The end of the Easter holidays – fallen cherry blossom on the tennis court where the boys played with their friends. If I were a poet I’d attempt a Haiku, but as I’m not, this photo will have to do.
It’s back to work and back to school. I try to accept each day and each emotion, but I am finding this difficult today (not unusual). It is raining, cold, and I am not with any of my boys, big or small.
For all the post-holiday Monday morning feeling (on a Friday?), I love this time of the year. The weather is extreme sometimes, but every good day feels like a tremendous gift. In the summer I sometimes feel entitled to some sun, even if I don’t get it, but in spring it feels more freely given.
The holidays have been very busy, and it has at times felt a little breathless. That seems to me to fit right in with April. It rains, then it hails, and the sky turns slate purple, almost black. Then the sun transforms the scene and we bask in the warmth. The flowers spin past, like catwalk models on fast-forward, crocuses early, hellebores late, daffodils brief, tulips lasting, bluebells longed-for, cherry blossom magnificent, and hot on its heels the pear trees cover themselves in white sweet sickly flowers, and already I can see the pinkish haze washing over the apple trees, an indication of a bumper crop of flowers, and late frosts and tearing winds allowing, a bumper crop of apples.
This is also a time for uncontrived treats. They are almost unavoidable now, so it’s hardly an indulgence at all. The flowers are one. We have a house full of little posies shoved into jam jars, old bottles, old mustard pots and even into vases.
Then there is the food. Of course the house is stuffed to the rafters with so much Easter chocolate that it will probably take us until Christmas to get through it all. Better still however, there is purple sprouting broccoli, rhubarb, good fish, one solitary sea-kale stem in the garden (floods and slugs did for the rest) and a special birthday dinner of asparagus and morel mushrooms. (This last in a restaurant, I don’t know where to find morel mushrooms outside of a restaurant.)
I think asparagus and morel mushrooms may be my “before they hang me” meal choice. (Note to self, if I’m ever likely to be hanged, I must contrive for it to happen in the spring, in Northern Europe.)
We have run around the (still soggy in places) garden, hunting Easter-eggs, defending the tree house against attack, hiding from each other behind no-longer-see-through hedges, tumbling in and out of hammocks, picnicking (albeit sometimes with jumpers and even blankets), picking flowers and generally shaking off 4 months of super-wet housebound glum.
But now we are all back at school (work), and it is grey.
Still, the (small) boys get home before dark now, and the weekend starts in a few hours, and I’ve heard tell of a planned Viking attack on our tree-house….