GARDENING

It is the Weekend (how I love that word) and we are out in the garden.  At first it is with a slight reluctance, when yawning and still tired from a hectic week, we eat breakfast and don the gardening gloves.   But once the fresh air kicks in, it becomes addictive, and borders are weeded, vegetable beds are raided and George sits astride his red mower to motor up and down, up and down, to mow the area we have named the orchard.  I think he finds this therapeutic, as he jealously guards this machine.  It is a man thing...

Red and Blackcurrants drip from young bushes planted by me, Betty Twyford, last year.  Now they are heavy with fruit, and I realise that whilst it is good to pluck and pick, you then have to MAKE something with the produce.  Well, it is all about Jam, and there is something wonderful about filling the pots – like a squirrel, I am hoarding up food for the winter.  I feel like a pioneer, growing, picking, preserving.  Better think about cleaning out that old freezer in the garage!