Roses and Gooseberries

Having started a Garden Group for my WI, I've had to up my game in this area. I've learned a bit but of course still have miles to go. I deliberately didn't call it 'Gardening' as I thought some would be put off by this: taking pleasure in someone else's garden or in visiting a garden centre counts in my group!

I knew some time ago that the least harmful way to fight aphids on one's roses was to wipe them off with a rag and soapy water - bathe them in a manner of speaking. Up until now I've left it with Bill who sprayed them with some sort of chemical, with only moderate success. So I did the bath thing a couple of times and it's worked a treat. 

Another thing I read somewhere was to soak banana peels in water and pour this on the roses' roots. Apparently this feeds them potassium, which they crave. I've no idea if this is fact or fiction but I've done it this spring and now have loads of buds.

My roses seem to come out much later than most, but they do hang about for quite a while. I see loads of potential there and just the first few pink blooms.

Also, I kept reading that gooseberries came in June but we saw none on our two youngish gooseberry bushes, in spite of having had a small crop last year. Then one day I lifted a branch - prickly things they are - and saw a neat row of pale green berries underneath! But they were tiny, no bigger than peas. So I did some internet research and found the advice to pick alternate berries and leave the remainder to grow and ripen into July and August. So that's what I've done.

In a very old book, Every Man His Own Gardener, by John Abercrombie (published in 1782), I found the advice to prune gooseberry bushes in the shape of an umbrella. I can see how this would make everything a lot tidier, which is very useful when dealing with something as prickly as this.

I found this book at Berrington Hall a few years ago when we were down sound for Simon's wedding. I have been working at indexing my digital photos of late. This is a wonderful way to re-discover what you've done with your life, also to find new topics never before blogged about. 

Knitting Fish

 

I can't believe I haven't shown you my knitted fish - it's a herring, to be more specific. Others who have been knitting fish all seem to feel compelled to give them names that begin with H. I must admit I've felt the same pull but have thus far resisted. 

Why on earth might one take up such an activity? We have a local museum, The Old Low Light, which requested that the community do so for an upcoming display about women's work on the Fish Quay. For this they want loads of herring - they don't care what colour - and they provided a pattern and even offer if it was needed.  

At the end of the pattern using the normal wool, the author suggests knitting a fish out of plastic. I'm currently cutting up bags to make 'plarn' (plastic yarn). In the meantime, I stuffed my fish with plastic. I know that some of the members of Tynemouth WI craft group are knitting fish as well as the Age UK knitting group I belong to. The display will be quite interesting, I think, and surely all of us who have contributed will want to see it.

This heritage centre is all about the fishing industry which has played a significant role in this coastal area. Up until Brexit, the North Shields fishers was Europe's main supplier of prawns. I've no idea what has happened to that since given the difficult customs arrangements that delay the delivery of fresh seafood. 

The name Old Low Light refers to a building that formerly was the lower lighthouse. In the old days, ships coming into port needed to line up the high light and the low light in order to navigate safely. The high light is now a private home. 

We are fortunate to live in an area with such rich history - and to be given the opportunity to knit fish!

Murder on the Home Front

I first met Murder on the Home Front as a Netflix programme, which I really enjoyed. It plays up a potential romance between the author and her boss, which isn't mentioned in the book by the same name, memoirs of Molly Lefebure. These stories take place in London during WWII. I was lucky enough to get the book from my local library. While it took a while to get used to her writing style, by the middle of the book I was hooked. Bill even read it since it met his criteria for 'Very British' and 'not too sad'. Mind, the story is pretty sad for the bodies involved, but not for the main characters. 

Of course, being set in the 1940s and British, I did run across some words and phrases I didn't really know. So I've looked them up for this:

fruit & junket - according to Wikipedia this might also be called fruit & curds & whey. Made with sweetened milk and rennet. Not high on my list of things to try, but apparently quite a common dessert in the past.

dimity posy - couldn't find this online. Dimity is a type of cotton fabric woven with cords along the length (warp). It was generally used for household items such as bedding or curtains. Originally made from silk or wool, since the 1700s it has been made with cotton. A posy is a small flower bouquet (aka tussie-mussie, or nosegay - particularly if flowers are scented). Doilies were traditionally used to wrap the flower stems. My guess that a dimity posy is a nosegay wrapped with dimity instead.

prie-dieu - a type of prayer desk used for devotions. Wikipedia talks about these being found in churches and sometimes used in part of a wedding ceremony, but I recall that this referred to one seen in a murder victim's house. 

rexine - is a trademark name for a type of artificial leather, used in upholstery and for book covers, car dashboards and, for a while, teddy bear paws. It must have been widely used during the war as the author refers to it as 'the inevitable rexine'.

Bakst - probably refers to Léon Bakst, a painter and costume designer in Russia. 

Imagine an ornate alcove, rather than an actual room, with a big window for the said relatives to look through at ... ah, yes, at poor old Joe, or Liza, or Harry, stretched out on a magnificent bier between two giant standard lamps, against an exotic backcloth reminiscent of Bakst. Dramatic concealed lighting heightens the effect. It is certain that Joe, Liza and Harry never lay in such splendour all their lives; rickety old beds, seedy bedrooms, were no doubt their lot, damp and uncomfortable. But now that death has robbed them of all feeling and all pride here they lie, in the most sumptuous style imaginable. The relative of the deceased invariably express immense gratification.

The Dun Cow and Father Time

I'd not appreciated Durham is a World Heritage Site, though I have visited Durham Cathedral and appreciated the view from its rooftop.

On our recent family walk there was a big metal cow with a stone marker mentioning footsore monks, a cow and a couple of milk maids. So I took a photo to look it all up later. 

Apparently Durham Cathedral is built on a shrine to St. Cuthbert, a local 7th Century Christian hero of sorts, having converted a lot of Danes to Christianity,  The story goes that several monks - this is in the 11th Century - were moving his coffin back to Chester-le-Street (sort of a suburb of Durham) when the waggon carrying his coffin stopped and refused to move. After a three-day fast and prayer session, it was revealed that the coffin should be placed a place called Dunholm, but they didn't know where this was. About this time one or two milk maids came along (the story varies), searching for a misplaced dun (defined as a neutral grey-brown - I'd call it taupe) cow. She/they directed the monks to Dunholm and there they built a white church which eventually became the site of Durham Cathedral, a Norman structure that replaced it. 

I always forget what a really big guy Martin is. 

Also, the word 'dun' is old English for 'hill' and 'holme' is Norse for 'island'. (So my house, which is named Seaholme by the builders, means I live in Sea Island?). In medieval times this word was Latinised to 'Dunelm'. There is a chain of department stores called Dunelm around here. Somewhere in Norman times, Dun Holm was changed to Duresme. No one seems to know when it became Durham. The name Dunelm is apparently hallowed by those associated with Durham, it being the official name of the Bishop of Durham and it refers to any degree earned from the University of Durham. 

So the cow represents the lost Dun Cow - and I believe there is a coffee shop in Durham by that name.

A bandstand with an interesting weathervane grabbed my attention from across the river. Fortunately our walk took us past it on the way back and I got a better photo. Bill knew all about it, having lived in Durham for several years during his childrens' early years. 

The weathervane is a copy of one at Lord's Cricket Ground, London. It shows Father Time removing the bails from the wicket. The quote below is 'Lest Time Bails You Out'. This has something to do with one of the rules of cricket: "After the call of Time the bails shall be removed from both wickets".  I gather there is a cricket ground near this location in Durham. And one can buy a copy of the Father Time weather vane from the shop at Lord's for £400. I wouldn't even attempt to explain one thing about cricket, as everyone I know says it is terribly complicated. Also the games last for days. All I know is that the players wear white.

I take it that this is another of those upper class signifiers of Conspicuous Leisure, having the time to understand and enjoy cricket. 

Shincliffe Wood

We met up with Simon and Katie in the woods near Durham on Sunday. At least we thought it would just be Simon and Katie but Helen and Martin decided to come along as well and to bring Charlotte, their daughter. This made us a party of seven, which may have been illegal, though my vague understanding is that children aren't counted in these groupings. 

In any case, I mostly walked well behind the group. I haven't walked with anyone but Bill so far during this pandemic, even when it was permitted. My experience walking with him is that he's prepared to come much closer to groups of people that I want to. He seemed irritated with my caution and I felt pressured to take more risks so we stopped walking together. That experience suggested I wouldn't be happy walking with other friends either. It's not so much them as navigating all the other people around. A nice sit down in a front garden is much more conducive to pleasant, relaxed conversation. Sadly, for some period the government decided only public places, not private spaces were appropriate for meeting, so that ruled out private gardens, which struck me as short-sighted on their part.  

It turned out to be quite a lovely walk of about four or five miles. It seemed much longer given the terrain and the occasional crowds. I must admit I felt a bit overwhelmed at times. Even though signs everywhere warn to keep a 'social distance' even outdoors, no one appeared to pay it any mind whatsoever. We went along the riverside, crossed a bridge and continued the other side of the river until a detour took us through a wood full of blue bells. The white flowers, Bill's app told us, were stitchwort. I don't know what the lovely chartreuse coloured leaves were but the blue bells - which look more purple to me - and those green leaves made a wonderful contrast and reminded me of WI colours - or suffragette colours.

Though I didn't have much conversation, I got a lot of crochet done in the car on the way down and back. We did this 30 minute trip twice since Bill thought we were to meet at 11 but upon checking when we arrived, it was 1. So we went back home, had lunch, and returned. My blanket I've worked on for about three years is finally done - except it needs blocking. I see errors that could be fixed, but I'm fed up with the thing. I'll send it off to some refugee camp or other as originally planned. It was mostly about being a learning project. What I learned was not to knit a blanket of squares using scraps of yarn others have discarded. 

I saw on Facebook that a couple of former work colleagues, Jamie and Bev, had also just been to Shincliffe Wood the very same day. Shame we didn't run into them - it would have been nice to chat. 

A Friend's Garden

I have an American friend I met at my WI. We've managed to keep in touch throughout the pandemic and I've twice been invited to visit her in her garden. Three times if you count when she hosted our Book Group. She kindly gave permission to take this photos for this blog.

I've known where she lived for several years now, but I was stunned to realise that my back gate and hers are just about lined up through the alley that crosses the streets between us. Coming in through her back gate is like entering a magic kingdom. Perhaps I exaggerate a bit, but have a look for yourself. 

This last time it was rather drizzly and I told her I had water-proofs at the ready. She sensibly sat in her conservatory with the door open. I sat outside covered in Bill's walking gear as none of my coats are more than water resistant. We managed a good two hours before my knees were stiff and feet frozen and I took myself home. 

A south-facing garden is highly desirable here in the UK as is a double-fronted house. These odd things never crossed my mind when I came across. 

In addition to this lovely garden, her husband also keeps an allotment. I've occasionally been gifted a giant marrow or a box of red currents, so I on this visit I brought her a couple of jars of my homemade jam. All this the benefit of being a WI member!

The Planet Will Be Just Fine Without Us

There was a recent article in the NY Times that the website Epicurious had stopped publishing beef recipes. They had done so for some time but no one apparently noticed until they announced they had done so. Then loads of folks got up in arms about it, which mystifies me. I mean, they haven't removed their old beef recipes - and how many ways does one need to have to cook something which is generally agreed not to be great for the planet or for human health if consumed too much. Personally, I applaud Epicurious for having done the obvious that so many others haven't.

I am aware that we are in a pickle if we don't drop our carbon emissions drastically in the coming years. There is an increasing amount of information about this in the media, but not a lot seems to be changing. I mean, everyone knows - or should - that flying is a really bad idea, but newspapers still have travel columns extolling a holiday in some faraway place. My WI magazine still advertises luxury cruises (also a climate nightmare). Recipes for beef continue as normal as well as all the cheap fashion shops with online outlets.

The UK government will ban sale of petrol and diesel cars in the near future. We've been discussing the purchase of a hybrid, should they still be available, when this car gives up the ghost. 

One could be forgiven for thinking, "Well, it's an 'emergency', but not really an "EMERGENCY." We do get a lot of mixed messaging. Like the fact that the UK government removed the tax breaks that had been attached to environmentally friendly purchases such as solar panels. That they set up a green housing scheme but then abandoned it shortly after. There has been a planning application approved for a new coal mine in Cumbria. The inconsistency is fairly confusing.

I do think we should stop saying 'Save the Planet', because the planet doesn't really need saving. Sure, we've wrecked a good bit of it and killed off an awful lot of plants and animals, if not entire ecosystems. However the planet was around long before homo sapiens developed and will likely be around - sun failure or major cosmic collision aside - for a terribly long time after we've starved or nuked ourselves out of existence. Other species will arise out of what's left and plants will overtake the empty cities and the planet will just carry on. I think Sixth Extinction is a better term, but perhaps we should make it even plainer: Extinction of the Human Race. 

I know that we humans are more attuned to thinking short term - looking forward to our next vacation, what's on my calender this week, what's for dinner tonight. Mind, the really rich guys - Bezos, Musk and even Branson all have space programmes. Presumably they've already given up on Saving the Planet and are looking for Planet B - or perhaps just a space station. I can't think of a less attractive proposition myself. Or perhaps they only want to offer a new sort of vacation. The ironic thing is that space programmes are even worse than airline flights for carbon emissions. So whether they are looking for a new home or just how to get away from this one for a while, they are helping to kill us all off.

Do I spend a great deal of time worrying about this? No. I don't expect to live long enough to see the really hard times. Also, I think we are fairly resilient in that we live - I was going to say 'quietly' but I think the word is 'modestly'. We eat very little beef, no lamb, more and more beans and grains and seasonal vegetables. We strive for a zero waste kitchen; our waste bin could be emptied every two or three months, but our recycling bin is much fuller. We seek re-uses for the packaging that comes into our house. We both wear our clothes to rags, walk for most errands, keep a car until no longer serviceable, haven't flown in two, perhaps three, years. I buy most of my clothes and books second hand. Neither of us routinely showers every day, but when needed - closer to twice a week. We wash our clothes after several wears and recently purchased a 'guppy's friend' washing bag. My crafting tends to be to make useful items, not just 'stuff' and I mend our clothes and household linens regularly. Our Christmas tree is at least 20 years old and the ornaments are from the mid-1940s on, bar the lights. We use brown paper wrapping or re-useable fabrics and Bill's kids are used to me retrieving bows and ribbons for re-use. In the past few years we've taken to exchanging food hampers rather than tat as gifts. I build a wishlist rather than buy every book or sewing kit I want and ask for these at birthdays and Christmas. I quit shopping on Amazon about three years ago. 

I looked into heating our house electrically and it would cost four times as much as using gas, so that hasn't changed yet. I could easily heat one room at a time, but Bill can't cope with that. The main need of our car is for Bill's walking expeditions, requiring him to meet up early on weekend mornings to obscure places, negating the use of public transport. I must admit I prefer to drive to any necessary places if it's pouring outside. I am in the habit of turning out the lights when leaving a room, but I sometimes forget and leave the oven on or time my jar heating badly when making jam. While we're both prepared to put on extra layers of clothing rather than turn up the thermostat (set at 19 C / 66 F), when my fingers are cold, I want be warmer. Our heating goes off at night. Our duvet is more than adequate in this temperate climate.

I still hope to meet my Norwegian cousins in the US and see the house in South Dakota and I still have family and friends in the US I'd like to see. I intend to make more trips at some point, depending upon how the pandemic goes. I would still like to see Norway and explore the area my Dad's ancestors inhabited. I can likely reach Norway via boat, but I can't envision boat travel all the way to the US. I know at some point I won't be able to manage long haul travel and there will come a point when I won't ever see my uncles again. As long as they are alive, I'm content to intend to see them, if that makes any sense. Perhaps only a procrastinator would understand that. 

Bill and I could potentially live in a much smaller house, however we have deemed this one to be our 'forever house'. Bill has already stated that if he survives me he is likely to sell and move closer to one of his children. Lately, however, he has come to appreciate the social contacts he has here and realises those would be hard to replace. If I survive Bill I expect to stay here for as long as possible - probably heating one room at a time. We are discussing what improvements are feasible to make the house more air-tight. 

Have you given any thought to reducing your carbon footprint?