Fruit Tree - An Apple Tree on St Kilda

It was one of those rare mornings where I didn’t need to be up early. A grandson had stayed with us recently, which meant early starts and walks to school in all weathers. Since he’s been home, I’ve been fighting some sort of flu virus which has given me a dreadful cough and some aches and pains. I’m not blaming him, of course not. I’ve got run down and not rested enough. Anyway, it was nice to stay in bed a bit longer, just dozing, listening to the wind whistling round the windows and imagining that I’m in my fantasy cottage in St Kilda, warm, cosy, everything I need, as a wild blizzard dominates the bleak surroundings. Somewhere in this blissful existence, I wanted a fruit tree. In reality, there are no trees of any sort on St Kilda. High winds and constant salt spray prevent tree growth and the peat, acidic soil is completely unsuitable. In my imagination, I have had sustainable soil shipped over to help maintain my vegetable plot. An apple tree would be lovely. Eventually, I had to get up from my gorgeous bed and live in the real world. My fruit tree blog had to be in there, somewhere.

Close to where I live, there was an abundance of damsons. The tree was over-hanging the garden wall on the property and the fruit spilled on to the pavement making a sticky, purple mess. One of my neighbours, with permission, collected some damsons and made jam. Much better than wasted fruit making a mess.

Nearby, there is a small, confused cherry tree. I say confused because it comes into bloom with fabulous blossom at various times of the year. Never any cherries, though.

At a young age, I learnt the hard way just how bad a tummy ache can be after eating crab apples picked from the tree. Home was always a pub, on a street in a town, so nowhere to play out except the carpark. That was fine for my bike or scooter, but no mates to play with. All changed when we moved to a pub in the village of Padfield near Glossop. I soon made friends from our school down the road and we were never in. We fished for tadpoles, got in trouble for playing in the local farmer’s silage pit until we were filthy and stinky and one day, decided to feast from an apple tree. Crab apples. They were bitter tasting, probably not ripe, and I imagine it was quantity that made me unwell. A lesson learnt.

My Haiku poem,

In my wildest dreams
I’m in comfort perfection,
St Kilda cottage.

Sweet, rosy apples,
So juicy and fresh each day,
Clustered on branches.

A rare, sunny day
And a cloudless sky in this
Archipelago.

Strong winds just bring snow
Icy, northern blasts make a
Harsh environment.

I wish I could grow
A fruit tree on St Kilda,
Weather protected.

PMW 2026

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Knitting - In, Round, Through, Off

 

 Filling the bird feeders is my first job of the morning. Three fat-ball holders and two seed holders hanging on branches of the surrounding fir trees provide a feast and it only takes a minute for the birds to descend and squabble over perching rights.  I watch from the window, sipping strong tea and half leaning on the radiator.  Sunshine and a cloudless blue sky promises a beautiful autumn morning.  Earlier, I had seen the cows by the gate at the end of the meadow. They had wandered back up the hill now. I’m happy to stand for a while and drink it all in, never tiring of what I see and enjoying the changing each season brings.

I’m not at home. This is Dumfries and Galloway. My perfect place for some much needed rest and relaxation, and my birthday in a couple of days.  I am trying to make myself unwind, determined to make the most of this longer than usual stay, but I’m aware that just below the surface of my calm exterior, stress is bubbling.  There’s always family stuff and I’m not quite well but not bad enough to be ill.  I need to chill, so I’m thankful to have my knitting to occupy me later on and help me to relax.

Knitting has been and continues to be a lifetime occupation.  I might be repeating myself here if I’ve previously mentioned about being taught to knit by my mother and grandmother.  It was when my mother was expecting my baby sister.  Of course, the gender wasn’t known before birth in those days.  Both ladies were constantly knitting and I was taking an interest.  , One of them started me off with a few stitches on their spare needles and talked me through it in simple terms of ‘in, round, through, off’ until I got the hang of it.  I tried hard, dropped stitches, added stitches from somewhere and made a mess, probably more than once, but with their saintly patience and my determination, I’ve learnt a wealth of knitting and crochet skills that I’m constantly putting into practice.  From baby clothes to Aran sweaters, plain knits to complicated, I’ve done it all.  It is Christmas jumper time again, which is what I’m working on at the moment, for my grandchildren.  By the way, the photograph is from last year, in case you’re thinking I’m super-fast at churning them out.

 I found this poem,  Mrs Moon by Roger McGough,

Mrs Moon

Sitting up in the sky

Little old lady

Rock-a-bye

With a ball of fading light

And silvery needles

Knitting the night.

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Optimism - 2020 Vision

It was New Year’s Eve. We expected a quiet evening in, just the two of us, but the best things can happen on the spur of the moment, so on our daughter’s suggestion, we walked round the corner to her house.

 My husband and I, with our daughter and son-in-law-to-be settled into their cosy front room for a late evening game of Monopoly before the arrival of the year 2020. We were all full of optimism as we set out the board, nominated my husband as banker and anticipated our individual winning strategies. We had great fun, sprawled on the floor, asking each other to move our counters when they were out of reach. I always end up straggling behind everyone else, regardless of what properties I buy, or not. First I needed to land on something but my trips round the board took me to Chance, Community Chess, Visiting Jail then on two occasions I was sent to Jail. The others were negotiating the purchase of houses before I’d completed my first (my only) set of matching properties. None of that mattered. I was loving the family time and enjoying the carefree banter between us. Upstairs, three infants continued to sleep soundly, undisturbed by our laughter or the New Year fireworks. We took a break from play to welcome 2020, hug each other and start our midnight feast with some delicious pizza. I discovered that I was fixed to the floor. Hips, knees and lower back had given up, despite the restless legs that had kept me wriggling for two hours. The others very kindly brought me food and drink, to save me the trouble of getting up properly. It was the best New Year’s Eve, just a simple evening with the warmth of family.

We wandered home around two a.m. both of us remarking on how unusually quiet the neighbourhood seemed for New Year’s Eve and reminiscing on past times in the local pub, too loud for conversation, too busy at the bar and too full for comfort.

I am optimistic for the year ahead and for the plans of others in my family. I should add that I’m not generally known for optimism, so let’s see.

 

My own poem,

 

I’m greeting New Year with a smile

    As optimism flows
     For hopes and wishes to come true,
     I’d like more highs than lows.

 I want a change of scenery,

     Uninterrupted view
     Of the river and countryside
     And variable hue.

 A welcome change of circumstance

      Is one thing I desire.
      I’d like to re-locate myself
     This year, can I retire?

 Without work place ties to bind me

      My writing spirit’s free.
      It’s what I really want to do,
     This optimistic me.

 So let me loose with fountain pen

     To tell a tale or two,
     And I’ll be fulfilled and happy,
    “To thine own self be true.”

 PMW 2020

 

 

A Happy New Year to everyone. Thanks for reading, Pam x

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