A Dry Spell

Walking down the hill this evening to deliver eggs to my neighbours, I noticed the ditches are completely dry. The shrunken river drifts in a calm, shallow, meandering way, in contrast to its swollen, raging character in times of heavy rain.

We had a day of steady rain over the weekend, which gave a growth spurt to the grasses and flowers (and weeds!), but after an unusually rain-free winter followed by a dry, sunny spring it didn't make much difference to the streams, ditches and rivers.

For the first time since moving to Wales (ten years ago this August) I am seriously worrying about the well drying up. Halfway Up A Hill has no mains water supply, so if the well did dry up it would definitely be a problem. I have many water butts stationed around the property, but it's amazing how quickly that water gets used when conditions demand it.

I wonder how the birds and animals are coping? A dearth of water in West Wales is not normally an issue. I remember being amazed and impressed when we first moved here by the way little springs would - well, spring up, on the hillside after heavy rain.

I have just checked the five day weather forecast and it doesn't appear we are due for rain any time soon. Don't get me wrong, I am loving the warm, sunny weather, especially after the last few miserable, wet summers we have had here. But I would like the weather Gods to know that it would be nice if we could have the odd heavy downpour too - maybe overnight so we can keep enjoying the summery days. As Joni Mitchell so rightly observed, sometimes you don't know what you got till it's gone.

Real Gold

My Mum's wedding bouquet was yellow roses and mauve freesias. She still loves these flowers today.

Today my parents celebrate their Golden Wedding Anniversary, 50 years together.

This afternoon, they will re-take their vows, with my Uncle Jack, who married them way back in 1960 reprising his role as officiant. Tomorrow we will throw a big party for them. Fifty years of happy marriage is worth celebrating!

Last night we watched some old home movies of their wedding and the early years of their marriage: the building of the home I and my siblings grew up in, family holidays, birthday parties and trips to the zoo. It was strange watching these old films, which I probably last saw as a teenager. This time, I saw them through new eyes. Looking back now that I am in my forties I could see my parents for the first time as a young couple, starting out in life, building their life and family together. I realised how hard it must have been for them sometimes with three small children, only my Dad working, money in short supply, literally building a house brick by brick themselves and turning it into a happy home. But I also know how lucky I am to come from a close-knit, loving family. That is worth more than gold!

So - golden years, leading to a Golden Anniversary today. Happy Anniversary, Mum and Dad. And may there be many more!

St Anthony's Well, Llansteffan

Llansteffan is a lovely place to visit. It is on the estuary of the Towy River, downstream from Carmarthen just before the river flows into the sea.

Up on the hill above the village are the ruins of a dramatic cliff-top castle. The views from up here are spectacular.

But less obvious, tucked away down a narrow, tree-lined footpath leading from the beach is a place to treasure.

Here, stepping through an unremarkable old door set in a stone wall and down stone steps, you find yourself in a tiny courtyard overhung with wisteria and honeysuckle.

This is St Anthony's Well, a place of pilgrimage for hundreds of years. It delights me that this holy place - hidden away from the casual observer - is still visited and honoured to this day with offerings of flowers, shells, crystals and foliage.

When IB and I visited earlier today, the alcove of the well was filled with such gifts, and the plaque depicting St Anthony himself had been garlanded with wildflowers.

The well has such a tranquil, sacred atmosphere it is one of my favourite places to visit. I thoroughly recommend it to anyone seeking to visit ancient sacred sites in the Carmarthen area. Take some time out to relish the peace there. And don't forget to bring a shell from the beach, or a wildflower from the lane for St Anthony!

Summer Morning in the Garden

Barefoot through wet grass. The smell of damp soil, sun on bare arms.

Teasing seedling weeds out from between the onions. Gently helping bean stems find a hold on bamboo canes.

Bees in the comfrey. Dewdrops twinkle on soft plumes of fennel.

Stems grow, day by day, inch by inch. Leaves unfold into the light.

I am back in my rightful place. The garden and I exhale and relax.

Falling In Love

I fall in love with the world again every May. It is such a beautiful month.

The trees are all in leaf by now, but the leaves are still tender, so green, almost translucent. The woods and hedgerows are full of bluebells, probably the most beautiful blue in the world. And they are complimented and highlighted by the other wildflowers accompanying them: red campion, buttercups, Queen Anne's lace, stitchwort, lady's smock. And the lushness of the grass!

The skies are blue and full of sun which shimmers on the fields of buttercups. The sweet, faery scent of hawthorn entices from every hedgerow. The joyous chatter of swallows and martens, the rich fluid song of blackbird and thrush. Apple blossoms flutter in the breeze, and the bees drink deeply from their abundance.

In the garden the vegetables seem to grow with each passing day, and in the flower borders welsh poppies, irises, forget-me-nots and columbines harmonise tones of yellow, purple, lilac and blue.

The world is in love with life at this time of year, its beauty heart-stopping. Oh yes, I love May. How could I not?

The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Hen

As this afternoon was another gloriously sunny affair, IB and I decided to work in the vegetable patch. And while we worked, we opened the door to the chicken run, so they could come out and graze on the lush grass by the greenhouse. We assumed that as we were working close by they would be safe from foxes and buzzards.

One of the younger Light Sussex hens (Blossom) was showing signs of broodiness, so we evicted her from the nest box (much to her disgust) and shut the pop-hole so she couldn't sneak back in when we weren't looking. The delights of scratching up interesting tit-bits in the grass soon distracted her, and soon everyone was out enjoying the fresh air and warm sunshine - including us in the veggie patch.

After a few hours, we decided it was time to retire for a cup of tea, and ushered most of the chickens back into the run. I brought down some wheat to coax in the stragglers while IB took the gardening tools back up the hill and put the kettle on.

As soon as I opened the pop-hole, Blossom shot back into the nest box, her hormones clearly overwhelming her appetite! The other hens had no such qualms and clustered around my feet, murmuring contentedly and eagerly pecking up the grain. I did a quick head count, and could make out only eight hens around me. Blossom was in the nest box, but that should have left nine. I counted again. Still only eight. Who was missing? The two Black Rocks, Ceridwen and Blodeuwedd, and Rhiannon the Speckledy, present. Three of the Light Sussex: Daisy, Dot and old Blodwen, too. The two new smokey-grey Bluebells so new they are not yet named, and Blossom (the fourth Light Sussex) looking puffed up and sulky in the nest box, all there. Except for one. Bella, the Cream Legbar.

Bella is one of my oldest hens, yet she still lays 2-3 eggs a week. They are the most beautiful pale blue colour, and very popular with my regular egg customers, some of whom claim they taste better than normal eggs (I'm not convinced of this myself, but still...). Bella's also very flighty, panicking at the drop of a hat and seemingly convinced I am actually an evil fiend who will do her in the very second she lets her guard down.

I double checked the run, under the leaning elder, under the chicken house (where they often enjoy a dust bath). I called, and shook the container of grain, which is usually guaranteed to bring all the hens running eagerly to me. No sign of Bella. I began to worry. IB joined me, and we searched in the trees overhead (in case she'd had a Bella-style freak out about something and flown up to an overhanging branch), and the undergrowth - at first close to the area the hens had been in, and then further and further afield. Still nothing.

I racked my brains to try and remember if I'd heard something strange while we'd been in the veggie patch, but couldn't remember anything unusual. We searched and called and began to suspect the worst, except the other hens didn't seem spooked, and there were no tell-tale heaps of feathers to be found.

Meeting back at the greenhouse, we were baffled. Our best guess was that she'd wandered away from the rest of the flock and been snagged by a lucky passing fox. But the lack of feathery evidence seemed strange.

"Perhaps she's lurking in the undergrowth somewhere, and she'll come out later," I suggested, thinking aloud. "We'd better check back frequently in case she turns up. Or perhaps she's crept off to find somewhere to lay as the hen house was shut. Perhaps she's round the back of the greenhouse..."

IB climbed onto the wall of a disused cold-frame to peer behind the greenhouse - and as he did so, Bella shot out of the cold-frame in a flurry of feathery panic! Closer inspection revealed that she'd fashioned herself a cosy hollow in there, where a perfect new-laid pale-blue egg now nestled. Her mottled brown plumage was perfect camouflage, and we'd walked right past her during our search without seeing her at all.

Bella is now safely back with the rest of the flock, and I think everyone's heart rate is just about back to normal again now!

Blossom Moon

I love the Native American way of naming the moons of the year for their character, for example 'Snow Falls Moon', 'Leaf Moon' or 'Frogs Croak Moon'.


I have oftened flirted with the idea of coming up with a year's worth of Moon-names myself, although I haven't done it so far. Yet I'm sure if I was to name the May moon it would have to be 'Blossom Moon'.


It has been such a dry, cold, spring here that everything in the garden and hedgerows has been held back - snowdrops, daffodils and bluebells several weeks later than their usual time of appearance. And yet when things have appeared, they seem to have put on a much more spectacular display than usual. Perhaps they're making up for lost time, or perhaps we're just so glad to finally see them, they seem much more impressive than usual. And this year the blossom seemed to come all at once, in a joyous froth of petals heralding summer with heedless abandon.
Just look at the photos I took a couple of weeks ago:

Then it was flowering cherry, juneberry, damson and blackthorn. Now, in the orchard there is pear and apple blossom, cherry, crabapple and very soon, quince. And from every hedgerow the breeze carries the sweet, uncanny fairy fragrance of mayblossom (hawthorn).

I'm sure the bees and the fairies must be as happy as I am to see such abundant beauty.