The Best Birthday Party

I had the best birthday party yesterday.  THE best!

First, we gathered by the stream and made little rafts from twigs and twine.  Then decorated them with paper flags and gave them each a cargo of fresh flowers to carry.

Next we tucked into our pretty picnic (I’d insisted on the ‘pretty’).  We sat under the bunting, strung between the trees, and I opened presents and cards and blew out the candles on my cake and wished hard.

Finally, the sun still shining, we launched our mighty vessels and watched to see whose would make it to the stones downstream first.

I’m sure I won!

P.S.  The idea for this came from a mini raft project in the latest issue of Making magazine.  That sparked memories of the birthday parties Tasha Tudor used to throw for her children….during which a cake, candles alight, would be floated down the river on a raft.  We bottled that particular idea when it came to it (prefer to eat our cake dry!) but still had fabulous fun.

Beningbrough Hall

I spent today at Beningbrough Hall near York.

It’s a lovely, red-brick mansion, built at the beginning of the eighteenth century for a local landowner; now in the keeping of the National Trust.

Even by the Trust’s own high standards, it’s an exceptionally well-cared for property with an easy, welcoming atmosphere.  You can even dress up in costume and play the lady of the manor if you want to  (I did, but the costume was too big….which I presume means I don’t get to marry the prince).

If you ever get chance, it’s worth a visit.  Worth it for the laundry alone - I was entranced! (So maybe that’s my station in life….)

Collecting Eggs

It’s our favourite daily ritual.

Each afternoon, Joss and I trudge down the field (correction: I trudge, Joss races) to see how many beautiful, brown eggs the hens have left us.  And they’re laying well.

Laying well and doing well.  Which is more than can be said for the cockerel.  Sadly, he met his demise last week.  We found him stone cold dead in the hen hut.

Truth to tell, I’m actually not that sorry.  In the short time he’d lived at Dixon Hill, he’d attacked me three times.  He was so protective of his harem, it was almost impossible to get near enough to feed or photograph them (the latter is important, you understand).

All that’s changed now he’s kicked the proverbial bucket.  The hens and I are becoming very good friends.  A friendship eased along by daily treats of stale bread.  And rewarded with dark, speckled eggs.

A Bit Chuffed

Feeling rather chuffed with myself.  One of my pictures (the one above) received a special mention in an Instagram photography challenge this week.  Which makes my face look rather like this smiley….

P.S.  Every time I use the word ‘chuffed' in a blog post, I get perplexed comments and e-mails from the other side of the pond.  So for those not versed in British slang, chuffed means very pleased or mildly thrilled.  Which I am.  Oh, yes indeedy….

Project Noah

Have you come across Project Noah yet?  I stumbled across it just a few days ago.

It’s billed as ‘a tool to explore and document wildlife and a platform to harness the power of citizen scientists everywhere’.  

The idea is that people across the world post photographs of flora and fauna on the Project Noah website, thus creating a massive database that scientists can draw on for research purposes.  It’s also a great way of getting help with identifying anything you can’t put a name to.  Just post a picture and someone will have the answer.

I love the concept.  It’s another example of the way in which the internet enables everyone to matter.  Your observations and mine can become part of any number of scientific enquiries.   And it gives another valuable as well as fun purpose to exploring your local landscape.