52 A shiver of leaves in a small wind

To be a bird
Thin drizzle, martins surfing round our legs near the lake, a blackbird’s rain song, distant thunder-rumble, tarnished clouds. Then a sideways shaft of light that gilds the gold-green oak leaves.

As I watch, a something floats down gently, effortless, almost weightless, brownish, gliding light as a leaf, leaf-like, indeed. Just as it seems to start to tack in the no-breeze, a pair of wings gently, again effortlessly, lifts, and the leaf-bird ascends to a twig.

Isn’t there something in us that both craves and remembers flight?

Shiver
In our haven, everywhere birds.

After sun and sun, a light rain has come, and stirs things up. Trees, fully-leafed now, are shivering and rattling; there is a single slim poplar in the hedge in front of the oak that I can see from my study window. It’s shaking all its leaves in a flamenco with the breeze.

The new walnuts are green nubs; the figs are fat and numerous, ready to ripen; the peach trees are thick with young peaches, and I wonder if I should thin them, which always seems wasteful.

The wild garden is full of flowering shrubs and many roses of all colours and varieties – climbing, rambling, shrubby and indeterminate, all of them scented, all of them humming with 100s or even 1000s of bees, as is the long bed of tall blue-flowered comfrey and borage. (Pee is good for comfrey but not so easy if you’re a woman, due to comfrey’s prickly hairiness.)

I’ve* finally retrieved the nettle and comfrey tomato feed I made the year before last, and the 40 tomato plants are benefiting. (*Or perhaps I should say that TM has retrieved it, as my foot, healing now, still doesn’t like walking far.)

Nettle & comfrey plant feed
Find a big plant pot (I use a ceramic one) with a hole in the bottom. Fill it with chopped nettle and comfrey leaves, packing them as tightly as you can. Place a large stone on top.

Use a large plant saucer or a dinner plate as a lid, with another stone on that. Stand the filled pot on top of a container of a similar size (I use an old plastic container that has a lid, for sealing the brew afterwards). As the plants decay, your bottom bucket will fill with a dark and nutritious liquid. It will take anything from weeks to months.

To use, dilute in a ratio of 1 brew to 10 or more water.

Elderflower cordial
I’ve just bottled our elderflower cordial. The labelled litre bottles I’ve filled say that I’ve done this between June 1 and June 3 each year since we came here. I love these rituals of the turning year, and how they help me honour each month, each season, each weather, each plant or tree.

There are any number of recipes for elderflower cordial out there. This is the one I use, with much less sugar than most, and it still seems to keep. If in doubt, fill your bottle/s only two-thirds or three-quarters, and freeze it and the contents. (I use glass screwtop bottles.) Or use a little more sugar (I’m always shocked at just how much sugar it takes, even when using a minimum).

This will make a little less than 2 litres. I usually double the recipe. It’s brandy coloured as I don’t use refined sugar.

Cut the flowers in full sun when they are fully opened but not going over, and cut them where the flower-stalks diverge. Shake out any insects.

25 heads elderflower
1.25 litres water
800 gms raw brown sugar
2 large or 3 medium lemons (organic or at least unwaxed)
juice of a further small lemon (optional)

In a large pan, gently bring to the boil the water with the sugar in it, stirring frequently.

Meantime, peel the lemons, top and tail them, and remove the pith. Slice the flesh.

When the sugar has dissolved, tip in the flowerheads and all the lemon pieces (not the pith). If you want it a bit more tart, squeeze in the juice of the extra lemon.

Stir well, and leave overnight.

Sterilise your bottles for about 20 minutes in an oven at 160º C; sterilise the lids in boiling water.

The next morning spread a layer of muslin in a large sieve and pour the contents of the pan through the sieve. Squeeze the muslin bundle well, and bottle the liquid.

Dilute well with, preferably, sparkling water. We have a soda syphon made from recycled plastic and recycled wood. If you like sparkling water, this is so much better than buying it in plastic.

The leftover bits of lemon are utterly delicious, if sweet. Nice with plant yogurt or cream.

This and a recipe for elderflower sorbet is in my vegan cookbook which is – truly! – nearly finished.

Speaking of books (& of the elder tree)
My most recent book, A Spell in the Forest – tongues in trees is about to hit its fourth anniversary. I’d love it, of course, if you bought it.

https://www.collectiveinkbooks.com/moon-books/our-books/spell-in-forest.

It’s categorised under Celtic spirituality, ecology, paganism/neopaganism and druidry.

This is its synopsis: ‘Trees occupy a place of enormous significance, not only in our planet’s web of life but also in our psyche. A Spell in the Forest - Tongues in Trees is part love-song, part poetic guidebook, and part exploration of thirteen native sacred British tree species. Tongues in Trees is a multi-layered contribution to the current awareness of the importance and significance of trees and the resurgence of interest in their place on our planet and in our hearts.’

And this is the webpage (you can buy it here or through bookshop.org, blackwells, hive.co.uk and all the usual suspects, and it’s great to order it through your local bookshop):

https://www.collectiveinkbooks.com/moon-books/our-books/spell-in-forest


With love and blessings for this beautiful season (in the northern hemisphere) and a cosy hibernation for those of you elsewhere – may your dawns be clear and full of birdsong, wherever you are. As always, thank you for reading.