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 in June? Well they are almost fully grown and chase each other around the garden like excited children. I do think, however, that one is a cockerel and I’m waiting for the day he wakes us up...and the rest of the village!

      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. ‘You will have to wait until spring,’ I tell her. ‘In fact, we will all have to wait for spring, but meanwhile there’s plenty of work to be done and plenty of mapping out before winter sets in!’   

Way back in 1916, when WW1 was well advanced, Parliament passed ‘The Summer Time Act’, to save fuel and money. The idea came from a man called William Willett who published a paper called The Waste of Daylight in 1907. He outlined plans hoping to encourage people to get out of bed earlier in summer by altering the nations clocks. He died before his scheme was passed.

     So, don't forget to alter the time on your clocks on Sunday at 2am! In return, you will recieve slightly lighter mornings and darker evenings. Some of you will cringe at the thought of going to and from work in the dark and many of you will suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder), due to the shortened days. Although I never wish time away, I do look forward to the time when clocks spring forward again!

     And so as winter looms, with it will come the winds and storms that uproot trees and cause so much destruction. Perhaps I ought to hibernate until spring but there is still much to do at our home for waifs and strays. Here in Wales, we have our fair share of rain so outhouses have to be waterproofed so the hens keep cosy and warm.

    I guess I will make the most of these dark days by walking more, come rain or shine. Remember, we are not sugar mice and will not melt! I shall make more effort to invite friends for dinner and drink sweet tea by the fire. I will endeavour to be patient and embrace the winter months until the clocks spring forward again into Summer Time!

In a corner of our garden for waifs and strays is a family of mushrooms and toadstools. They have made it their home in and around some rotting wood and we call it Kingdom Fungi.

       Life in Kingdom Fungi is quite laid back and no-one moans about there being little sunlight, as they don’t require it to make energy for themselves.

      These colourful Fungi, made up of around 90% of water, contain more potassium in a single Portabella than in a banana! And, they help us in the reduction of cholesterol and blood pressure to name just a few important things. As a family, we often add mushrooms instead of meat, to our meals.

     Like a mycophagist, I often take a basket and collect mushrooms from the woods, just as my father taught me. But some, despite looking like your average mushroom, can be poisonous so care should be taken and hands should always be washed afterwards.

      Some mushrooms glow in the dark (I have never seen them) due to a chemical reaction called bioluminescence which produces a light known as foxfire. Apparently, these fungi have been used as torches in the dark woods.

      Long ago, before the invention of synthetic dyes, Kingdom Fungi were used for dying wool and other natural fibres. Vivid colours were produced from the organic compounds of the mushroom dye. 

     So it’s a fact, that my kind and unassuming husband and I have our very own amazing fungi family living right under our noses. And for me, as I pass by their Kingdom, I cannot help but imagine a world of ‘little people’ living beneath them!

From out of the late afternoon mist they came towards me, like a dark cloud of ballerina birds. I stopped the car in the middle of the road that crossed over the estuary, hardly darling to breathe and not wanting to miss a single moment of the show. I watched as they vanished over the brow of a hill and thought the show was sadly over. However, they reappeared, changing shape by expanding and contracting to the whooshing background music made by the beat of their wings. There was no sign of a leader or a conductor and one didn't seem to be needed as each bird was in tune with the other. It was an amazing sight.

    This pre-roost assembly of gregarious Starlings (Sturnus Vulgaris) gather in unison and I had heard they often do this as a sort of defence against birds of prey. Moments later as I drove dreamily across the deserted flatlands  my view was replaced by a kettle of hawks and further on by a wake of buzzards. So the show was not for me, but to deter predators. Yes, my father was right on this one, where trouble is expected, it is safer to remain in numbers!

      Although seen as a nuisance to many, the Starlings have always been welcome in our garden for waifs and strays and indeed, they come in their hundreds. The male will sing from the entrance of his nest, hoping to attract a female. He will also decorate his home with flowers and scented herbs which, when the female does take up residence, she will throw out all the paraphernalia to make room for her eggs. It is equally humbling and amusing and I admire such imagination in such a small bird.

       The Mabinogion is a collection of stories from medieval Welsh manuscripts and in one particular tale, Branwen reared a starling at the end of her kneading-trough and taught it to speak. The bird helps Branwen by delivering messages to Wales. Certainly worth a read by those who are interested in mythical tales. Or perhaps they are true!

Many years ago, 2,500 B.C. in fact, a burial tomb appeared on top of a hill, not far from our home for waifs and strays. But as a child, my father took me to the tomb and told me of another tale, of how it came to be.    

     ‘King Arthur found a pebble in his boot, as he travelled with his men on the other side of the estuary,’ he said as he lifted me up onto the great smooth surface they called a tomb, ‘and he threw it across the sea where it landed right here on Cefn Bryn!’ he smiled as he nodded and I remember looking across the estuary to the land on the other side. He must have been a great shot, I thought, for the stone to have flown through the air for seven miles! I guessed it was his strength that made him a King!

     ‘This rock you stand on was once the pebble,’ my father said, ‘but because it was touched by King Arthur, it grew and grew!’

      Being a child with an extraordinary vivid imagination (you can see where it came from) I believed every word my father said. And so it was, I climbed, slept and picnicked on that ancient tomb but as the years passed, I began to have my doubts about King Arthur’s tale.

       I stopped by that stone early this morning, when the wind blew hard and a watery sun struggled to shine. My hands trembled with the cold (or the memory) and I had trouble holding my camera still. I pictured my father standing there telling me the story and once again I was that child. I guess if I listen to my heart, then the tale of King Arthur’s Stone is almost certainly true!