Sun, strawberries, roses and thorns

We've been waiting for weeks for warm, sunny weather. Then, last week we had almost "proper" summer weather. Late on Thursday afternoon, I had a meeting with a colleague (and friend). We happily sat on the stoep in the sun. When the business was over, we sat with another friend and watched as the sun started to set, enjoying a sundowner. Being Thursday, I couldn't linger: I had to get home to start my market prep.

That done, it was supper. I am do try to eat properly and my enjoyment of food is beginning to return.

So, that evening was an old "Thursday favourite: mushroom omelette and salad. The salad included the last of the broad beans which J and I had planted the day that The Husband had his operation. I regularly updated him on how many had germinated... This year's crop was not the best, but it wasn't the worst, either. That I had any to pick is thanks mostly to good winter rain because I neglected them - and most of the garden - for all the time that The Husband was ill, and after.

Speaking of the garden: a friend, instead of sending flowers flowers, sent a rose bush. When I asked what colour it was, she didn't know. She'd grown it from a slip and until it flowered, it would be a mystery.

She said, though, that it might be yellow. I tried not to hope.

Yesterday when I was picking herbs for a bouquet garni for the chicken liver pâté, I noticed it had flowered.

It's beautiful. It's more yellow in RL than it looks in this picture. And it's an old fashioned rose so it has the most gorgeous perfume. The Husband would have loved it.

It's with all the other roses - in the strawberry patch.

This was today's strawberry picking at about 6.45am before the market and in the calm, sort of dry, before the storm.

Yes, summer's been chased away. A bit like the equilibrium I though I was finding. That was thanks to the rose, the broad beans, the strawberries and this morning's market:

Someone with whom The Husband had worked before he retired, and who has business interests in the village stopped by. He had not heard the news. I had to tell him. It was hard.

I have to prepare myself for this happening. As village swallows return to enjoy summer in the south, many will not have heard the news. Those that have, will come and talk to me.

How are you doing?

The short real answer: it depends on the day. Sometimes ok. Sometimes not.

Are you coping?

Well, I have to watch my face because the speech bubble above my head contains a series of rhetorical questions:

WTAF? I'm standing here, getting on with things. What do you think?

Instead, I politely reply, "Yes, thank you."

It's impossible to explain what and how the pain is triggered. Perhaps it's like the thorns on roses: one works hard to avoid them but, inevitably they snag you. And make you bleed.

Until next time
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma
Post script

If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:

• re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine....?
• and "re-capturing" nearly two years' worth of posts.

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Original artwork: @artywink

• lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs, images available freely available on @hive.blog and Canva.