Spring has sprung...

...though there's still a bit of snow on the hills. It's also quite chilly still, so blooms, buds and blossoms are not yet in abundance; ditto the wild garlic, but soon. Easter has been and gone, school holidays been and almost gone. Walks, riverbanks, tree ring counting and a bit of sibling love and wrestling, some trees, mosses and 'helicopter skeletons' as Effie calls them....

Ramsoned by Nature

Well, it's that time of year again when the ramsons or wild garlic are in abundance in the glen. Every year we have a large patch opposite the house on the other side of the sheep field and we tend to go a bit daft, adding wild garlic to just about everything. This year is no exception. Free, delicious and bountiful - what's not to like!

Ramsons or Allium ursinum AKA wild garlic, buckrams or bear's garlic

The Bold Foragers - that's me and our Effie - headed off earlier in the week with some plastic bags for a toddle round and half an hour of gathering the delicious leaves. 

Bold Forager Effie

Getting stuck in!

A Bold Forager heads home

Then home, where we washed the first lot, patted them dry and made some wild garlic pesto - this was served up later, swirled in some creme fraiche, with pan fried mushrooms on a bed of spaghetti.  In addition we quickly concocted some home-made garlic and ramsons bread - baked for 10 minutes in the oven, I have to say this was the best garlic bread I have ever eaten.

Washed, dried and ready to be made into Pesto

Last night saw prawns cooked in olive oil with shallots and minced wild garlic and chillies served with creamy mash that had some more chopped ramsons stirred through it and a baby leaf salad. See what I mean - mad for it!


Tonight, Spanish Tortilla with wild garlic and shallots, Feta, Wensleydale and Gran Padano cheeses served with baby leaf, spinach and wild garlic salad.


And so it will continue, adding it to fish dishes, baked new potatoes, soups, salads, whatever springs to mind; until we have run out of ramsons or gotten so sick of them that we give up! I reckon on the latter.

Delicious and free, straight from the field!

Pretty and Pink

I'm not normally given to musing about pink stuff, gender specifics and all that - having avoided it most of my adult life and worn a muted palette of black, black and more black in terms of clothes and accessories and rigorously dressed my baby daughter in anything but pink - I couldn't help but notice how much pink there actually is around. Starting with the obvious, flowers at the Tree Shop - loads and all vibrant, Mother Nature at her girliest and finest especially when set against lush green backgrounds or with amazing yellow stamens:

And suddenly, I was seeing it everywhere:

in the Aquarium at LFO

Bobby's pants!!

Bike helmets

Skool bags & gym bags

Even on me and Ronnie next door!

Yikes! I'm wearing this!

Sadly, I didn't get a pic of Ronnie in his pink teeshirt, but he looked a fine specimen of a Scottish manhood thus disproving the myth that pink is for lassies only. However, It may be the end of the world as we know it!! I'm off to find my black jeans.....

My Faith in Humanity - Restored!

So, we were on Arran for a couple of days Youth Hosteling during the School Spring Break, myself, Bobby, Effie and Grandma who has bestowed the princely £10 on each of her darling grandchildren. The tenners are dutifully tucked away in pockets, with the instructions to put them in a 'safe place'.

Goat Fell in the sun

A couple of hours later after tea and a sandwich at the Lochranza Hotel and a chank around the tiny and beautiful beach at Dougarie Bay, Effie (5) announces that she has lost her ten pound note. Much furious searching in pockets, car floor, various bags proves fruitless. I ask Effs when was the last time she had the money, she's not sure, but we remember that it was in her bodywarmer pocket and she took that off at the hotel. Oh well, we resign ourselves to the fact that it's lost.

Dougarie Bay & the trouserless weans!

Fast forward a few hours and we toddle down from the Youth Hostel (very good, btw!) to the Lochranza Hotel for dinner. I tell Effie to go and look in the loo and check the garden for her tenner, while I order food and drinks. I ask the barman if anyone has handed in a ten pound note during the afternoon, but, no - a long shot really. I laugh and say if anyone does it belongs to Effs, who appears fleetingly to announce it wasn't in the loo. I joke with a couple at the bar that we have memorised the serial number so we can recognise the tenner if it ever turns up.

So, we demolish our dinner, the kids go outside to run around, Grandma for a fag and I ask for the bill. When the barman comes over with the bill, he hands me..... a ten pound note! "The Guy at the bar" he explains "felt sorry for the wee girl missing out on her holiday money". I am, frankly, astonished! However, the guy and his wife have since left so I cannot thank them. I ask the barman to pass on my profuse thanks as the couple are regulars and I leave the Hotel, stepping into the evening sun, my faith in humanity, restored.

Lucky wee lassie!

Whoever you were - I salute you and thank you from the bottom of my heart. You made a wee girls holiday - she was able to get her holiday sweeties and a lovely pottery seahorse for her bedroom! Thank you!!

The Lexicon of Life

Like most families we have always had our own special and silly words for things - nessynog, dressing gown / peeblepobble, a verbal expression akin to blowing a raspberry / 'going to Milton Keynes', an activity that is somewhat pointless and will never come to fruition - are a few examples. So I am very proud to add my own daughters addition to the family lexicon.

'Nessynogs' in action

Effie (5 yrs old) has just lost her first tooth and her mother (me) is explaining the necessity of good brushing to make sure her emerging set of adult teeth (new one can be seen where baby one has dropped out) stay healthy. To press home the point of maintaining good teeth for life I use Effie's granny as an example of what happens when you don't take care of your teeth - ie. the dentist removes a large amount of them in one go.

Gappy Gal!

This is received quietly. After a long pause and much musing, Effie turns to me and asks "So, did the dentist give Grandma her Nancies?" "Her what" I venture, "Her Nancies" says Effs. It takes me a second or two to realise that she means her Grandma's false teeth which are usually known as 'gnashers' (also known as walies (pronounced Wa-lees), good old scottish slang for false teeth, but buggered if I can work out where you get nancies from walies).

And there you have it - false teeth are hereby known in out house as 'nancies'! So make sure you give your teeth a good brush tonight or you too may end up sporting a fine pair of nancies (see below)!!

Grandma and her fine pair of Nancies