“Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.” ― Pablo Neruda
How early is early? Ice cream chocolates, the washing line, and rampantica roses
What happened to make it suddenly June and almost Midsummer’s Day? I wake earlier and earlier in the summer and rush out into the morning because it feels like having a love affair; nature is, as Neruda says, trembling like a butterfly with all the delicate passion that this phrase suggests. By 7.30 a.m. I am ready for elevenses, and have a new dark secret to consume. If you haven’t tried Baboo Chocolate Sorbet Bon Bons you must immediately get hold of some, and if you have, I imagine you have eaten them all and will be trying to work out how and where to get more. With 12 in the box, I think they are meant to wow guests after supper, but I also recommend eating them all yourself with a cup of coffee - the hot and cold combination is always a winner, like the delicious Italian Affogato that is my favourite dessert.
Hard though it is to tear myself away from thoughts of ice cream, I have other summer preoccupations to manage. One is the washing line. When we moved in there were only small buds and twigs adorning the well spaced trees from which we hung the washing line. As the only domestic chore I actually like is hanging out the washing, I was extremely pleased that I could do this in a charming glade staring at a head land across which my neighbours horses often canter as if in a dream. This was all going very well and then the buds unfurled into huge verdant leaves, the bows on which they hung began to curtsey towards the ground, heavy with foliage, and the washing line vanished into a wild green thicket. It took some scything to even find it again. The aesthetics were great but practicality was now where. Now, inspired by a Richard Long mown grass installation,
I am attempting a new arrangement. Sadly it’s raining so I can’t hang any washing out, but when I do I will photograph and post on a note.
From mowing or not to roses is a mere scramble, and I am sure that no one needs to know my thoughts on roses at all, as there are glorious writers like Peter Harkness and this blog from Vita Sackville-West’s garden at Sissinghurst Castle to read. Nonetheless, what I have discovered, while looking up the foibles and habits of the bourbon beauty Zepherine Drouhan, is that the Italian name for climbing roses, is rosa rampicante. Totally blissful. I cannot wait to be rampanticantered over by Zephirine and others of her ilk.
Thinking of rampicantering reminds me to share this excellent instagram post. There will be readers who stare blankly , and there will be others in whom a gasp of joy and a moment of recherche du temps perdu will run rampant… I toast you all with gin and fags real or remembered.
Making the most of the summer is not a hardship. And to me, writing in summer always feels as though someone else is doing it. Catch a bit of this yourself if you fancy and join my Summer School for useful hacks and reachable goals. July 7th and 14th 6 - 7 pm GMT on zoom. DM for details or click here.
Finally READ THIS: it’s out soon, ‘Bug Hollow’ by Michelle Huneven. American with shades of Ann Patchett, Anne Tyler and Tessa Hadley. Love her, love this book. A great summer read.
See you again soon, love from beneath the washing line,
xxx Raffaella