Quinces

Oct5

Today we had our annual quince harvest: it basically entailed one of us poking the fruit with a long stick and the other trying to catch them before they hit the ground. We had a couple go in the pond and poor old Chap got walloped in the mouth by another, so it wasn’t quite the charming scene of bucolic plenty and activity that we might have envisaged. Anyhow, we ended up with a good haul of fruit. Some were starting to rot on the tree and many had split (they always do, every year, without fail—no idea why), but they are all usable, in whole or in part.

Some of our quinces harvested today, alongside some Cox's apples for scale.

Some of our quinces harvested today, alongside some smallish eating apples for scale.

The quince (Cydonia oblonga) is a fantastic fruit, and I don’t know why it isn’t more commonly grown. The blossom is so pretty—opening out of a spiralled bud, the single pale pink cup-shaped flowers are like turbo-charged apple blossom.

Quince flower buds on our tree, 25 April 2007.

Quince blossom on our tree, 25 April 2007.

Quince tree in bloom (Cydonia oblonga) behind a miniature lilac (Syringa microphylla) in our garden, 28 May 2013.

The fruit looks like a big yellow lumpy pear, and smells amazing. The fruit never ripen sufficiently in the UK to be eaten raw, but make a great addition to apple pies and crumbles, and even better make a superb jelly, and also a cheese to go with cold meats. A single quince left in our fruit bowl will scent the whole house. Cooked, it has a grainy texture similar to pears, but the taste is rather different.

Certainly if we ever move it will be the first tree we plant in our new garden. We planted our present tree about 15 years ago. We went to Landford Trees, a tree nursery in south-east Wiltshire, and chose the variety ‘Meeches Prolific’. It started fruiting after only a few years, and seems to have a repeating pattern of an ‘on’ year for fruit, when we might get three large carrier bags full, and an ‘off’ year, such as this year, when we get only one.

Young quince forming on our tree. They are deliciously fuzzy at this stage. 4 June 2007.

Young quince forming on our tree. They are deliciously fuzzy at this stage. 14 June 2007.

Last year's bumper harvest ripening. When they are fully ripe they are bright yellow against the green leaves - fantastic! 30 September 2013. I think we harvested them about 10 days after this photo was taken.

Last year’s bumper harvest ripening. When they are fully ripe they are bright yellow against the green leaves. Taken on 30 September 2013. I think we harvested them about a week after this photo was taken.

Rather fuzzy photo of the tree laden with last year's crop. taken 30 September 2014.

Rather fuzzy photo of the tree laden with last year’s crop, taken 30 September 2013. ‘Meeches Prolific’ certainly lived up to its name.

We planted our quince next to the pond as apparently quinces like damp conditions; we prune it every year in the winter to keep it a manageable size as we have such a small garden.

I have always loved quinces—we had a quince tree in our garden when I was a child, planted by my parents along with a walnut and a mulberry tree, all of which fruited beautifully (though we never got to the walnuts before the squirrels did). One lunchtime on my first dig abroad, in north-eastern Greece, one of the local workmen offered me a slice of quince picked from his garden, and I was amazed to find it could be eaten raw: we just don’t get enough heat and sunlight in the UK to ripen them. It was delicious, but sadly that is still the only time I have been able to eat quince like that: it’s cooked or nothing here in the UK.

Our favourite thing made with quinces is quince cheese: it is like a thick paste, and goes wonderfully with cold meat such as ham or pork. Here is a River Cottage quince cheese recipe which gives great results:

Quince cheese

A fruit cheese is simply a solid, sliceable preserve—and the princely quince, with its exquisite scent and delicately grainy texture, makes the most majestic one of all. It can be potted in small moulds to turn out, slice and eat with cheese. Alternatively, you can pour it into shallow trays to set, then cut it into cubes, coat with sugar and serve as a sweetmeat. A little roughly chopped quince cheese adds a delicious fruity note to lamb stews or tagines—or try combining it with chopped apple for a pie or crumble.

Servings: Makes about 1 kg of quince cheese.

Prep time: 30 minutes

Cook time: 70 minutes, plus time to stand

Ingredients:
1kg quince
500-750g granulated sugar
Food-grade paraffin wax, for sealing

Method:
Wash the quince. Roughly chop the fruit but don’t peel or core them. Place in a large pan and barely cover with water. Bring to a simmer and cook until soft and pulpy, adding a little more water if necessary. Leave to stand for several hours.

Rub the contents of the pan through a sieve or pass through a mouli. Weigh the pulp and return it to the cleaned-out pan, adding an equal weight of sugar. Bring gently to the boil, stirring until the sugar has dissolved, then simmer gently, stirring frequently, for an hour and a bit until really thick and glossy. It may bubble and spit like a volcano, so do take care. The mixture is ready when it is so thick that you can scrape a spoon through it and see the base of the pan for a couple of seconds before the mixture oozes together again.

If you’re using small dishes or straight-sided jars, brush them with a little glycerine.?This will make it easy to turn out the cheese. If you’re using a shallow baking tray or similar, line it with greaseproof paper, allowing plenty of overhang to wrap the finished cheese.

When the cheese is cooked, pour it into the prepared moulds or jars. To seal open moulds, pour melted food-grade paraffin wax over the hot fruit cheese. Jars can be sealed with lids. Cheese set in a shallow tray should be covered with greaseproof paper and kept in the fridge.

For optimum flavour, allow the quince cheese to mature for 4–6 weeks before using.

Eat within 12 months.

You beauty!

Quince tree (Cydonia oblonga) in the orchard at Lytes Cary, a National Trust property in Somerset, 26 April 2009. Lovely blue camassia growing underneath, along with cow parsley and pheasant's eye narcissi.

Quince tree (Cydonia oblonga) in blossom in the orchard at Lytes Cary, a National Trust property in Somerset, 26 April 2009. Lovely blue camassia growing underneath, along with cow parsley and pheasant’s eye narcissi.

A touch of the Tropics

Sep5

What a lovely surprise to see this BBC video feature about Tim Wilmot’s garden in Yate, near Bristol. I interviewed Tim for a piece I wrote for The English Garden back in 2005, and spent a happy afternoon looking round his amazing subtropical paradise. It was such a surprise to walk through his house in suburban Gloucestershire and out into this:

Tim Wilmot in his garden in Yate, Bristol. Photo from The Bristol Post.

Tim Wilmot in his garden in Yate, near Bristol. Photo from The Bristol Post.

I was immensely impressed by his vision and his dedication and his flair. It isn’t a very big garden at all, and yet he has packed so many interesting and special and in some cases huge plants in: a little taste of the West Indies in the West Country, and most definitely NOT an English country garden! I absolutely adored it.

A late summer posy

Aug22

I picked a small bunch of flowers yesterday as a visiting gift: I always like to arrive with a garden-grown posy, if I can. I love how as the year progresses, the colours in the garden get stronger. Spring flowers are mainly yellow and blue and white; by late summer the strong, zingy and acid colours have taken over.

A little posy from my garden. Click to enlarge.

A small late summer posy. Click to enlarge.

This posy has some bright yellow Inula hookeri flowers; deep pinky purple spikes of our native purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria), beloved of bees and butterflies; fennel flowers (Foeniculum vulgare); blue spikes of Jacob’s ladder (Polemonium caeruleum); Clematis ‘Polish Spirit’ with its wonderful trails of purple flowers; the very last flowers of the vivid orange Crocosmia plants that have self-sown in our garden; and the purple foliage of Euphorbia dulcis ‘Chameleon’.

It was only a small posy, but it was much appreciated and looked very pretty in its vase. So much nicer than shop-bought flowers, I think: it means more, somehow, when you have grown your gift yourself.

Jewellery: Taking inspiration from nature

Jul10

Throughout the ages, people have adorned themselves. Jewellery might be a marker of status and/or wealth (think of a queen’s crown, or a mayor’s chain, or a rapper’s bling), but mostly it serves the simple purpose of beautification.

And where better to find inspiration than the beauty of nature? Flowers unsurprisingly provide a rich seam for jewellery makers.

When I was on my first archaeological excavation outside the UK, in north-eastern Greece, I was able to visit the archaeological museum at Thessaloniki. There I was wowed by the sumptuous golden wreaths or diadems made of gold oak leaves, or olive leaves—often with flowers and even golden bees attached. But the most striking of all for me was the wreath found in the Tomb of Philip II of Macedon (the father of Alexander the Great) at Vergina, dating from the late 4th century BC and composed of a mass of myrtle leaves and flowers.

Wreath of gold myrtle leaves and flowers, found in the tomb of Philip II of Macedon at Vergina, Greece.

The Mughals in India were well-known for their showy jewellery, often on a floral theme:

Turban ornament, India or Pakistan, early 18th century, set with rubies, emeralds, pale beryls and diamonds. Photo: V&A Museum.

Flower rings, in the form of baskets or giardinetti (‘little gardens’) were popular at around the same time in Europe (in the Georgian period in the UK):

‘Giardinetti’ ring of gold and silver with rubies, emeralds and diamonds, English, 1730-1760. Photo: V&A Museum.

‘Giardinetti’ ring of gold and silver with rubies and diamonds, English, 1730-1760. Photo: V&A Museum.

Flowers were very popular with Arts and Crafts jewellers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, who saw themselves as part of a ‘back to basics’ and ‘back to nature’ movement:

Brooch by Edith Linnell, with silver, tourmaline, citrine and moonstone. Sold by Tadema Gallery.

Papyrus bloom brooch by Edith Linnell, in silver, tourmaline, citrine and moonstone. Sold by Tadema Gallery.

The absolute master of floral jewellery was perhaps René Lalique (1860-1945).

Rene Lalique corsage ornament in opal, enamel, glass and gold, with a willow catkins motif, c. 1904.

René Lalique corsage ornament in opal, enamel, glass and gold, with a willow catkins motif, c. 1904.

René Lalique plaque de cou with a thistle motif, in enamel and diamonds.

Unsurprisingly, in the light of the ubiquity of floral motifs in jewellery, I have some flower jewellery in my Etsy shop (not quite as grand as the examples above, but lovely nonetheless) …

I have pansies:

Pansy earrings in silver.

and fuchsias:

A fuschsia engraved on a glass, bakelite and white metal dress clip.

A fuschsia engraved on a glass, plastic and white metal dress clip. (NOW SOLD).

and thistles:

Thistle brooch by Charles Horner, silver with amethyst glass.

Thistle brooch by Charles Horner, silver and amethyst glass. (NOW SOLD).

Thistle brooch by Charles Horner, silver and citrine glass. (NOW SOLD).

and lotuses:

Lotus dress clip, in mother of pearl and white metal. (NOW SOLD).

and daisies:

Anton Michelsen daisy brooch, one of four pieces of Danish daisy jewellery for sale at Inglenookery. (NOW SOLD).

Baltic amber and sterling silver ring, by Niels Erik From of Denmark, adorned with a couple of daisy-like flowers. (NOW SOLD).

as well as other more generalised flowers:

Jasper and silver Arts and crafts ring. (NOW SOLD).

Brooch in the style of Bernard Instone, with rose quartz and silver.

Italian micromosaic brooch. (NOW SOLD).

and other pieces with foliage designs.

Tour de France: Stage 3

Jul7

Yesterday’s Stage 2 from York to Sheffield was an exciting watch, through more gorgeous countryside: and the rain held off too, which was a wonderful bonus. I thought the route designers were rather mean putting the Jenkin Road climb right at the very end of the race, but of course the riders were up to it. Vincenzo Nibali put on a great sprint at the end to leave the others behind and take his first ever yellow jersey.

So after two glorious days in God’s Own County, the Tour moves south today to Cambridge, Essex and London.

The start of today’s Stage 3 in my old student stomping ground of Cambridge will provide scenic photo opportunities a-plenty, though the flat ground of the route won’t prove too taxing compared to yesterday’s hilly climbs. The Tour will pass through the picturesque town of Saffron Walden, named after the saffron industry that used to dominate there in the 16th and 17th centuries—fields were full of the pretty purple saffron crocus (Crocus sativus) produced the expensive spice (each crocus has three stigmas, which have to be collected by hand and dried to produce the spice).

Church Street, Saffron Walden. Photo by Stuart Logan.

Saffron crocus (Crocus sativus), with the three long orange visible.

Saffron crocus (Crocus sativus), with the three long orange stigmas visible. Photo by Kenpei.

On its way into London the Tour will pass the Olympic Park, scene of both the fantastic 2012 London Olympics and Paralympics. Then it’s on into the City, ending on The Mall. The Mall is becoming quite a venue for important cycle races: the London 2012 men’s road race started and ended there.

And that will mark the end of the Tour’s three days in England: then it’s back across the Channel for tomorrow’s stage start at Le Touquet.

Daytime moths in our garden

Jul7

In the last couple of weeks we have had lots of beautiful scarlet tiger moths (Callimorpha dominula) in the garden.

Scarlet tiger moth on an Alchemilla mollis leaf in our garden, forewings only showing.

I was chatting on the phone the other day and looking out of the study window as I did so, on to the garden. The tiger moths were flying and I could look down on them, and they have the most brilliant flashes of red as they fly—quite striking. You can just see a hint of the red in the photo above, under the wing. Here it is in all its glory:

Scarlet tiger moth with the red underwings showing. Photo by Chris Manley for Butterfly Conservation.

Scarlet tiger moth with the red hindwings showing. Photo by Chris Manley for Butterfly Conservation.

They’ve been appearing each summer for about as long as we have been growing green alkanet (Pentaglottis sempervirens), and various reference books tell me that the scarlet tiger moth caterpillars feed mostly on comfrey (Symphytum officinale), which is a member of the Boraginaceae (borage or forget-me-not plant family), like the green alkanet. So it is not too much of a stretch to wonder if the caterpillars are feeding on our green alkanet plants, though I haven’t seen any direct evidence of this apart from the fact that the moths are concentrated in the part of the garden where the alkanet is. We have masses of honeysuckle in the garden (Lonicera caprifolium, Lonicera periclymenum ‘Serotina’ and Lonicera x italica) and the Butterfly Conservation page on the moths says the older caterpillars feed on that, so that might where they are dining.

One of the other really striking moths we see in our garden during the day is the large privet hawk moth (Sphinx ligustri). One time Chap found one on the lawn.

Privet hawk moth (Sphinx ligustri) in our garden. Big, isn’t it?

Privet hawk moth (Sphinx ligustri). That’s him at the top in the plate of illustrations.

Privet hawk moth (Sphinx ligustri).

We moved it out of harm’s way and when next we looked it had flown off. We see these about once a year: they’re not at all common round here, which is a shame as they are so beautiful.

The third moth we see during the day is the hummingbird hawk moth (Macroglossum stellatarum). We see a lot of these every year, usually in the later summer. They especially like feeding on our phlox flowers (Phlox paniculata ‘Mount Fuji’), and often are feeding right until dusk, darting from flower to flower in a flurry of wings—they make an audible ‘whirr’ as they fly. These little beauties fly so quickly that I haven’t yet managed to get a decent photo of one.

Hummingbird hawk-moth (Macroglossum stellatarum). Photo by IronChris.

Hummingbird hawk moth (Macroglossum stellatarum), feeding on lavender (Lavandula sp.). Photo by IronChris.

UK Moths website.

Butterfly Conservation website.

Making space for nature: Orchids in the allotments

Jun21

The top part of our village allotments has been left as a small nature conservation area. About eight years ago I seeded it with a calcareous soil wildflower mix from Emorsgate Seeds, on behalf of our local conservation group. The area had been overgrown with rank grasses, which grew so strongly that other wildflowers were not able to get a proper foothold. In the seed mix was yellow rattle, a plant that parasitises the roots of neighbouring plants and so weakens them, and which is used as a natural method of controlling the rank grasses. It has been interesting watching the development of the meadow area. In the spring we get a fantastic show of cowslips, followed by black medic and yellow rattle and white and red clover and ox-eye daisies and all sorts of pretty flowers.

The conservation area of the allotments – a beautiful wildflower meadow, photographed this morning. If you click on the photo you can just make out a small clump of pyramidal orchids in the centre of the grassy area. The white drift behind them is a patch of ox-eye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare).

Even before we sowed the seeds there were wild orchids growing on the allotments and in the conservation area: mainly pyramidal orchids, with a few bee orchids and a couple of common spotted ones. The orchids have ‘on’ years when they flower well, and ‘off’ years when they sulk and don’t bother to flower. This year is a ‘so-so’ year for the pyramidals, but there is no sign of the bee or the common spotted ones.

Bee orchid (Ophrys apifera) on the allotments, 16 June 2008.

The well-named Pyramidal orchid on the allotments, 16 June 2008.

The well-named Pyramidal orchid (Anacamptis pyramidalis) on the allotments, 16 June 2008. Black medic (Medicago lupulina) lurking in the background.

Common spotted orchid in our garden, 14 June 2006. The spots on the leaves, from which it gets its name, are visible.

Common spotted orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii) in our garden, 14 June 2006. The spots on the leaves, from which it gets its name, are visible.

We went for a walk there this morning and Ballou came with us. She adores Chap and howled pathetically when he wandered out of sight. While we were up there we met Charlie, our neighbour, with one of his cats.

Ballou on the lookout in the conservation area.

Despite its name, the common spotted orchid isn’t at all common in our conservation area. We have a lone specimen growing in our garden, bought from a favourite local nursery, Nadder Valley Nurseries (they don’t seem to have a website so I can’t link), many years ago.

Orange!

Jun8

In an earlier post I mentioned that orange is my favourite colour. I love colour—the brighter the better, and for me, orange is the best of all. It’s sunshine and happiness in a colour. It’s hard to be grumpy when there’s orange around.

Orange in my garden (and a couple of others):

Meconopsis cambrica (orange Welsh poppy) in our garden. It’s a lot more orangey and less yellowy in real life than this photo suggests – a sort of pale tangerine colour.

Lathyrus aureus, This one's my baby - I grew it from seed.

Lathyrus aureus, a low-growing perennial member of the pea family. This one’s my special baby – I grew it from seed.

Buddleja globosa in our garden. This flowers earlier than the common buddleja (B. davidii) and it’s so unusual: lovely globby, bobbly flowers.

Buddleja globosa. This flowers earlier than the common buddleja (B. davidii) and it's so unusual: lovely globby flowers. And they just had to go in an orange jug!

And they just had to go in an orange jug!

Clivia miniata. I put these out for the summer but they have to come inside for the winter before the first frosts. They need to be in a shady spot as the sun can burn their leaves badly. The seed pods are so pretty too, and clivias are easy to grow from seed.

Crocosmia × crocosmiiflora ‘Star of the East’ with a few orange Tropaeolum majus (nasturtiums) in a garden I designed in Berkshire.

Erysimum (wallflowers) and lily-flowered tulips (possibly Tulipa ‘Ballerina’) at Lytes Cary in Somerset, a wonderful National Trust property.

And recently I realised I’d been buying an awful lot of orange and reddy-orange things for my shop on Etsy:

Baltic amber and 800 silver ring by Wilhelm Becker of Pforzheim, Germany. (NOW SOLD).

Baltic amber and sterling silver ring, by Niels Erik From of Denmark. (NOW SOLD).

Art Nouveau style Baltic amber and silver ring. (NOW SOLD).

Art Deco carnelian and silver lavalier necklace. (NOW SOLD).

Vintage carnelian agate big bead necklace. (NOW SOLD).

Vintage Art Deco carnelian glass lavalier necklace. (NOW SOLD).

Art Deco glass necklace, probably Czech glass. (NOW SOLD).

Victorian banded agate brooch. (NOW SOLD).

Vintage faux amber and 830 silver flower brooch, possibly Danish. (NOW SOLD).

So then I had to go on a blues and greens and purples and pinks buying spree—such hardship!

In the garden, late May

Jun2

I took these photos about a week ago, but have only just got round to looking at them. Our garden is a very small cottage garden. I don’t like seeing bare earth in the summer (it’s unavoidable in the winter when the herbaceous plants have died back) so the result is a jungly mess!

Path? What path?

Cirsium rivulare ‘Atropurpureum’. The bees love this thistle.

Angelica archangelica. This self-seeds like mad, given the chance.

Hesperis matronalis (Sweet rocket). Another self-seeder, and gloriously scented.

Iris ‘Holden Clough’.

Allium hollandicum. The prize self-seeder in the garden.

Nectaroscordum siculum, Iris sibirica 'Caesar' and Smyrnium olusatrum (Alexanders). Plus a load of weeds ...

Nectaroscordum siculum, Iris sibirica ‘Caesar’, Smyrnium olusatrum (Alexanders) and Asplenium scolopendrium (Hart’s tongue fern). Plus a load of weeds …

Astrantia ‘Hadspen Blood’.

Clematis ‘Niobe’.

I don’t think the colour reproduction of my camera is very good for photos taken in the garden, as the colours all seem a bit dull and the red and purple tones seem rather ‘off’ to me. But you get the general gist! I love late May in the garden—it’s at its best and everything is so gloriously rampant.

Sunday stroll: Fonthill Lake

May25

Chap (my better half) and I went for a walk this afternoon around Fonthill Lake, in south Wiltshire, near the small village of Fonthill Bishop. Here the eccentric and phenomenally rich William Beckford (1760—1844) built his famous (or perhaps that should be infamous) Fonthill Abbey—while it still stood one of the great tourist attractions of the country. Construction on the Abbey, which despite its name was never a religious house, was started in 1796 and after its 300-foot high tower fell for the third time in 1825, the Abbey was demolished. The Fonthill Estate is now owned by Lord Margadale.

Fonthill Abbey, before it fell down. A modest little pile, wasn’t it?

As well as building the Abbey, Beckford landscaped the estate grounds. He dammed a small stream to form the long, sinuous Fonthill Lake, and built an impressive gateway into his estate on the Fonthill Bishop to Hindon road. He scattered grottoes and statuary around the estate. Money was no object.

We parked up near the village cricket ground, where a match was in progress. Neither Chap nor I follow cricket so we had no idea what was going on. It looked very picturesque though.

Sunday cricket match at Fonthill Bishop.

We walked past sheep and lambs grazing on the lush green pastures to the gateway with its fabulous green men keystones—talk about making an entrance!

Fonthill Estate gateway near Fonthill Bishop

Green men on both sides of the two archway keystones.

View from the other side. They look a bit grumpy, don’t they?

The lake might look familiar—all the river scenes in the Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche film Chocolat were filmed here.

Fonthill Lake.

The estate parkland is beautifully planted, with some wonderful mature trees, including pink-flowered horse chestnuts. I love this time of year—the green of the grass is almost unreal it’s so zingy. May is definitely my favourite month.

Parkland in Fonthill Estate.

The may blossom (hawthorn) is just starting to go over, and the cow parsley is too—together they make such a beautiful white froth of blossom.

Cow parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris).

Looking northwards up the lake.

At the head of the lake by the dam is a hydropower unit installed in 2011 that generates enough electricity from the dam outflow to power 11 typical houses. Yay for green power!

Beyond the dam once stood a massive woollen mill, long-since demolished.

Where the little building is now, in 1820 stood a 105-foot long, six storey woollen mill, powered by three water wheels and employing 200 people. It wasn’t a financial success and so was removed in 1830 by the new owner (Beckford had sold up by then) to restore the aesthetics of the lake.

Yellow flag iris (Iris pseudacorus)

Pretty yellow flag irises grow around the lake edge.

On the way back we saw a fresh, newly-hatched lacewing fluttering about, and it settled on Chap for a bit. They have the most beautiful coppery coloured eyes.

Lacewing (Chrysoperla carnea) on Chap’s finger. (For the benefit of readers of a nervous disposition, I’ve cropped out his hairy knuckles!)

We stopped to investigate one of the grottoes—this one was built out of tufa blocks and had the most massive ivy plant (more like a tree, really) growing atop it. Someone had been having a fun evening there: there were the remains of a bonfire and an empty glass perched on the grotto (bonus points if you can spot it!)

One of the many grottoes at Fonthill Estate. This is a wee one compared to most of them!

As we walked back to the car the cricket match was finishing to the sound of clapping—and then tea and cakes in the pavilion, no doubt.

Inglenookery

West Country witterings

Archives