Of flowers and trees

Down the side of the cut - about 2 yards in, are two old apple trees, one on one side and one on the other. Both old and litchen covered. The picture shows one bare as it was a month ago, the other as it is now with leaves opening and buds coming. The third picture is a close up of the buds (just showing red) and the litchen.

These two trees were part of an orchard - an orchard that went around the edges of the two fields. Twenty years or so ago they used to produce a nice crop of apples - not any more. And why did the orchard go round the edge of the field? Well you see the land had been given to Syd as a gift for work well done on the big estate. They gave him quite a nice big piece of land but it was all round the edge of the fields so that Syd still had to keep up the hedges. The estate kept the middle of the field and used it for crops. Syd's land was too narrow for crops so he planted apples and kept up the hedges.

Such are the gifts of the rich to the poor.

On a more cheerful note, the Blackthorn is flowering at the top of the cut. Here is a picture of the blossom with the big oak tree in the background. It's called Blackthorn because it flowers on the bare wood - unlike Whitethorn, or Hawthorn or May (all the same thing) which does not flower until the leaves come out.

Blackthorn is a sort of wild plum and in the autumn you can pick the plums, called sloes. They are horribly sour but you can use them to make sloe gin. Basically what you do is wait till the frosts come which increases the sugar in the sloe, pick them, prick them (with a silver fork so they say and under a full moon if you find that makes it more fun), add sugar then pour gin on them and leave it till Christmas. Very nice stick and sweet. Here is a recipe: http://www.liqueurweb.com/sloe.htm
It makes no mention of silver forks, or the moon, or even pricking so maybe you don't need to do it - it's a horrble fiddle but somehow seems to make it more fun.

Oh and to finish here's a poem for those who like their poetry rich and sticky like their slow gin. It's by Swinburne
and was on Poem of the day yesterday.


Marzo Pazzo - Mad March

Mad March, with the wind in his wings wide-spread,
Leaps from heaven, and the deep dawn's arch
Hails re-risen again from the dead
Mad March.

Soft small flames on rowan and larch
Break forth as laughter on lips that said
Nought till the pulse in them beat love's march.

But the heartbeat now in the lips rose-red
Speaks life to the world, and the winds that parch
Bring April forth as a bride to wed
Mad March.

Here's Swinburne's biography and here's "The hounds of spring". Wonderful stuff particularly for a love-sick adolescent.