Tag Archives: Jill Barklem

Damp scents and extravagant gifts.

children's books, my garden, smells, , , , , , , ,

The friend of a friend who gave me quinces last fall has given from her tree again, bless her heart. This time she didn’t drop them off at church, but I drove across the county a ways to pick up two boxes of fruit at her gate. This I was more than happy to do, because it is a gorgeous drive through hills and valleys, small vineyards and large gardens, along winding roads where every kind of tree imaginable has been planted to round out the natural oak forest.

It has rained and drizzled off and on the last two days, so every tuft of grass or turning leaf is extra fallish and delicious, all the scents mixed up with each other in the damp air. After I picked up my quinces and started back home, I wished so much that I could take a long walk in that part of the country; but the roads are quite narrow, I could not find a shoulder to park on, and I wasn’t wearing good shoes for that kind of outing. So I feasted my eyes on the sights as I rolled along, while my nose drank in the quince perfume from the back of the car.

When I got home, my copy of The Complete Brambly Hedge had arrived, after being delayed for months. Maybe I never had bought one of my own, or maybe I gave it away, but earlier this year I looked and looked and could not find one in the house, so I ordered it. As I leafed through its pages this afternoon I recognized the drama of autumn in the wonderful pictures. I think if I had been able to take that walk in the country, and to peer under the bushes, I would likely have glimpsed scenes like this one, from “Autumn Story”:

Similar things are going on in my own garden, and not just among the smallest creatures. I walked around this afternoon trimming this and that, and pulling long pine needles off of everything. Sunday I found the first ripe fig on the fig tree; this is a whole month later than ever before. Mentions on my blog in the past tell of their beginning to ripen as early as the third week of August. Normally they continue ripening into November, so I hope I might get at least a month’s worth of fruit.

fallish echinacea
Abutilon

I picked all the remaining (18) lemons from the tree, and was glad to see that, contrary to my fears of there not being much fruit to ripen this winter, lots of tiny lemons have showed up (above), and even blossoms. Somehow my tree is turning out to be a sort of everbearing lemon. That’s okay with me!

Strawberry Tree

The arbutus we call the strawberry tree has both unripe fruit and blossoms as well. I remember the grandboys on a ladder picking the fruit one Thanksgiving, so those treats are yet to come as well.

A Mediterranean Katydid visited me upstairs this week. I think I saw one of those here last year, too; do they like to come in the house for some reason? I assumed that this one would rather be outside, so after a couple of days of him migrating from one room to another and lastly surprising me on the bathroom faucet one morning, I got him into a jar and released him into the lemon basil clippings. But it was nice to have his company for a while.

Now — the lemons and quinces are calling me to get to work and put away their goodness against the winter. The sun is expected to come out tomorrow and we have some mildly warm days to look forward to; when the figs begin to come on strong I’ll be dehydrating them to put away, too. My own Autumn Story is one in which I am given, and am surrounded by, nourishing scents and fruits of the earth, and plenty of them.

Arbutus unedo

Lake, stream, and mice.

cabin, family, mountains, nature, , , , , ,

DAY 5: This will be our last full day at the lake. Mark and Jennie have already left their nearby camp, which leaves the six of us to plan for. I take a long walk in the morning and meet Tom, a man who spends the whole summer up here. “Mine is the black cabin,” he says. He is in his mid-80’s, and knew my father. He takes his canoe out every morning, all by himself, because his wife died only a few months ago. I think when I come next summer I’ll go look for him at his black cabin with a picture of quail on the sign.

I also check out the little library in a cabinet, but don’t find anything up my alley. Certainly I don’t need more books up here anyway – I’ve made small progress in the ones I brought.

wild gooseberry

I admire buttercups, and eat a couple of gooseberries as I head down to look at the lake, then hike steeply about 200 yards back to our cabin. There is time to read from The Complete Brambly Hedge to the children before lunch, one of the dozen books I brought from my shelves to share with them. We are already familiar with Jill Barklem’s charming stories and the detailed drawings which we study carefully to extract more knowledge about the families of darling anthropomorphized mice.

Then we all head to the lake, even Jamie. His father keeps him lakeside while Pippin, Scout, Ivy and I head out in the canoe for the special spot they found yesterday, an inlet on the other side of the lake where the water cascades over slabs and boulders and sand of granite in a myriad of gorgeous colors. We all enjoy walking up big rock steps through the stream, or along the same slopes that Scout gleefully slides down on his bottom into little pools, where the water is surprisingly temperate.

Me with Scout and Ivy

On return, the Pippin clan all five go in the canoe for a brief outing, while I try out the kayak for my first time. It’s quite fun!

My first voyage

Scout tries paddling the canoe with his mother – then we stow all the paddles and life preservers and kayak seat into the van and return to the cabin so that Scout and his parents can fit in one more Sierra Nevada experience: climbing a dome, just the “little” one behind the cabin. I stay with the younger children and trim green beans from my garden to steam for dinner.

Just before I climb into bed, a mouse runs through my bedroom!

lupine seed pods

 

The next day’s entry is HERE.