Trees are amazing aren’t they, so powerful and majestic, one can see why in children’s books they sprout legs and arms and develop magical personalities of their own.  I wonder how old this tree is?  Did Queen Elizabeth the I ride past with Sir Robert Dudley in hot pursuit, I doubt the tree is that old, I don’t doubt the pursuit.  I was lucky enough to have grown up with an oak tree at the bottom of the garden, makes me sound quite grand, when it was only a small council house. I loved the tree so much, the sound of it creaking in the winter gales, the bright acid green spring growth, the shade afforded to us in the hottest of summers and the never ending acorns and bright orange and red leaves shed in the autumn.  Simple things.

Would it not be lovely to have that feeling when you see the first of the years spring flowers poking through the damp grass forever immortalised in your very soul. Joy, just pure joy. 

I had no idea that Moorhens could be quite so feisty. These Moorhens looked like they were going to drown each other, they certainly fought hard, for a good ten minutes at a time with one rival and then almost immediately after finishing a fight bounding after another.  It was exhausting just watching them, they certainly have some stamina. Spring is definitely sprung, hopefully summer will be more peaceful. 

And out she certainly is.

I write because I can, it sounds simple doesn’t it, but that’s the reason, I also love it just a little bit. When I was growing up I was surrounded by non writers, our family you see is very much working class, those that left school at 14 and had possibly found school difficult well before then.

It was my Grandad that recognised my ability to read and write at the age of three as I carefully sorted out his handwritten labels for his vegetables that he had stored in a box in his greenhouse, ‘What you doing’, he asked.  ‘Sorting out the one’s that are spelled right’, I replied, as he watched me slightly dumfounded and came over to inspect, rummaged through them and then grasped my chubby little hand and raced up the garden to tell my Nan and my Auntie, who told him that children were different these days.

From there the great thirst came, I read avidly, everything that came into the house, we had very little in the way of books, a couple of old encyclopaedias, not a matching set and the books that were passed around between my mother and my aunties, sickly love stories that did not sing to my soul at all, but there was the library and very supportive school teachers.  Next I went on the hunt for pen pals, I managed to badger an Auntie into it, but she only lasted two letters, it was simply too much of a strain for her and then I had three others, two from friends that had moved away and one from a pen pal club, I chose a boy in Zambia and was connected to Francois Xavier who announced undying love for me on his fourth letter and at the age of twelve this was far too confusing and I slowly kicked him into touch.

After english ‘O’ levels everything in the way of creative writing stopped, the world of work opened up and then marriage, children and so on.  The internet appeared, wow, the internet, I am still quite giddy about that, and it was then that I saw blogs. Blogs and writing made me so curious that my world almost stopped as I explored the possibility of having my own and then saw how simple it would be.

I’ll never be a brilliant writer schooled in the way of Oxford English, I don’t understand or can remember all the rules, but I do enjoy it, even when I know I can’t quite get it right, it gives me pleasure and for that reason and that reason alone, I write, because I can.

Another finish the sentence Friday by Finding Ninee, please feel free to join in the fun.

As we have now had two incarnations of Easter lamb, let me give you another, the prettiest of the three. 

I was lucky to have been brought up in the countryside and very, very lucky to have had a farming Uncle that showed us the ways of the land from a very early age.  So whenever I get the chance to go for long country walks or trundles out in the car just to see what I can see, I do.   I love to see the newborn lambs at Easter, Easter is all about the lamb, one way or another.  But another fun thing I love to do is to say hello to the previous years hand reared lambs, or rather let them come over and say hi to you.

You’ll soon realise they are the hand reared sheep because they tend to do this. 

Walk boldly up to you, much like a labrador. 

Poke head through the bars of the gate, 

for a long ear rub, you can just see hubby’s hand attended to her needs. And eventually after much ear rubbing 

walk off slightly reproachfully that there were no tasty treats in your pocket.

Another fun fact is if you happen to be friends with a farmer that has hand reared any lambs and they are going to slaughter, the milk fed lamb is delicious, forget all about salt marsh lamb, you’ll never taste a sweeter meat than that.

Having gorged ourselves on the finest of British legs of lamb over Easter cooked to perfection which to us is definitely on the pinker of pink sides  (and followed by a rhubarb crumble and cream which was divine) we had a reasonable sized chunk left.  I left it for a couple of days pondering its further execution when inspiration struck, we had wine left over, a lamb ragu would be perfect. 

I gathered together the basic ingredients, chopped onions, grated carrots, minced garlic. 

Chopped up the lamb to try and finely mince it, mine is probably a bit on the rough side, but no matter.

Then fried the onions until lightly golden, added the carrots and garlic and fried until the moisture was off the carrots and added the lamb and fried that off to brown the meat up, added a large glass of wine and burnt off the alcohol, reducing the liquid until a smear is left in the bottom of the pan.   Next I added the tomatoes, tomato puree, herbs, a good splash of Worcester sauce (not in the picture) and a little water which was used to clean out the tins of tomatoes, salt and freshly cracked black pepper and let it all bubble gently for half an hour. 

Cooked off the tagliatelle, grated the parmesan and combined.  It was yummy.

Wannabe Gastronomy Indeed.

Does the joy of playing near water ever really go away.  Even when without the addition of young children to encourage in the life long pursuit of duck feeding, pooh stick racing and frog spawn hunting there is a certain excitement to being near the water.  Lately I have found a previously hidden to me adventure to explore, reflections forever captured photographically. It is an art in itself and one I am loving exploring, even in the pouring rain.  But this time I was in gentle sunshine and I played all afternoon, my camera and I, just me and it, having fun in the sunshine.