Happy Easter Mr Barnum

As we know, Easter is all about rebirth, and the eternal hope that the resurrection of Jesus Chris brought to mankind.  It's an amazing story, and one worthy of reflection, especially after such a tumultuous year for everyone on Earth.  I think this message of hope often gets lost in our modern world, both by those who seek to detract and discredit religion, and those religious people who commit great evils in its name.  But in its heart, what's not to love about the Easter message?  Surely there's something in there to inspire each and every one of us.

Rebirth is a wonderful notion, and one that gardeners know very well. It's surely no coincidence that Easter is celebrated in springtime, when this renewal of life is abundant throughout the natural world.  In our garden, spring is a time to reacquaint ourselves with old friends, and there are many - hostas are pushing their new spikes above the soil, the leaves of the asters are forming little mats, the primulas are flourishing after a long and lonely winter, and the fritillaries - always the fritillaries - are once again making their play across the bank. It's magical, inspiring stuff, and it arrives every year, right on cue, to gladden the heart beyond all measurable belief.  Surely if Jesus Christ rising from the dead is the ultimate sign of heavenly hope for mankind, then this springtime miracle offers an equal hope here on Earth. 

Of course, it's not lost on me that this spring we'll also be reacquainting ourselves with old friends of a human kind, as lockdown measures begin to ease.  So, as far as spring 2021 goes, it's an all-encompassing affair, and there's an awful lot for which we can and should be thankful.  I'm looking forward to seeing the people I like again, for the winter has been a long one, and I am ready to reconnect.

Back in the garden, I recently had cause to save a bumblebee which had fallen into our path.  The bee was covered in mites, to the extent that it could no longer fly, infested under the wings and around the thorax.  To save the bee, I got a tub of water and some thin twigs (I think a think paintbrush would work too); then with bee in hand, I slowly began to remove the mites one-by-one, dipping my twig in the water regularly to clean them off.  This process took me about half an hour, but in the end I could see that the bee was pretty much mite-free.

The bee was by this stage bedraggled, and not fancying its chances on a cold, sunless day, I took it indoors and gave it a temporary home in a little carry case that I occasionally use for my fish. I put some sugar water into an unturned bottle lid, along with some garden foliage and some kitchen roll to help it dry off, then left the container on the windowsill for maximum warmth.  We also named the bee, Bee T. Barnum.

Well fast-forward 24 hours, and Bee T. Barnum was much better, to the extent that it had begun flying around its hospital room.  This day was a sunny and warm one, and so I took Bee out into the garden, opened the lid, and let it reclaim its place in nature.  Every bee matters right now, so I was pleased to be able to help one live another day.

It remains to be seen if Bee T. Barnum returns to our garden, but I hope we'll be top of the list when it's choosing where to pollinate from now on!  And so to anybody reading this blog, I wish you a Happy Easter and a wonderful spring.

Merry Christmas

Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.

Matthew 1:23

Merry Christmas

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign.

Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son

And shall call his name Immanuel.
Isaiah 7:14

The beautiful renewal of life

I love Easter.  I love the sun shining brightly in the sky, the sweet scent of spring in the air, the birdsong curling through the trees all day long.  To me, Easter is the beginning of the good season; winter is a long-gone memory, our hemisphere is warming up, and life begins, once again, on its beautiful, perfect cycle.  For me, this means hitting the garden, which is especially exciting this year because it's the first spring in our new home.  The garden, it's fair to say, needs some work doing.  Neglected by the previous owners, it resembles, in places, a bit of a rubbish-site-come-rubble-dump.  But look a little deeper, and there's wild potential in this little corner of Newton Abbot.  The bees are dancing merrily around the heather, every upturn of stone reveals centipede and woodlouse, and our grounds, we now know, are home to frogs, toads, and slow worms.  Here are the signs of life, from an array of creatures that have survived the passing winter darkness, and hint at the delights that are to follow.  I didn't get any of the aforementioned creatures on camera, but I did get a quick snap at one of three peacock butterflies, arguably our most beautiful insect, as it settled to bask on a sun-kissed stone.

There is much hard work upon us and we will eventually turn the garden around into somewhere special, but we're both agreed that we'll be doing it with wildlife at the forefront of our minds.  About half way up the garden (for our garden is on a slope) is an old paved level, which I presume was once home to a greenhouse.  One immediate project is to turn this area into a hotbed of vegetables, for which I'll be using a variety of pots, troughs, and containers of all shapes and sizes.  This morning I sowed three old favourites - Swiss chard, perpetual spinach, and good old salad bowl lettuce - and there's more to follow; our lounge windowsill is currently home to a variety of seedlings, including kale, cucumbers, courgettes, lemon balm and oregano.  Talking of these latter two, herbs are going to play a big role in this year's garden, for as well as the appeal these hold for bees, I'll be using thyme, chives and rosemary to create something of a Mediterranean flavour to this corner of the plot.  Lizzie, meanwhile, has had her hands full planting up a large pot, reclaimed from the ramshackle potting shed, as well as scattering some wildflower seeds in the bare patches of the slope.  

Part of the joy of the long weekend at home, is getting the chance to see family.  Lizzie's parents, on a whistle-stop trip from Surrey, stayed with us last night, and this afternoon we dropped over to see Grandma, and then Mum and Terry.  Sharing some time with the ones you love, catching up on life and listening to each other's recent stories is perhaps the most special way to spend a Sunday like this.  Back home, and with the chicken finally defrosted, we settled down for a hearty Easter roast.  I conquered my first roast dinner at Christmas, and am now honing my skills with every passing foray into beef, gammon, or turkey.  We always pick the highest welfare meat we can afford, and were graced today with a good sized, free range chicken that was tender, succulent, full of flavour, and perfectly accompanied by roast potatoes, vegetables and lashings of gravy, all washed down with the first post-Lent beer.  Cheers!

Lent, of course, commemorates the period of forty days, in which Jesus retreated into the wilderness and was tempted by the devil.  At the end of this time, on what became known as Palm Sunday, Jesus entered Jerusalem, ushering in Holy Week - the week that would see him arrested and crucified.  On Easter Sunday, Christians around the world celebrate Jesus' resurrection, and the symbol of hope that it represents.  To me, it's a story that is difficult to forget at this important time of year, for all around us is nature's own renewal of life, and a display of its hopes for the coming seasons.  It exists in each daffodil springing anew, in every bumblebee emerging from the ground, nature's balanced cycle on yet-another trip, upon which we are all passengers.  It's beautiful, it's perfect, and it's a reminder that home really is the only place I'd ever want to be on this miraculous, spiritual, weekend.

The Resurrection portrayed at a Lutheran Church, South Carolina (source: Wikipedia)

A space for contemplation

There are few places in the whole county more suited to a little thought, contemplation and reflection than Buckfast Abbey.  On a Sunday spent soaking up the rays on the South Devon coast, Lizzie and I lurched in-land to pay a visit to this gem of a site, nestled in the foothills of the Moors.

Beautiful Buckfast Abbey

Part of a Benedictine monastery, the site was first recorded as having an abbey in 1018, and was believed to have been founded by either Aethelweard (Aylward), Earldorman of Devon, or King Cnut.  In the 1130s, King Stephen granted Buckfast to the French Abbot of Savigny, and a newly established abbey was home to Savignac monks.  The Savignac congregation merged with the Cistercians following financial difficulties, and thus Buckfast Abbey became a Cistercian monastery - at this time, the abbey was rebuilt in stone.

Buckfast Abbey's Cistercian Guest House may have looked like this (source: Buckfast.org)

The abbey became rich during the medieval period, through fishing and the wool trade, and Buckfast was known to be one of the wealthiest abbeys in the southwest.  By the turn of the sixteenth century, however, it was in decline, and when Henry VIII's infamous Dissolution was put into effect, Buckfast only had ten monks in residence.  The abbey was surrendered for dissolution on 25 February 1539, when the monastic buildings were left for ruins, and the monks granted pensions.  Following this, the Crown passed the land to Sir Thomas Dennis of Holcombe Burnell, and was then bought by Samuel Berry, who constructed a mansion house there in 1806, on the site of the abbey's former west cloister.  The house and grounds passed on to Dr. James Gale in 1872, who sold the site ten years later, advertising it as "a grand acquisition which could be restored to its original purpose."  The advert worked - in 1882, the site was purchased by a group of French Benedictine monks who had been exiled from their own monastery.  A temporary church was constructed, and between 1907 and 1938, the new abbey church was built.  Buckfast Abbey was consecrated on 25 August 1932, six years before building work was complete.

A drawing by W. Gaucci, 1830, depicting the gothic mansion with
the old abbey ruins to the left (source: The Dartmoor Trust)

There's a definite air around Buckfast Abbey.  It's an air of peace, simplicity, and spiritual contentment.  We wandered around its beautiful interior, which is surprisingly light and airy, and includes the stunning Blessed Sacrament Chapel, added later to provide a place for quiet prayer.  The stained glass here depicts Christ at the Last Supper; it measures eight metres (26 feet) across, and was designed and made by the monks in the Abbey's workshops.

Blessed Sacrament Chapel window (source: Wikipedia)

Back outside, we strolled through the lavender garden, sweet and subtle-scented even in early spring.  As we sat with a drink (and a tasty homity pie) overlooking the grounds, I quite fancied that I could throw it all in and live there. Essentially, it has everything you need - enough food to eat, a roof over your head, religious fulfilment, and a relationship with nature and people that is pure, untarnished and innocent.  So you can keep your internet, playstation and 24-hour news channel; In a weary world of unrest, a visit here is an enlightening little glimpse into another way of looking at the world.

The Abbey's lavender garden