I have been looking after my little vegetable plot this past week carefully but not as anxiously as in past years. Funny. The garden is actually looking better this year--starting to look less wild.

And tonight the rain has come.

We have had little rain these past two weeks and while that's great for suntans it's not so good for the seeds. I have watered when needed, filling my buckets in the shower and letting them sit in the sun to warm before pouring the precious liquid carefully over the plants. Without rain to replenish it the rain barrel was emptied. I have watched with mixed feelings as the forecast has said first rain today, then sun today and rain tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Mixed feelings because I prefer the sun.

My plants have drooped and I have watched the skies. If the prophets are right I will be watching the skies much this summer and I might even be successful in growing a good pepper crop if it stays hot for long enough. And hope the rain barrels stay full.

I feel somewhat like a farmer: anxious and hopeful all at once. I'm not sure how a farmer is supposed to feel. Am I a farmer? I till my soil, dig out the weeds, care for the plants, harvest my produce. Sounds farmer-ish but I would not truly claim that hard-working word. Gardener sounds more like me. And a gardener who throws seeds at the garden and shrugs that what comes up comes up after spending all winter planning. Is it worth the work? Isn't it easier to go to the store or even the farmer's market? I pondered this as I picked kale this morning. My kale that was extravagant last summer and not only survived the winter but came through tasting sweet. People said this was so--although they were talking about the taste after the first frosts, not months of snow later. But I didn't believe it.

Have you ever tasted new lettuce or tomatoes still warm from the sun? There is a great deal of satisfaction in eating a stew filled with vegetables you can claim as your own, that you've known from seed.

Come on over. I'll share.

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wedding day

One of the constants during the two weeks we stayed in our rented cottage was snooker. A mini table in the centre of the room provided the practice for what was coincidentally on the 'tele': the Snooker World Championship. At any time of the day we'd hear the clunk of balls and know that the boys were up. Then someone would ask about Robertson and Dott and we'd know that they'd been watching the championship. They had the lingo down and would talk about hitting it thin or thick.

It got even funnier to my non-snooker mind when on the wedding day I walked in to find most of the family, including the groom who had just stopped in for a little while, sitting, eating toast, watching the snooker, all dressed fully or partially in their finery.

However, to the church we did get and we were early to make sure. So was everyone else. A full 15 minutes before the ceremony started it seemed that the church was full and people restless and waiting. There came hush before the start. But even that was still with five minutes to go.
During the wait and the ceremony K2 and I shared the camera. He took some great photos including these flowers. I took the detail of the bridal gown which stopped just a couple feet from me since I had nearly front row seating and a perfect view.

The wedding was beautiful. The couple were aware of each other only and the building rang with the sounds of glory and honour to God for bringing them together. A picture perfect day in more ways than one since the rain held off until much later and the sun shone out. We felt honoured to be a part of it and humbled to have been able to make it, thanks to Dear Ones.

The fishing spot

One of the great expectations and delights of our cottage was the proximity of the fishing pond. Through farm gates and across two sheep fields we made our way to the caravan park at the bottom of the hill. Within sight of the road and yet completely secluded, the pond was, when we arrived, surrounded by daffodils. Each flower was a new variety and many seemed to be jewels floating in the greenery. As we adults wandered along the path around the pond we were overwhelmed by the beauty of one of my favourite flowers. The children were more concerned with the number and size of ripples in the lake and itched to run back and get their rods. We had just arrived though and the adults were more intent on a cup of tea and bed. Fishing would wait until the next day. And they made up for the wait throughout the next two weeks. But the daffodils faded fast so that we were thankful we had taken the time for them.

A Day With King Arthur

A steep walk down to the coast and the entrance to the ruins of Tintagel Castle, the supposed birthplace of King Arthur.

An old house built inside the original great hall of King Arthur's time. Not much left of either but you can see a shorter wall in the front of the house that extends farther out from the photo on either side.

Looking out from the ruined great house to more of the town's houses. Watch your toddlers! A mis-step here is fatal.

The view across the bay. Merlin's cave, where Arthur was found, is a cave underneath the hillside I'm standing on but similar in looks to those I'm looking at. There was quite a booming sound coming from the waves splashing in and out in those caves. The whole area has more recently than Arthur been a tin mine. It's long silent now.

Somehow though the silence on the hillside is not quiet. The wind buffets and blows. Birds fly and call: mostly seagulls flying below us standing high on the cliffs but also a hawk hovering silently until it was chased off by an upset gull. The whole landscape is rugged. Not what I had expected to see in England although I've read that it is so. The countryside is bare of all except a hardy grass that somehow withstands even the salt air. The rocks are slate and worn down but also sharp where new parts have broken off. We spent quite some time walking around looking at the various foundation ruins. A fire swept through some years ago and revealed about a hundred foundations that had been previously undiscovered. There is no sign now of the fire. As we walked we noticed the enormous variety of flowers. Small, tiny little flowers but tenaciously hanging on and spreading everywhere. How does this stuff survive up here? There is also evidence of animals living up here. Again. On what? When we asked an attendant later he said that in addition to what are likely mouse or vole holes there is a fox's den at the bottom of a cliff near the water. Huh!

We were sad to leave the area but the shop was closing in a few minutes and the boys had swords and spears to buy and we had grandparents to pick up from the tea shop. So much left unexplored--the church, the other building on the other hillside.

Oh, I kept the first for another day, but knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever be back. *

*Robert Frost

A better picture of Tintagel the Castle

The castle is the large ruins in the foreground with the steps-looking wall on the hillside. I'm not sure what the rounded ruins are in the centre. Way back on the right just out of sight behind the hill (near that rectangular building roof) is a Norman church. William of Normandy was actually the architect of many of these ruins.

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