Hips and Haws

The hedgerows are full of fruit; hawthorns' haws, rosehips, elderberries, blackberries (brambles to us Northerners).....

Tucked away out of the wind we walked from Craster, sheltered behind the Whin Sill ridge; it was amazing how much there was to pick if we had only brought receptacles in which to put all this natural treasure.

The harvest was in and stored ready for winter bedding.

Looking right and left, we used the public right of way across Embleton Golf Course; we slithered down onto the beach and headed back south with a strong wind coming in off the North Sea. The sands were lashed by white water; we put hats on, hoods up and heads down as we explored along the Bay.

One by one, we clambered up smooth, rounded rocks and arrived back onto the links. Looking back, the tideline of shells and bladder wrack marked the shore. Waves crashed and pounded in while the backwash hissed as it washed back down the strand.

 Before us Dunstanburgh Castle stood proud against an almost cloudless, blue sky.

We skirted below the stonework and dodged the startled sheep.

Surf coughed up a spume of  shivering foam into the rock crevices below us. How I wish I'd been able to conduct a field trip to demonstrate folding with the cracked peak of an anticline and obvious sedimentary layers buckled in a syncline.

With all that fresh air I slept like a log.

We were back within 24 hours to harvest blackberries; purple fingered we headed home to welcome visitors for a dinner of mince and dumplings and banana custard.

After so many years counting calories, it pays to have visitors round for meals- then you have to widen your menu and in this case, I went back to family meals served in days of yore. Now- who's for apple and blackberry crumble and custard? Will this get me the title of 'Star baker'? Move over Ruby!