Whatever the way of it there's an hour, just before twilight, when the last sunbeams of the day sink through the leaves on the wooded banks leaving a gentle dappled light dancing over the water when it's easy to believe you've arrived at the gateway to some other ethereal side.

At this time of the year we have loads of wild flowers in the hedgerows.

And, whilst we're feasting on wild strawberries and raspberries, we have the prospect of the blackberries and the hazelnuts that are soon to come. With the warm, early spring we seem to be on course for a bumper harvest this year.

So there they are: some Friday Finds that are really very ordinary, but at the same time quite extraordinary because they are so commonplace. It's a fabulous country where ordinary people like us can stumble upon such beautiful things on our doorsteps without having to make any effort or spend any money to find them. They're there, within reach of anyone who will take the time to see them.

Anyway here's to the simple pleasures in life and a great weekend!

All the best,

Bonny x

As shared on Friday Finds

J is for ... juicy July ...

Emi and I have come home to visit my parents in Ulster, where he's getting a first class education in the fine art of foraging for raspberries. They grow wild in the forests over here: lovely, sweet, succulent raspberries.

I have so many, happy memories from my own childhood of long country walks with my parents and our family dogs, gathering wild strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, crab apples, sloes, hazel nuts, rose hips and wild garlic, depending on what was in season. It was always special. Sometimes we'd eat them as we went along, our conversation pausing and lapsing into silence as we concentrated on the job in hand. Other times we'd bring them home in plastic bags to make jams and pies and cordials.

And now, when I come back with Emi, my eight year-old son, it's really special to go for those same walks with my parents and the family dogs and return to the old, familiar rituals of my childhood. Although now everything is fresh and exciting, the colours more vivid, as I get to re-replay the tape and see the images anew through the eyes of my son.

Grandma and Grandpa, as they've now become, have a treasury of knowledge to impart. Time has marched on and they've graduated into wise, old country folk, who've spent their lives in thrall to the beautiful, natural world around them, and Emi, for his part, is keen to learn about it all. Slowly, slowly I can see the wheel turning and this young boy being gently led by his seniors to appreciate and respect the wonders of Mother Nature. It's a work in progress that's built gradually over the course of the years, one new revelation at a time, each day another thing to point out and marvel at.

Yesterday he learnt where to find the very best raspberries in the forest. He learnt that they weren't always red: Grandma knew where the special yellow raspberries grew. Each little detail, of itself, may seem insignificant, prosaic even, but the accumulation of these little bits of country lore over the course of a childhood will build up into a treasury of knowledge that will connect with the past as it stretches back up the generations in a hand-chain of shared experience, that's been passed on parent, or grandparent, to child since the dawn of time.

And the seasons will roll on through the years to come until one day in the future, maybe 60 years from now, maybe sooner, maybe later, another little old man will take his grandchildren for a walk in the forest. He'll tell them all about the raspberries, and where to find the special yellow ones. My parents and I will be long gone, memories and dust in the wind, but our influence will live on and Emi, the little old man of the future, will be busy forming his own unique link in that great hand-chain. 

So here's to raspberries in juicy July, and the very special magic of grandparents.

All the best, 

Bonny x

As shared on the Alphabet Project

Happy Saint Patrick's Day !

The very top of the morning to you all! May Saint Patrick smile upon you, and send his blessings to your door.

My mother says that if it's nice on 17th March, it's because the good saint has interceded with the Big Boss to make sure that his feast day is dry and fine; he's turned the sunny side up, and that's a sign that the rest of the spring will be fine. Well, this morning, I'm happy to report that the weather is pretty glorious here in London.

It's a really big day back home. They have a bank holiday with all sorts of music, parties and parades. But over here in England it's just another day, and I always feel out of step as a result. It's like when you know you really ought to be doing something else, and you can't help but feel uncomfortable because you're not getting on with it. Well, deep down in my DNA, I know that I really should be having a huge, all-day party today, but instead I'm doing the school run and going about my business as normal. Pah! That sucks!

As a B-plan I'm going to have a little supper party tonight for my nearest and dearest. We can't get too exuberant as tomorrow's a school day, but I'm sure we'll make the best of it.

I've bought a side of Irish smoked salmon as a starter. Then we'll have boiled ham with colcannon, and finish off with some old fashioned rice pudding, flavoured with vanilla and a bay leaf or two. It's not very flashy, but it's honest Irish food.

In case you'd like to make something Irish in honour of our patron saint, or just for the fun of it, I'll give you the low-down on how to make Colcannon, the dish that, without a doubt, has kept generations of our ancestors alive. It's the ultimate comfort food, about which songs have been sung and poems have been written over the years:

Did you ever eat colannon
When t'was made with yellow cream
And the kale and praties blended
Like a picture in a dream?
Did you ever scoop a hole on top
To hold the melting lake
of the clover-flavoured butter
Which your mother used to make?

Yes, yes, yes and yes again! Well, ok, my mum didn't actually make the butter, but I can certainly tick all the other boxes.

Colcannon

Anyway if you'd like to make this potato nectar here's what you need and here's how to do it:

Ingredients for 4 people

3/4 lb/ 350 g kale or Swiss chard (you could use Savoy cabbage, but I prefer the flavour of kale)
1 1/2 lb/ 775g potatoes
50 ml double cream or crème fraîche
(I prefer the flavour of crème fraîche, but it's not very authentically Irish!)
50 ml milk
1 large spring onion chopped finely
1 oz/ 25g butter
200 g bacon lardons

Method

1. Wash and peel the potatoes. Place in boiling water and cook until soft enough to mash.
2. Wash and chop the kale. Steam it for a couple or three of minutes. I usually do this over the saucepan with the potatoes in. When cooked drain off excess moisture on some kitchen paper and set to one side.
3. Fry the bacon lardons, drain of excess fat on some kitchen paper and set to one side.
4. Very, very finely chop the spring onion.
5. Roughly mash the potato, add the chopped spring onion, cream and milk and mash some more until they reach a puree texture. Season to your taste.
6. Add the steamed kale and mix so that it's evenly distributed throughout the potato.
7. Serve with the bacon lardons sprinkled on top.

Enjoy!

Bonny x

Crochet a Shamrock for St. Patrick ...

Are you in some far-flung part of the world where Shamrocks are pretty scarce on the ground? What to do? How to get one for St. Patrick's Day (17th March - this Monday!)?

Rest easy. I have the solution. You can crochet one!

How does this look? And it's super easy-peasy to make.

Crochet Shamrock

Here's what you need:

A little bit of left-over green wool in 4 ply
3 mm crochet hook
darning needle
very small safety pin

Here's a crochet map of how to do it:

By way of explanation, the terms used are American terms. Ch for Chain is, I believe, universal. SC is Single Crochet in America, but in Britain it's called Double Crochet. Tr is Treble Crochet in America, but it's called  Double Treble Crochet in Britain.

Here's what to do:

1. Start off with a sliding loop: wrap the yarn a couple of times round your left index finger (if you're right handed like me - or the other way round if you're left handed) keeping the dead end of the yarn closest to your wrist.

Row 1

2. Work a slip stitch with the working end of the yarn through the loop.
3. Ch 1. SC 8 into the loop and join with a slip stitch into the first Ch 1. Be really careful to work clean stitches in this round without splitting the yarn as it's easy to get it knotted when you come to tighten the circle in step 4.
4. Gently pull the dead end of the yarn to tighten the loop and close the circle in the centre.

It should look like this: -

Row 2

5. SC, Ch 3 and Tr 1 into first SC of last round. Tr 1 into next SC. Ch 3 and join with a SC to the same stitch that you did the last Tr into. SC into next stitch. *Ch 3. Tr into next stitch. Tr into following stitch. Ch 3 and join to the same stitch as last Tr with a SC. SC into next stitch.* Repeat from * to* once more. SC into next stitch. Ch 7 to make the stem of the Shamrock and cast off.

It should look something like this:

6. Now you need to attach your safety pin. Place it on the wrong side of the Shamrock and sew the harbour pin (the one that doesn't have a pointy tip) to the Shamrock, like so:

And now you're all set for the big day!


Bonny x