Daffodil Solution Found!

Hello Friends!

Jumping back a short while now, and as promised a quick little update on the vase of top heavy daffodils that kept on lying down for a rest. You can read about it here.  I feel I should say that, despite the original difficulties, now that a solution is found, they are very definitely worth the effort, as they are so very pretty.

Thank you to everyone, on here and Instagram, for your suggestions to cut the stems and put in a different vase.  However, as this has happened before, I know that is not a solution as the bend just reoccurs further up until there's no stem left to bend.

I found an empty passata jar, recently thrown in the recycling bin, which looks rather like a quaint, old fashioned glass milk bottle, and I had an idea.  I put the daffodils on the counter, shaping the big, double blooms into a pompom, tied them securely together, but not too snuggly, with some garden twine, trimmed the stems, and put them in the passata jar with plenty of fresh, clean water.  Four days later and they still look fresh as a daisy, well, daffodils, not daisies, but you know what I mean!

They were still beautifully fresh on Mothering Sunday to sit alongside this photo of my lovely mother, taken for her twenty first birthday.  Thanks to Covid, this is the first year every I did not buy special flowers, but I think she would have loved these just as much, and I know that, as she watches over me, she understands.

Until next time

Stay safe, stay well

A Tale of a Hundred Daffodils

Hello Friends!

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not be but gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

How could I write about daffodils and not include William Wordsworth's most famous poem?  What a sight he must have seen before him to inspire such moving and lasting imagery? 

The daffodil is the official flower of Wales, and is often worn by Welsh men, women, and children on March 1st, Saint David's Day, instead of the more pungent and less fragrant leek, also an emblem of Welsh nationality. 

Here is an amusing tale of what started out as just thirty daffodil bulbs that went forth and multiplied.  I didn't find it amusing as it unfolded, quite the opposite, but now I look back and I laugh.

Once upon a long, long time ago, in another lifetime, I lived in a tiny cottage overlooking a pretty bay and fishing harbour.  I knew I would not live there forever, so when I bought thirty Spring flowering daffodil bulbs, I planted them up in pots.  The flowered well and brought me much joy.

Time passed, and the day came when I had to move away, so I brought the pots of daffodils a few miles down the road to my parents cottage for them to plant out in their garden, and I went away.  I went away for four years, and during the Spring following my return, I was utterly amazed how the daffodils had multiplied.  They now filled the borders around the cottage making a delightfully colourful springtime display.

There was, however, one problem.

We all know how messy daffodils get once they have flowered and are dying back.  That was the rub.  There were, by now, so many daffodils that for weeks on end it all looked such a mess.  So, my mother and I came up with a plan.  

It was genius! Or so we thought.  I'd dig up all the bulbs from the borders, dry them off, store until September, then we'd pot them up into tubs of fresh compost that could then be put in the borders while in flower during early and mid Spring, and moved out of the way, out of sight, to die back in their unsightly manner, keeping the borders fresh and pretty.

I spent three days of back breaking work, digging out bulbs that, by now, had gone deep into the ground. We had over 300 bulbs!  I put them to dry, then stored away until needed.  

We bought the tubs; we bought bags and bags of compost.  Time passed, and we were ready to plant up the pots.

We set our pots up, began filling them with compost, and went to fetch the bulbs from the garden shed.  But wait! Where are the bulbs?  What has happened? Not a bulb to be found!  Not even an empty sack in which they were stored.  What had happened to the bulbs?

We puzzled for ages, not realising that there was a rather large square of freshly dug soil in a corner of the garden.  When my father came home, we asked him if he knew anything about the missing bulbs, and to our dismay he cheerfully told us that, the previous day, he'd only gone and dug them back in, they were under all that freshly turned soil.

You can go off people, and you can go off daffodils!  My father thought it was funny; he and I had words.  Not for the first, nor the last time over gardening differences of opinion.

I got over it, and the daffodils flourished in their new home, but over the years they multiplied even more, so I dug them up and gave them away.  There's only so many daffodils a small garden can hold, after all. 

Probably the prettiest are the double ones, but sadly they tend to succumb to the bad, Spring storms that prevail during March, right as they begin to flower, so this year, with advance warning of an impending week of wild, wet and windy Welsh weather, I picked them and brought them in, in tight bud.  If you've scrolled this far, you've seen their progress, but, sadly, this was the scene that greeted me this morning. 

I guess they keep on growing and getting heavier after they've opened and keep on drinking up the water.  So sad to see their slender stems bent over with the weight, but it is what it is, and short of wiring them there's very little I can do to prevent this happening.

At least I've had a few days enJOYment from them, while yet another week of Spring storms lashed our coast from Tuesday until Sunday.

For those of you who don't know, the stoneware jug is over seventy years old and was a gift from my dear mother to  her mother.  It is now in my care, and I have always loved this jug, even more so now.  As a child, I loved to see it on a table filled with daffodils which seem to look so well in it.  I named it the Daffodil Jug, and it is known by that name to this day.

Until next time

Stay safe and stay well.

Camellias and Daffodils

Hello Friends ~~~

I had not realised that it is nearly two weeks since I wrote a peep! Where does the time go? So, here I am with some photographs ~ I hope you like camellias!

First, I will share with you a little story about how I came to almost hate daffodils ~~~ I certainly went off them for a good while, and I think you will give me your sympathy!

A long time ago I lived in a neighbouring village and my garden was tiny, nay, it was miniature to say the least, so there was not much room for anything. I was determined not to be without, so, amongst other things I bought thirty assorted daffodil bulbs and planted them in pots. They rewarded me well. Time passed and I moved abroad. I brought the pots of daffodils to my parent's cottage and my father decided to plant the bulbs directly into the ground. For many years the daffodils thrived. There were many sorts, from the straightforward all yellow, to some with vibrant orange centres, and some spectacular double ones.

The years went by, the daffodils multiplied into many hundreds of bulbs, and my mother began to tire of looking at so many during late spring when they die back and become quite untidy. They became an eyesore and seemed to hold back all the late spring and early summer flourishes of flowers, so, one day, with permission, I set about digging them all up. I carefully cleaned them, around five hundred bulbs, and put them to dry, ready for planting into many pots to place around the garden the following spring, and which could be removed out of sight when they were past their best. All of this took me several days but it seemed like a good plan ~~~ until, in early September of that year I went to pot up the bulbs and could not find them! Imagine my dismay to discover that, despite all my hard work, my father had found the bulbs just three days earlier and replanted them in the garden! I went off daffodils very quickly, I can assure you!

Later, I decided to dig them up again only this time I gave them away by the carrier bag full to willing takers. I think the Daffodil Karma Gods are now on my tail because the only daffodils that survive are a small handful of the beautiful double ones that are, sadly, so heavy in bloom that the stems just snap, so all I can do is cut them really very short and pop them in a vintage jug that seems just right for daffodils, to the point that we call it the Daffodil Jug ~~~

Last year, I ruthlessly cut the top off my earlier flowering pink camellia because it was getting too tall for the position and when we have strong gales or storms all winter long, it often looks as if it will just uproot itself and take off, so I took the bull by the horns and cut it back to half of its height. I think it shocked the plant because it has never been so full of these pink blooms that bring a vivid pop of colour to the late winter garden ~~~

Previously next door could not be seen behind the height of this shrub

This weekend saw the return of the much missed Gardener's World to our television screens.  Following Monty Don's sage advice, and the arrival of a delightful sunny Sunday afternoon, I shall begin tackling the thicket and mess that is the autumn raspberry patch. It will take a lot of work because my back was too bad to do anything last year so the weeds, mostly couch grass and brambles, have really taken hold. I cropped only what could be picked from the wall edge, so had barely anything to eat by way of fresh raspberries last year.  Here is the before picture, the after ones will follow next time, and I hope there will be a vast improvement.

Please don't judge me for the mess it is in! I suffered in agony for many weeks in two bouts of a very bad back last spring and summer and I am very eager to sort out this mess!

The local Council Garden Waste bin scheme has already started and it took me no time at all to fill it for the first collection, Thursday last!  Already, the next collection is half full and there is nearly a fortnight of clearing ahead of us. I have much more waste than I can feasibly manage right now! Heigh Ho! Such fun ~~~

Until next time ~~~
~~~Deborah xo

Daffodils, Pancakes and A Patron Saint

Hello Friends!

DAFFODILS FOR SAINT DAVID'S DAY

It's been quite a busy few days in the village as it is March 1st, and that means it is Saint David's Day, the day we celebrate the Patron Saint of Wales.  You can read all about it here and here  where I have previously shared several of our events and a little of the history of David himself.

I was unable to attend in person at any of the events this year, however, I did manage to take a few photographs of some of the many windows that have been so beautifully decorated in celebration of Saint David. Here are a few of them, a bit shaky as it was like standing in a wind tunnel out there today in 50 mph winds ~~~

I love these quirky pottery Welsh ladies

Here are some of my personal things, some table linen, a Welsh lady doll that is dressed in traditional costume that someone lovingly knit by hand, and a few towels and oven gloves with Welsh patterns ~~~

and a plate of delicious Welsh Cakes, a yummy treat to have with tea on St David's Day ~~~

We also have dear friends living Across the Pond who celebrate Wales and they share their lovely pictures and celebrations with us ~~~

Yesterday was Shrove Tuesday, which you can read about here, however, many of you celebrate this day yourself in one of its many forms as it is celebrated across the world and I'd love if you'd share your stories in the comment ~~~

I don't like calling it Pancake Day as I observe it as Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday, and the start of Lent, although, as a child, we sang the following little ditty all day long in school, in eager anticipation of delicious pancakes, fresh from the frying pan, for our tea when we got in from the cold, and often wet, walk home from school ~~~

Pancake Day! Pancake Day!

Mother's Busy Baking 

Toss the Pancakes! Toss the Pancakes!

Turn the Pancakes Over!

I always remember my mother, slaving over the hot stove which stood in the corner of the tiny room where we cooked, ate, and sat around the fire of the evenings, making the pancakes one by one so each of us got a fresh, hot pancake slathered in melted butter, sprinkled liberally with sugar, and drizzled with lemon juice. She would serve everyone first before sitting down to her own, then start again giving each one of us a fresh pancake in turn, ending with her own, until all the batter was gone! My goodness, they were tasty treats with all the sugar and butter!

We sat, in eager anticipation, not only of the delicious pancakes, but waiting for The Toss! No meal of pancakes is proper without the successful toss of at least one pancake!  I pride myself on my expertise in this field!

Here is my recipe for crêpes which I learned in school, many decades ago ~~~

4 oz plain flour, sifted with a pinch of salt into a mixing bowl. Make a well in the centre and into this crack two large eggs. Gradually incorporate the eggs into the flour, slowly drawing the flour into the eggs. When all the flour is absorbed by the eggs, slowly pour in 1/2 pint of full cream milk beating constantly using a hand held electric whisk. You may, of course, whisk by hand using a balloon whisk should you require to burn off calories before eating your treat!  Set batter aside for a minimum of 1 hour before using. Immediately before using, pour 1 oz melted butter into the batter and whisk well.
To cook the pancakes, heat a heavy flat based pan and lightly grease with butter. When the butter begins to give off a blue smokey haze the pan is ready. Pour about 1/6 of the batter into the pan and swirl around until it reaches the edges. When the top is dry and the pancake slides freely in the pan, flip using a spatula, or toss if you are brave enough and cook the other side until golden brown.
Transfer the cooked pancake to a warm plate and flavour or fill with your choice of toppings before serving immediately. Repeat with remaining batter, which makes approximately 6 pancakes of 10 inches diameter. Bon Appetit!

Our traditional Shrove Tuesday pancakes are globally called crêpes, those heavenly, paper thin French confections of pure, soft, melt in the mouth delight which I love dearly. Today, pancakes will be made in many shapes, sizes, and filled with all manner of treats.  These are mine ~~~

I don't mind savoury or filled sweet pancakes at any time of year, and love them filled with garlic mushrooms; roasted Mediterranean vegetables; broccoli in a cheese sauce; ice cream and chocolate sauce; fresh fruit and a brandy sauce; you get the idea ~ but on Shrove Tuesday they are simple fare served in remembrance of the day.

Did you have pancakes yesterday, or do you have other ways of celebrating Shrove Tuesday?

Until next time ~~~
~~~ Deborah