ladymarshy (ladymarshy) wrote,
ladymarshy
ladymarshy

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Nature's bounty ...

One of those days. Last week before the boys go back to school and I am busily finding all sorts of busy work to put off the evil hour when I have to start sewing name-tapes in school uniform clothing.

"Just" jobs, like "just" cleaning up where I slopped coffee on the stairs, and I end up hand-brushing the sides of each tread and then scrubbing the paintwork. Looks much neater but of course, nobody notices.

Then my good deed for the day, taking a huge sack of knitting wool to an old ladies' home for their craft circle. I can't knit or crochet worth a d*** but these old ladies are demon knitters and to make me feel truly humble most of them are blind or nearly so.

Back home, inspired, I tackle the binding on a quilt I'm making for son no. 1, and finally get it sorted out. As I've never got the knack of sewing well with a thimble, and I'm trying to sew through four thicknesses of fabric, the wrong end of the needle ends up in the pad of my middle finger several times.

And finally the boys are persuaded to come down the garden and help rake up the last of the pine-cones, and the drifts of fallen apples, While they're doing that, I mooch round to find that our antediluvian Bramley apple tree, which we think has been going to die for the last five years, and has almost vanished under brambles and mistletoe and nettles, has produced a miraculously blemish-free crop and I fill a big tub with bug-free bruise-less fruit. And there's even a few decent brambles.

With the spectre of "pink pie" (apple and blackberry) dancing before my eyes, I climb some way up one of the fallen boughs of the tree to get at some tempting brambles (the size of golf-balls tbey were, I swear ....) And of course the branch I'm holding on to to steady myself is rotten, and when it cracks, I lurch forward into a patch of nettles. And I'm wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Ouch! It didn't hurt at the time but four hours later my forearms are still swollen and blotchy and stinging like billy-o.

But the brambles are fine, and Mr M and I made juice out of the sound-ish fruit from the other trees. You have to drink it within hours, and it's pretty tart, but it tastes and smells wonderful.

If you're still there, fawsley my dear, hope the packing went well and bon voyage and let's hope the island ferry-men have sorted things out before you get up there.
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