Memories of a Sun-drenched Summer Sunday

I want to remember:

Listening to the cuckoo call - so glad he/she has returned this year

Sitting on the church steps under a blue, blue sky, listening to The Old Time String Band - they were fabulous!

Being wrapped in love - a hug full of understanding from Sandra, a rarely seen friend from Germany

Heading to Vera’s seat on the moor, only to find I’d been beaten to it by a colourful couple who were snogging like it was an Olympic event (Vera gets to see all sorts!)

Wearing my favourite green tunic from India - cool and decorative with amazing memories woven into every inch

Walking past the cricket pitch as someone hit a six.  The ball bounced off the pavilion roof, flew across the path, over the fence and down the heather-clad cliff side.  'Can we borrow your dog to find our ball?' asked the cricketers.  Joss obliged!

Wild Mushroom and Goose Egg Omelettes

For the last few days, I’ve had access to a (very temporary) supply of magnificent goose eggs.  They’re HUGE!  And just one of these beauties makes a very substantial omelette.  So this has been the week of the wild mushroom and goose egg omelette.  Or rather, lots of them.

Each morning, walking back across the moor, I’ve stopped to buy my daily egg.  Then carried it oh-so-carefully home.  Once safely ensconced in the kitchen, I’ve set to……using both fresh and dried wild mushrooms; and masses of herbs and foraged greens.

The result?  A gourmet dish fit for the gods.  (But I’m the one who gets to eat it!)

The Recipe (in case you want to eat it, too..)

1. Soak a handful of dried, wild mushrooms in boiling water for 20 minutes or so.  (You can buy tubs of dried, wild mushrooms from delis and some supermarkets.)

2. Sauté some fresh mushrooms – whatever kind you like best (I like earthy chestnut mushrooms) - in olive oil.

3. Lightly whisk your goose egg with a tablespoon or two of the mushroom soak water, plenty of freshly ground black pepper and some good quality salt (Celtic sea salt or pink Himalayan).

4. Turn the heat up high and pour the egg mix into the sautéed mushrooms.  Keep drawing the outer edges of the omelette towards the centre of the pan, tilting it so the still-runny egg rushes into the space.

5. Slide the omelette onto a plate when the top is still not quite set.  Sprinkle with mixed dried herbs.  Strain the soaked mushrooms and scatter on top of the omelette.  Add lots of fresh herbs (whatever you have to hand – I’ve mostly been using basil and thyme this week) and/or foraged or fresh greens (try wild rocket, ramsons or dandelion leaves).

6. Fold over the omelette if all the toppings allow.

7. Feast!

Changing Places: Lise Meijer on Cafés

The café door.

I am sitting in a cosy café at the harbour in a small town near my home. Outside it’s an unusually cold May day. The mildness and warmth that normally sets in around this time of year has not been very successful. That just makes the warm, glowing atmosphere inside with good food and cosy people even more heartwarming.

Today, I am the only person sitting alone – but I am not lonely. I have good coffee in front of me and I have my special writing book and pen. My mind knows what this means and already starts to do a little inner dance: it’s café-time. My café-time!

Cafés are places I return to again and again for fuel. They open a door in me; create a pause in life without the things of my daily life to distract. No laundry to hang, no-one knocking on my door, no unfinished projects lying around. They work as a kick-starter for a creative place in me. I easily get wings here, wings that lift me above life to a bird’s eye view and give my heart and art perspective. I think we all need that now and then, a distance to see how our life is unfolding.

Just like too cold Mays, I can get a little stiff, too absorbed in things that need doing and in wrapping my head around deadlines or fulfilling lists. So I need to warm myself to life, and a writing hour in a café is very helpful for that. I start feeling playful again, in that in-between space and time.

I have been in many different cafés in many different towns and different countries. Spaces designed to enjoy life where someone has made an effort to make it beautiful and cosy, even on a Monday morning! I do like some cafés more than others. I prefer an old French atmosphere and white painted paned windows. But the beauty of it is that that is not crucial to the experience.

Just as a person we don’t find beautiful at first can become very attractive when their inner life shines through their eyes, a café can turn into the most attractive place simply because of the experience it allows. It is the door that opens up inside me that matters. A door to a place where ideas and solutions seem to flow quite effortlessly while my pen travels over the paper. I see connections and suddenly know which road to take. And I often get brand new creative ideas here whilst writing and drinking coffee.

I did not always enjoy solo café life. When I was still very young a friend of mine told me he enjoyed sitting alone in a café, reading. I remember feeling a hard knot in my stomach: I would never be able to feel content spending time alone in a café. I was a shy girl and utterly embarrassed by the thought. Luckily I decided to give it a try, anyway - just to broaden my comfort zone. I had no idea that a door of inspiration was about to open wide, a door that would continue to open in any café anywhere in the world at any time, with pen or computer at hand.

I am so grateful for having that door in my life.

Lise is Danish and lives in the south of Denmark with her Dutch husband and their two children. She is an artist, musician and dancer….and runs life-enriching courses on creativity.  She shares her wonderful wisdom through her blog, Creative Vitamins.

Changing Places is a guest post series about the power of place to change us.  You can read other stories in the series here.  If you’d like to share your story, please contact me for submission details.

Features of the Landscape: Mill Chimneys

This is mill country.  At the height of the industrial revolution, there were thousands of textile mills spread across the north of England.  All with their distinctive, tall chimneys.

Most of the mills have vanished now.  Their stones have been carried off to become houses and walls.  Of those that remain, the majority have been converted into warehouses or apartments; or have had conservation orders slapped on them, to preserve the history of the region for posterity.  Very few mills continue to operate as the factories they were originally created to be.

The landscape, however, is still dotted with chimneys, some attached to the mills they once served, some standing as lone survivors of another age.  Some tower tall, some are now stumps.  Whichever, they’re all an intrinsic part of this landscape.

Monday Meditation (16)

‘Is it so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun at

sunset?’

Matthew Arnold