Well today saw the most spontaneous rain shower I have ever witnessed. After successfully darting up the lawn to retrieve pantyloons of various sizes, I resorted to digging the blackberries out of the freezer and turning the Rayburn up to 'High', one of it's two settings. 

I pulled Mum's heavy cookbook off the newly dusted shelves (well done Mum, that was quite the mission!) and scanned the pages for jam recipes which didn't demand a heavy dose of pectin. Luckily I found one that only politely suggested a large amount of lemon juice and sugar and 1kg of any berry the chef desired.  After an hour of boiling and stirring and countless glances at the clock, combined with an attack of the solo damp-cloth brigade, I successfully achieved the dark purple mass of saucepan goodness that matched the picture in the book. Next came the freezer-plate test. Apparently, if you place a plate in the freezer to cool, the add a tablespoon of jam, the victorious substance should 'wobbly' after being gently poked by a clean finger. Hoorah! It wobbled! Lucky, lucky me. 

However, my task was not over as I then remembered that the new born jam had to be placed in suitable containers, of which I had just happily accompanied Dad to the bottle bank, depositing bottles of all shapes, sizes and colours. Unfortunately jam jars were also included in the generous donation, so my quest now involved a dive under the stairs and a rummage around the greenhouse. After a bout of unluckiness, I decided that as I was not a Horseradish fan, it needn't be in the fridge anymore, so after much scraping and sterilising, two shiny jars were ready for a healthy dose of jam and one glass had been selected to join the jam army. I must say I'm pretty proud of my jam-making skills, although I may leave it off the CV...well until I apply for the WI that  is. Anyway folks, here is a lovely photograph of my rainy day productivity.

Walking up the incline

the inky ceiling darkens,

strands of silver ribbons 

float through the air.

A sharp intake of breath,

the senses tingle,

something being created 

as the skin brushes cold air.

'He's down in the garden'

she nods and smiles,

a whisp of smoke

suspended in air.

Hands deep in bubbles,

pots steaming in the far corner.

Home at last...

some things never change.

The heady scent of woodsmoke

the evenings creep closer,

drifting in across the carpet,

toes curling under, 

escaping the chill.

Beams become arms,

embracing ones dear.

The occasional spark as the 

embers glow brightly.

Lights dwindle down,

The house becomes silent,

the night becomes calm,

dawn is in the distance,

©  2010 Charlotte Chase
Photo by Authspot.

Yesterday was a glorious autumnal day, clear blue skies, crisp fresh air and beautiful, amber, crunchy leaves. The conditions were perfect for a walk in the water meadows. The previous day I had made a secret promise to myself to collect as many blackberries as possible for a scrummy jam, so armed with tupperwear, water and a trusty rucksack we ambled down the hill to the river and began our journey. Horses greeted us on one side of the path, whilst the River Meon trickled down the stream, carrying leaves and twigs along with it's gentle current.

I am a massive fan of the great outdoors, and nothing beats a walk to clear the head and save the pennies. 

After stopping a few times to spot fish and investigate the odd ripple, we began to pick a few blackberries here and there, salvaging berries from the tangled branches and occasionally nipping our fingers on unruly thorns.