Winter treasures

I should begin by offering you the heartiest of 

Seasons Greetings! 

I adore Christmas, that is I am in search of that feeling of wonder, shooting stars tingling somewhere below my ribcage. Presents are great, but "that" feeling is peculiar to Christmas and I look for ward to it year in year out. When I hear the first Christmas Carol in early December the taper is lit.Sitting on the top deck of a big red bus as dusk falls and Christmas lights sparkle into life. One Sunday morning earlier in December I was captivated by a short clip of a glowing fire...

Post by Love it like vintage.

...posted by the deliciously lovely Gil Fox, maker of beautiful hats, corsages, hair pins and fripperies. 

A couple of hours, a muddy dog walk and glorious bowl later...I arrive at Great Dixter Christmas Fair.

 

Inside the Yeoman's Hall is a cornucopia of loveliness Merchant and Mills, Persephone Books, Folk at Home, Gil Fox Hats, Freight by Helene Adamczewski, Martha and Ed's Kitchen, Warp and Weft Styling . I KNOW, so special, Gil's stand looked gorgeous, her beautiful colours against the wooden panelling.

Outside the garden looks magical, half asleep but abundant with hips and haws and hints of future blossom in fat buds.

I love being outside, and wondering what might lay inside, behind ivy smothered windows, fairytales begin to form in my mind.

Back home enjoying the spoils, deck the halls!

--x--

Anemone

I do believe in an every day sort of magic--

The inexplicable connectedness

We sometimes experience

With places, people

Works of art and the like;

The eerie appropriateness

Of moments of synchronicity;

The whispered voice,

The hidden presence

When we think we're alone.

Charles De Lint

Last of the summer wine

It has been a long generous summer and we have been glad of it, with much of the house exposed to the elements whilst we extend. It has been a long generous summer, so much so I have become suspicious of it. Like too much pudding its a tiny bit sickly and cloying.It is weighing heavy, time to move on. Perhaps I am simply describing my mood? I want the Autumn winds to blow...the leaves to turn and tumble and the last of the builders to trundle down the drive and disappear into the mist hanging on the hill.

~~~

September has been slow moving but never dull. Magpie flew off to the Faraways for three weeks and they seemed an eternity. I was reminded how much I love this eccentric Island of ours as the tears of relief rolled  the morning Scotland said we would not be parted. I managed to slide off to Norfolk for a weekend with my dearest girlfriends, we stood arm in arm in a cornfield watching fireworks fly into the pitch. And my heart was full when I saw a bowls match being played with great gusto between two teenage boys and two senior gentlemen, the respect shown to one another by both teams was joyful to watch.

~~~

Whilst I have been busy choosing Tudor bricks, Kent pegs and English oak the garden has relaxed into a semi wild haven, there are spiders webs and long tendrils of green curls wrapped around things they oughtn't. I should feel guilty about the wildness but instead I am enchanted by it. The drive is a builders yard and so the roses bolting across the weatherboard feel anarchic and I approve! And all the while the hydrangeas are quietly developing their Autumn colour palette.

seeds of love

~x~

Sun lit...

We float down sunlight streets

And let our hair get stuck

On our fingertips

Weeds whisper

Coaxing us to the grass

Wrapping their way through our toes

Slick pebbles weigh down your pockets

I braid sunshine into your hair

You’re glittering

I sew sunshine onto your skin

Ribbons that glow warm

The hum of the wind

Catches on your breath

Butterfly, butterfly

~~~

What an amazing string of summer days we are having... set with a sapphire drenching courtesy of Bertha...

~~~

All these images are from my "Summertime...." board on pinterest. 

1,Sirince 2,Baycrews 3,Brian W Ferry  5.Anastasia Glebova

The poem isn't credited, I found it on the i gigi general store pinterest page I'd love to know who penned it, any ideas?

~~~

with love from a sun drenched, wind swirled Lane!

--x--

Big "Siss"

A few weeks ago I tumbled into Sissinghurst. Tangled, jangled at odds with myself. I cursed my own stupidity, it was a warm mid-summerish mid-morning and I tipped up with coach loads of Garden Tours...literally coach chaos! And still, amidst the thrumming Big "Siss" delivered!


In the arched brick entrance, notes from the head gardener written onto a slate with single blooms arranged in a lovely  wooden stand. Terracotta pots labeled in chalk...simple and honest, I make a mental note to do this myself...instead of a gift tag.You can read more from the gardeners here.

Garden and buildings converge at Sissinghurst to create a beautiful English symphony of brickwork, oak timbers, hung tiles all festooned with foliage and flower. They heighten one another.

I saw something of Vita in this statuesque visitor, perfectly attired visitor.

Heady? Yes! I scuttled away from the madding crowd and headed for the giant archway wondering how Adam Nicolson and Sarah Raven had progressed their vision of reinstating the kitchen garden. The view through is bucolic indeed...

A walk past a meadow brimful with sweet grass and dozing lambs brings me to a fully formed and large kitchen garden with flowers for cutting...hooray...

 

Just glorious to see big Siss looking so fantastic!

 I consider Sissinghurst the elder sister to my other favourite gardens Great Dixter and of course Perch Hill.

My head is swirling with iris and rose scented joy...summertime breezes whisper in my ear.

Inhaling deeply I head for home.

~x~

Mown and Grown

The long days yawn ahead. 

Long and lazy. 

Pyjama clad, Croc footed I head for the fields with the lark and Boodle.

First stop the Cowshed, new doors fresh paint! 

Actually re-claimed doors but let's not quibble it's too early...

The fields are humming already. Choirs of insects sing ~ the grasses sway. The dew drops balance like pearls of sweat, the flowers tangle with the grass, no-one is sure who came with who to this dance.

Where the field runs into the garden fringes it seems to be beckoning the roses, "go wild!"

And the long day yawns ahead. 

~~~

The fields are "half-cut!" Drowsy and swoon inducing is the scent of a fallen wildflower meadow. Sorrel, Sweet Vernal, Birdsfoot Trefoil, Tufted Vetch, Clover, seeds and husks all jumbled like a giant bowl of nature's pot-pourri. It smells so sweet...honeydew, golden mead. I think it may be the greatest tea I'll never taste. The tractor drowns out the insects. Cutting long into the evening and the dark.

 Dusk is purple and gold. I head for the fields with Sauvignon and Boodle.

We yawn, the long day stretches behind us. 

Food for the winter.

 ~~~

I suspect I am talking to myself, but should you happen upon this post "Hello! Hello!"

I have been, and continue to be "here" Down the Lane. We are building a new piece of Lane which, whilst exciting, is also utterly terrifying and consuming. I promise to share all with you once we are respectable! In the meantime sending summery greetings or winter greetings to my Faraway friends!

 ~x~

 PS If you are interested in finding out more about native grasses and meadow flowers, The Wildlife Trust is an excellent resource.