Driving through the long and winding country lanes of Wales early today, reminded me of my school rambles.

     The sudden burst of flowers, with colours to send an artist running for his brushes, vied for the suns attention and its warmth. 

      Wild garlic and bluebells mixed in with forget me nots and stinky bobs (herb Robert) and early honeysuckle, to mention just a few. A heady mix of aromas rushed through my camper window. I slowed the pace right down, wanting the moment to last; wanting to remember the images of my childhood once again.

       My father called the hedges mini nature reserves, which they are, in their own right. This vibrant ecosystem is home to insects, field mice, butterflies and birds. Slowworms hide in the tall grass and hedgehogs hibernate there when there is nowhere else to go.

       Birds nest in the brambles, embroidered around the dead wood which is home to invertebrates and food for the bats. The great crested newts scurry through the stems upon which you will find the stag beetle and the scorpion fly.  

       As a child I imagined fairies living in the granny’s bonnets and could never understand how some people say they resemble an eagle’s claw. And the bees that buzz up inside them, a perfect setting for a child’s imagination. It’s no wonder I grew up the way I did.

       And let us not forget the road on which I travelled, the same road that was once a dirt track winding its way between these hedgerows and used by our ancestors down through the years.

       Oh if only hedges could talk! But then again they don’t need too; it is all there for everyone to see, hear, feel, taste, and touch. It is a world within a world, a commune of creatures and plants all depending on this natural habitat in order to survive. Long live the hedges!

Decaying and dead trees still offer life to fungi, mosses, insects and lichens. At our home for waifs and strays, many newts, toads, frogs and slow worms take cover beneath bits of rotten wood we’ve gathered in a pile besides the pond.

      It is such a shame that trees in our public parks and even in our gardens, are pruned to such a degree that it effects the natural habitat for our wildlife. Even in our woodlands, the end of life trees are often removed. One idea is for the tree stump to remain and left to rot on its own, thus providing a home for many small creatures.

      If you would like to encourage wildlife into your garden, it is quite easy to form a small pile of logs, sticks and leaves. Even those of you who have just a small balcony or small space can help by using a bucket filled with sticks and leaves. Just remember to puncture holes in it so the insects etc can come and go as they please and the rain water can escape.

Miss Peri Winkle (Littorina littorea) is one of the slowest moving snails in the world. ‘Why hurry? Don’t worry, is her motto.

      So she travels at about 1 -2 metres per hour. But if she is pushed for time, as young lady’s often are, then she can up her speed to about five metres an hour.

      When she gets too hot, Miss Peri Winkle will roll down the slope and plop into the water! But if she accidentally lands upside-down on the rocks or the sand, she could be in BIG trouble! Laying on her back, Miss Peri Winkle won’t be able to eat and could possibly die, unless of course, the sea comes in and turns her up the right way! But if Miss Winkle dies (God forbid!) her leftover shell will soon be on the market as a home for a hermit crab. Shameful!

      Her daily diet consists of seaweed and algae, which she finds disgusting but was taught by her mother to eat what’s put in front of her or go without.

      'You will live for ten years if you look after yourself,' her mother would say.

      So with starvation as her only option, Miss Peri Winkle reluctantly eats her food. Although at times, she has threatened to go and live at the home for waifs and strays.

       These so called pebbles of the sea, cope with dehydration quite well! In fact, they can survive for many weeks without being in the water. They withdraw into their shells and close the operculum (hornlike lid) that’s just above their foot. A mucus is then secreted that hardens in the air and the shell sticks to the rocks.

        So if you see Miss Peri Winkle down on the beach, lying on her back, please turn her over or put her in a pool....she isn’t sunbathing, she’s dying!

     .

Cleaning the garden is much more favourable then cleaning the house! But just like the house, I have a habit of changing things around. The garden never seems to look the same one year to the next and quite often, my kind and unassuming husband (a creature of habit) gets quite exasperated with my ‘uplifting’ projects.  But I cannot help myself! I see things quite differently, one season to the next. So it’s out with a spade, a fork and a pair of wellies. Oh, and a sketch pad too!

     Making a map of the garden is something I have always enjoyed doing. It’s a bit like art work! However, just like a sat nav, my paths around the garden don’t always lead to anywhere in particular. But I do try to make the journey interesting by adding plants that make me smile or herbs that, when I brush past them, release a smell that can only be described as delightful!

     Today, I looked at the compost bins and decided they ought to be moved to an area of the garden where they can’t be seen. However, when I turned to walk back up the garden path, I saw my kind and unassuming husband watching me. He was smiling and shaking his head so I guess I will have to work harder on that one.

      And for those of my readers who would like an update on our home for waifs and strays, here a few. Remember the baby chicks we had? Do you remember that Lolo, the wee dog that turned up on our doorstep one Christmas morning. We didn't want a dog but could never imagine life without her now and how she fostered the orphaned chicks? Well they are fully grown and chase each other around the garden like excited children. Lola still keeps a watchful eye over them. And just the other evening a very young duck found its way into our garden. He had bead and breakfast with us, before being re homed in a beautiful garden built especially for ducks with a pond and an island. A very happy ending!

      All seems quiet in our log store, where last week there was evidence of a polecat or ferret. I guess it’s moved on for the time being, I sigh with relief! And do you remember Miss Broody Pants? Well she is still sitting on an empty nest, wishing and hoping for more young ones. We keep lifting her off and feeding her, but at the first opportunity, she scurries back.

      The frogs and toads are back in the pond and my kind and unassuming husband and I sit in the evening listewnting to all their chatter. It's incredible! Soon the garden will be a hive of activity. 

       Our allotment is crying out for us to make a start and the greenhouses need cleaning. So much work but we can't wait for the rain to stop so digging can commence!

      So as you can see, life at our home is busy as usual but never too busy that I can't sit by the pond with a cup of sweet tea and just think! Even in the rain!

At our home for waifs and strays, there is an old gate with a history and a tale to tell.  

      Just as I rescue many things, I rescued this gate when my childhood home was sold. It is part of many pictures I have, so how could I leave it behind?

      Generations of my family have come and gone through this simple wrought iron portal. They have marched through it on their way to war and back again. 

      I have photos of my great grandparents standing besides it, before the Second World War. My great grandmother wore a long black dress and a stern look on her face. She had scraped her grey hair back to form a bun at the nape of her neck and her arms were folded against her chest. A small black dog is resting by her feet and I instantly warmed to her.

      Then there is my mother, another proud and independent woman on her wedding day and then another holding me in her arms a few years later. And as I look through the photo’s I find another, when she was taken through the gate for the very last time. Bring her back! I remember wanting to scream the words but no sound could I make. Too soon I remember thinking, far too soon!

       There’s the photo of the farmer who lived next door, he was standing against the gate with a rifle in one hand and a dead rabbit in the other. I never did like that photo! I didn’t care much for the farmer either. Once a year he would hold a pigeon shoot and my brother and I would gather as many wounded pigeons as we could. I turned an outhouse into a temporary hospital but it was more like a morgue at the end of the day.

      And there is one of my Aunty Carrie. She wasn’t my real aunty but in those days, we called everyone uncle so and so or aunty so and so. Perhaps it is a welsh thing, I’m not sure. Well she is standing there with an apron wrapped around her enormous body and wore her stockings around her ankles. But she had the kindest smile I can ever remember. She cried and laughed with me many times. I think we laughed more than we cried. And she introduced me to sweet tea! ‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart,’ I remember her saying. I’m not sure what that meant, but I have enjoyed sweet tea ever since.

      And there is one of my father and I standing outside the garden gate. We had been banned from the house for bringing home a stray dog. It’s snowing in the picture and if they only knew then that the very dog we had rescued would one day rescue my dear brother.

       So I come to that rescue, the one that brought the media from around the world. We watched in amazement as cameramen hung over the gate shouting for my father to go out and talk about the dog, the one we rescued and called Tripper. It was the second time he had saved my brother’s life on a beach near our home.                                                                                                             

        I also walked through that gate at the tender age of fifteen and stayed away for many moons and many summers. But I returned to find the gate still there, still the same. It was I who had changed. But nothing could change the memories that link us. And now that gate is part of our home for waifs and strays. It is a new chapter in our lives.