Despite their decline, I managed to see a variety of butterflies as I wondered through the valley and onto the beach recently. The late summer sunshine is a great relief for many animals and I too felt better for having the sun warm my shoulders and my spirits.

     I sat for awhile taking many nature pictures that one day I hope to do something with. In return I was rewarded with a peacefulness that seemed to elude me these past few weeks.  

     ‘Take time to stop and smell the flowers,’ my father once told me. And so I stopped and watched the butterflies, delicately fly from flower to flower. I watched the waves roll in and out across the sandy bay and I looked all around me and saw miles of rugged cliffs stretching down to a quiet sea. Not even a seagull dared to break the spell!

     I remember my father once telling me that if the breath is irregular then the mind is unsteady. If your breathing is calm then so will your mind be calm., he said.

     My mind certainly felt calm as I headed back to our home for waifs and strays.

Many moons ago when I was a little girl and lived with my grandmother in a small wooden house besides the woods, I remember, quite clearly, my dread of Mondays! This was the only day I was happy to go to school so that I would avoid the wash day blues.

     I’m sure my grandmother was trapped in the 30’s, agitating my small cotton dresses on a posser, in an old zinc tub.  Out would come the blue dolly in a special bag to whiten the clothes and those all too familiar soda crystals. Then I’d watch, fascinated, as my clothes were squished through a mangle, to get rid of the excess soapy water. I can only guess now, that prior to this, she would have taken the washing down to the river and bashed them about on a stone! Why we didn’t have an automatic washing machine like the rest of the world beat me!

     But these wash day blues, did have a silver lining. By the time I arrived home from school, the washing would be blowing in the wind on a long stretch of line. This was tied to a tree at either end of the garden and supported along the way, by long branches. I would always stop and watch in amazement, and imagined my dresses escaping the wooden pegs and flying off on adventures. Oh how I wished I go with them! It always brought a huge smile to my face. But when it rained, things were quite different.

       Four wooden poles set parallel between two metal frames, hung from the ceiling in the kitchen, above the fire. On those rainy wash days, my grandmother would hang the squished out clothes over the poles to dry. Those were the days I liked the least, coming in from school to the smell of  drying clothes making everything feel cold and damp, despite the glow of the fire and a cup of sweet tea.

       But there was always a hearty supper on the table, every day of the week. This is where my love for food began. We never ate ready meals or processed food and I was never taken out for fish and chips or a takeaway. In fact, the first Indian meal I had, was just a few years ago.

       Now, strangely, when I look back at those wash day blues I long for them again. Oh how much my friends missed by not going to school, smelling of carbolic soap!

It’s late, but not so late that I should be tucked up in bed with a cup of sweet tea but late enough all the same. There are lots of goings on at our home for waifs and strays but there’s always a tale to be told before the lids come down.

      Just moments ago, I stood by a quiet pond where everything appeared to be sleeping, which is quite unusual for this time of day. But I welcomed the silence as I looked up at the starry sky. And it was starry, with a slight nip of autumn in the air.

      ‘But it’s summer,’ I whispered softly, ‘I’m not quite ready for autumn, not yet!’ The tomatoes need ripening and the beans continue to grow, the grapes hang sour in bunches. The lettuce and cucumber still need to be picked whilst carrots and beetroot still cling to the ground. Oh and so much more besides! And walking past the log store reminds me of evenings by the fire, roasting chestnuts and drinking sweet tea. But I’m not ready for summer to slip, not yet!

It's that time of year again, when I stand in the kitchen and make oozes of jam with the crab apples I picked from up on the moor.

     These rather tart apples will also freeze well if you want to save the cooking until a later date. Just remove the blossom ends and stems then give them a quick rinse. Place them on a tray in single layers and freeze. Once frozen, place in freezer bags and they should keep up to three months.

     There are many things you can do with crab apples, such as crab apple butter, spiced pickled crab apples and of course the crab apple jelly. But I have discovered that these small sharp apples also make good bread.

Crab apple bread

Cream ½ cup butter with 1 cup of sugar

Then add 2 eggs 2 tbsp of buttermilk (some people use plain yogurt)

Then mix in 2 cups of flour ½ teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon of baking powder plus 1 cup of chopped up crab apples with skins on but stems and seeds removed. If so desired, you can add ½ cup of nuts

Place in a bread tin. Greased and floured

Cook in an oven already heated to 180c for 40 – 45 minutes or until done!

Sounds a wee bit like a cake! Happy experimenting! Well off I go to the kitchen!

My father and I left home when I was just fifteen years old. My father married for the second time and I made a life of my own. By the time I was twenty three, I had travelled many miles and lived a thousand lives. My footprints are embedded in land across the globe. It is no wonder my head is spinning with tales to tell.

      For some time, I lived amongst the Makah Indians in the wilds of the Pacific. It was here I fished amongst the great orcas in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Bartering with the Indians became a way of life; a life which I knew was totally illegal. I soon began to change and looked at everything in a completely different way. One couldn’t help but to do this, especially as I was so young and already felt I had lived a lifetime.

       I played music in mountains more spectacular than those found in Switzerland (though I have been there also and they are indeed magnificent). I have done things perhaps I shouldn’t have done and risked my life a million times. My feet, though small, have worn out many shoes through trekking places less travelled. And my heart is engrained with enough stories to fill a thousand books. It’s no wonder I have little trouble finding tales to write for you on these warm summer evenings...but I do need to finish my books.      

       Remember, whatever it is you are longing to do you, writing a book, travelling, a different way of cooking, visiting friends you haven’t seen for ages or painting, you must find a way to fit it into your life picture. It is as simple as that. You see, it is indeed later than you think!