Every morning for a week or so a magpie has flown into the garden between 8.00 and 8.30. It takes its time and hops, pecks and inspects various pieces of grass and fine twigs. It ignores me staring with interest at its industriousness and gets on with the task of choosing the best that our garden has to offer. With a beak full of nest materials, it swoops off until I see it again the following morning. It’s a temporary routine, a tiny thrill that lifts my not-normally-a-morning-person mood. I’ve noticed that for the last couple of days it hasn’t come back, and I am missing this one-sided morning meeting. But I also imagine the basket-like nest that it’s finishing, and the next generation of trinket-loving hatchlings. Maybe they will make their way here too.
This evening the red kites have soared so high that they are specks in the distance, just about recognisable by their wing span and forked tail. If I could choose a super power it would be to be able to fly. I’d love to escape to the sky.
It’s half past midnight and through the kitchen skylight I can see the bulging waxing gibbous of April’s Seed Moon. I feel tired but bewitched and I want to watch it curve through the night sky; but my body wins. Before my mind can argue I feel the soft landing of the duvet and the next thing I know it’s Sunday morning.
The garden robin has been close to my heels during the weeding recently. It has always kept a safe distance of a few feet, but now it feels like I’m being shivvied along. I’ve felt obliged to speed up, and wondered when it had suddenly become so brave; until my thoughts were interrupted by the tiniest high pitched chirping behind me. Seeing the robin dart into the undergrowth where the unfamiliar noises came from, I realised that it was her brood. My eyes turned to hearts. Over the next few days the chirping became a little louder. Then not longer after that two wobbly-legged, brown, speckled chicks accompanied their mother to the bird feeder, for the first of many lessons.
There has been so much life and growth in the garden during the past few weeks. April is one of my favourite months and I wish I could press pause and experience it for longer. The burst of green as hedgerows and trees come back to life is like an elixir. I can feel the air prickle with the promise of a warmer breeze edging out the chills and draughts. My hands have spent days in the soil, picking out flints and wrestling with tap roots, attempting to make suitable beds for our seeds.
The apple tree is in full blossom, a sweet shop mix of pastel pinks, whilst the tomatoes are creating their own forest on our kitchen table. The brambles are already inching up and up, taunting me with their untouchable stalks, seemingly knowing that I won’t actually stop them because I’m greedy for their fruit. A decision I may well regret.
An early haul of rhubarb is our first produce of the year. There’s so much of it that even giving it away doesn’t seem to slow it down. I’ve been pondering how to use it in ways that don’t involve gins, crumbles and custard (as much as I love them) and in the end I settled on ice cream. If you also have a glut, here’s another way to use it…
Rhubarb, cardamom and honey ice cream
Ingredients 300g or 5 stalks of pink rhubarb, sliced into inch-long pieces 240g clear, runny honey 600mls whipping cream 3 heaped teaspoons of ground cardamom Method: Simmer the rhubarb pieces and 70g of the honey together for 5-6 minutes, or until soft and yielding. Allow it to cool slightly before adding the mixture to a food processor. Alternatively, break it down into a looser consistency with a potato masher. Either way the result will be a blush coloured simple compote with the consistency of yoghurt. Chill it in the fridge for a few hours before using it in the ice cream. This makes roughly 250mls. Once fully chilled, combine the 600mls of whipping cream, 150mls of the rhubarb compote, 3 heaped teaspoons of ground cardamom and 170g of clear honey*. Mix well for a few minutes and then add to an ice cream maker. In my machine it’s ready when it’s almost doubled in size and has a soft serve consistency. Add the soft serve ice cream to the container that you’ll be using when it’s in the freezer. Gently fold through the rest of the chilled rhubarb so you get marbled, peachy-pink swirls. This won’t work if your ice cream is already quite hard, so if you use another method of making, you may need to add the rhubarb (for the marbling effect) at an earlier stage. This sets at a medium hardness, and makes 1 - 1.2 litres. *This is my own preferred level of sweetness (working on the basis that when things are colder they don’t taste as sweet). Adjust to taste for your own palate, depending on how tart you like it.
“April, come she will. When streams are ripe and swelled with rain” *
I wish she would stay.
* Simon and Garfunkel.
"If I could choose a super power it would be to be able to fly. I’d love to escape to the sky." - Me too.
Soooo much beauty here! ✨🪄🌱