Down by the River Weaver in Cheshire & inspired homeware

Up through new houses of pottering suburbia and down to the river bank, plopping down the hill like little water voles to the pathway. A beautiful day for watching the boats, smiling at dogs sniffing and the swans keeping a keen eye on them. Time for the joggers and the cyclists to come out and general river life busyness is restored in spring warmth.

A cormorant with a dipping dive resurfaces by an overhanging blackthorn, frosted with blossom now and joined by egg dipping yellow celandine, starryeyed spring riverbanks.

Further on by the bridge is a contrast of delicate powdery forget-me-nots against steel and bold graffiti, all part of the ambiance, river life good with the bad. Slight sludgyness of water here but clearing to waters by the riverside cottage where a dog barks by daffodils and a greenhouse shows signs of recent enthusiasm for the new season with rows of pots filled with who knows what, beans, peas or sweetpeas....

Rusty old boats overlook a skyline of a white college cupola, fretwork and a non moving no gusts today weathervane in a clear blue sky. A world of contrasts here, silent forgotten dull river craft and the chug of a brightly painted canal boat, tarnished metal against puff ball pink blossom, running against peaceful bench resting wanders.

River walking inspired items based on the things I saw - cormorants, rust, forget-me-nots, jolly boats, gardening, modern art, blossom pink and cheerful yellow.

Cormorant tea towel, Black Bough £7.50// Metallic rust tealight holder, Abode Living £12//Seed wedding favours, Etsy £1.45//Narrowboat bird box, NotHS £59//
Gardeners Mug, Laura Ashley £5.04// Banksy Flying Balloon Girl doormat, Etsy £24.99// Ronseal Cherry Blossom garden paint, Amazon £4// Cheery Plastic Cup, Debenhams £6//

December light snowfall

Curtains open. Snow overnight whilst we all dreamt of sledging, skidding and snowballing, big fat flurries falling on roofs, turning the parks, playing fields, gardens and verges into snowman playgrounds. Not to be. Mid Cheshire snow, so brief and so light, as if the salty earth in these parts stops the flakes from settling and instead allows a brief dusting to excite the townsfolk before quickly melting away.

Boots on, crunch of crystalline paths to the town church with smatterings of snow on gate pillars and gathering in mini drifts along the original churchyard wall, God's Acre now belonging to Boreas. Pockets of snow in grassy tufts by gravestones, collecting in the words of the forgotten, 1845. A solitary flake eddies and lands on shouldered stone, I remember you, the cold remembers you well.

Along the path by the great east window, walked already by hardy shoppers in buttoned up coats and hopped by hardy birds in buttoned up feather jackets, carrying their bags and their worms. Wheels from pushchairs and brave slippy cyclists with chilled hands gripping handlebars, knuckled red and puffs of breath chugging along. Here the churchyard is littered with the decay of fallen headstones like the aftermath of a battle. Crosses lay wounded in icy snow and weary angels pray for no thaw.
We all want more snow.

Back by the south porch, about to shrug shoulders, glance optimistically at the quilted sky one last time when the feather burst happened. Downy snowflakes large as goose quills falling heavily, the furious emptying of huge pillows. Eyelashes sparkling and obscured by Arctic drifts with every blink as I pretend I might be later snowshoeing it across the ledger stones, past the old wall and under the icicle hanging wrought iron gate back home whilst dodging snowballs hurled by excited children. 

Reality is such that the squall and dance of the flakes did obscure the church tower for a couple of minutes, a Gothic blur as gargoyles and grotesque heads caught flakes in grimacing toothy smiles and gurns accumulated white powder, lolling tongues tasted globs of snow and a poof of  last night's frost shot out of the spouts like winter cannons. The sun just a faint low hanging light as if it had suddenly been ambushed and bundled into a sack, gauzy, muffled......the snow falling onto the old sundial, covering that too for good measure, stating the day simply and clearly as winter time.

Autumn allotment

Down the allotment with a bag and a spade for the last not slug munched spuds and an armful of corn that escaped the trampling snuffling humbug of Brock's paws. Still traffic murmured autumn air that lulls you into winding down for the season and yet there is much to be done amongst the dahlias and the compost heap. In the corner of the site, a man all grey trousered and narly jumpered prods a leaf pile with a fork like he expects a viper to slither out and a cough of a mutter escapes. 

Mould-green bog stenching leaf litter slides off the side. 'ya bugger'

Out comes the toffees from rat's nest stuffed pockets and on goes the shed kettle.

Greenhouse hiding plot holders tend to unripe tomatoes or cascading grapes on autumn coloured turning vines, twisting and tendrilling suspiciously across to the box of Growmore and the chicken manure. Next year it's world domination.

A snip and a gather, green tomatoes will ripen in a brown bag and perhaps taste nice fried or in a chutney. And back outside in a huge clump, some kale, the bitter green leviathan of the plot, with sprawling tentacles to last the winter through. Some to take home for Dad's chickenosauruses, ferocious things that peck your wellied feet and pluck each others feathers. 

Standing, summing up, pondering. Bonfire heaps and forgotten watering cans. The last chance to harvest any squashes before the frost hits them. A time for making plans for the next gardening year.....there is always next year. New veggies to grow or fruit trees to buy and seed catalogues to order for afternoons by the fire dreaming of next year's cutting garden and bountiful beans of all varieties, striped and spotted pods, popping into soups for months and months.

Before the late autumn set in, the plot was swarming with scarecrows, the young and the old crafting sock-faced granny dressed hat wearing guardians that can not even frighten a sparrow let alone a corvid. I have seen crows mocking with a chucking caw as they sit aloft an old straw hatted wurzel 'Come see, come see oh raven and rook, a mermaid to keep us away and over there, caw-caw, a stuffed French man. And my doesn't this sweetcorn taste good'.

Whilst I wandered, amused and inspired, amongst the rows of brown sugar dipped dahlias and the burnt out sunflower heads, I heard a cheery 'hello' to my Dad. Another plot holder has arrived, on her bicycle, helmet off and camera quickly out from her rucksack. Here to photograph the haunting abundance yet decay of late autumn, just as I am. Completely normal to me, bemusing to my Dad who carries on digging for spuds and then shuffling along the path for some apples whilst propping netting back up and flapping at a crow.

A few more snaps by the patch of gone midnight-pumpkins that sprawl in drunken disorder, mildew setting in on bristly leaves, powdered end of year dust. No glass slippers just the season algae tainted glasshouses, ready for cleaning for spring. And their occupants, still pottering away, hiding out with mugs of tea and having a break from compost snake charming.

And now home down the grassy path, waving goodbye, bags full of those earthy potatoes for mashing with salted butter, a few late borlotti beans, add some herbs, maybe roast some pumpkin and a glug of gravy. Place some vegetable into the store shed to last over the cold months when there is little to harvest aside from winter greens and especially that perfect Christmas Brussels sprout.

A weekend pause

A slow moving winding waterway runs through the verdant flat plain of mid-Cheshire, the River Dane, a name derived from Old Welsh dafyn which means trickling stream. Here in Northwich it joins the River Weaver, the confluence being in the centre of town. But before it does, its last meander is through the middle of farmland, past cows who clumsily dip in for a drink or to cool on a summer's day.

As part of a Sunday afternoon drive, the first stop is at a farm that over looks the Dane although it cannot be seen, just picked out by the trees and denser plants that flank the river. A looping greener way into town so sinuous it's as if the river couldn't quite make its mind up until deciding that town life and merging forces with the Weaver was the better option after all. 

Shipbrook Hill where I stand is the site of a Norman Castle and local folk have told me of some ruins of it being within the farm's garden. I found no trace but on this escarpment is the treasure of a view on this fluffy sky day with the steeple of the church in the distance piercing cumulus and equally cotton wooled sheep frolicking in the nearby field. On an ox bow beyond are a herd of cows, tails flicking and swallows squeal above and swoop enjoying the weather. By my feet, pink mallow stretches up and tickles the fence posts, clover flowers like baubles are bobbing about with bees and the rolling carpet of grass from shades of deep green to end of summer yellow stretches on towards the town.

First impressions of a home town and house

The day I first saw the town I live in, Northwich, it was a sunny summer's day and I was on my way to a family wedding. The sky was blue with puffy white clouds and the grand entrance to my future was also bright blue, a bridge over a river where herons stood sentry and bicycles streamed along the river path, happy families and barking dogs pulling on leads. Every so often a canal boat gently chugged past and this low humming was only broken by rowers in unison of intense synchronicity, slicing through glinting water. Once out of sight, only a quack could be heard. Exploring further through the town, noting grand old houses and red brick terraces, black and white timbers by a boat marina where colourful pleasure craft bobbed about, a merry dance of a little market town, I made a collective first impression. One that lingered and several years later when a move was required, fell like a pinball rolling, sending off glowing light bulbs of knowing where I had to look to live. And here I am, nearly 15 years later, it's my home and I consider myself a proper local.

First impressions can be everything, whether it is the first time you meet somebody or at the reception desk of a company. In a few snapshots you take in your surroundings and the demeanour of a person and piece it all together. In the first half hour in my town it had had an effect upon me, a positive one of boats and bikes, of slightly alternative people, live music and happiness of ordinary folk. A community feeling that enveloped me and set my mind for what I wanted. 

That same warm fuzziness grabbed me the moment I stepped into my current house. A cold February afternoon, snow was gently falling and as soon as I saw the front with its Victorian features I knew it had to be mine. Within ten minutes I had told the estate agent that I would have it. The power of those first impressions. Of course all was not completely rosy (like the cat mess in the bedroom!) but how we can be guided by our first thoughts and feelings on something or someone. 

Perhaps I am rather impulsive but I find my first impressions are often the right ones, a gut instinct. Often I know when I meet somebody that we will be friends or if we will be avoiding each other. For my home town, I still have that glow about the place and a sense of pride when I show people where I live. The boats still often warrant a detour on my way home to take a few photos of the marina as dusk falls and when I see my blue bridge I know that I am back where I belong, by the river and its swans by the rowing club. The friendly people that say hello, the homely market and its curious mix of industrial history and havens for wildlife in the nature reserves that skirt the town.

Likewise with my home, the stairs to the loft room still give the pleasure of looking out across town, over rooftops and seeing the river in the distance as I first discovered on that very first impression I had. The garden which although at that time was sparse of plants, had the potential for being my piece of heaven and the little side passageway onto a row of cottages felt like a link to a tucked away backwater of people that would grow sweetpeas in summer and fetch your bin in for you. 

Even some imperfections can add to a first impression still remaining positive, they keep it real and I suppose I'm like that with people, too perfect and I'm suspicious but both good and bad feel like the real thing. So I'm glad that I rely on my first impressions and if you have a bad one, it can be so hard to change and remove those thoughts from your head. Something to remember as we go about our day-to-day business but back to my home and hence why you'll always find flowers adorning the front door and a dragon guarding the entrance :)

*Collaborative post

Late summer events in Cheshire

I live in Cheshire and it is such a great county with a variety of things to do over the rest of the summer. Here are my ideas for the Cheshire area.....

RHS Tatton Garden Show

Loads of glorious show gardens, floral marquees and Pimms. The ultimate posh Cheshire day out and a source of inspiration for gardeners. There's usually a big wheel laden with flowers and plenty of music and food. Take your little wheelie trolley to take home tons of plants in and gain some green fingered knowledge from the veggie growers and their displays of perfect carrots and lettuces. The community gardens, usually done by school are a favourite and it's fun to spot the scarecrows. 

Congleton Jazz and Blues Festival

August Bank holiday music and over 50 jazz bands in bear town. A free event and one that makes for a super musical pub crawl.

Rewind Festival

The ultimate 80's festival with a line up including Belinda Carlisle, Kim Wilde and T'Pau. August 4th to the 8th at Capesthorne Hall. I want to go badly for 80's is my thing, pop my wellies on, shorts, shirt, glitter on my face, cool hairpiece, flower crown and shades. There's lots of 80's dressing up too with day-glo and people dressed as 80's cartoon characters - a lot of fun.Themed bars and food, fairground rides and much singing. You can camp there or just go on a day pass. 

Just So Festival

The ultimate children's festival at Rode Hall. Creative, magical happenings of characters and stories.Singing, dancing, weird creatures, lanterns and stars. There are games to play and tent to camp in, the perfect family event in August. 18th to 20th August.

Knutsford Foodies Festival

A favourite of mine for sampling cheese and wine and coming home with bags full of delicious delights. Held at Tatton Park, 14th to 16th July. Try the chilli eating competition of relax in the vintage tea tent.

Live in the Park at Arley Hall

The nearest stately home to where I live and I'll be able to hear the fireworks going off that night of the 15th July in their grand finale of the annual picnic music event all for charity.  

Astle Park Traction Steam Rally

Steam engines, cars, motorbikes, a roaring event of stunts and feats with a fairground and camping on the weekend of 12th-13th August.

Creamfields

Coolest event in Cheshire. Too cool for me. August Bank Holiday weekend, much dancing, much drinking Ibiza style in Cheshire

*Collaborative post

Cheshire cheesy new potato pancakes

I'm thinking of springtime food now, light and fresh with vegetables and herbs, evening meals with perhaps a bit of light starting to creep in and slowly the winter disappearing. 

I was inspired by Tesco Cypriot New Potatoes to make a spring feeling dish. They are available in 750g or loose and will be available in Tesco stores until the end of March. With their earthy flavour I wanted to conjure a meal up that was reasonable quick and filling and thought of a pancake filling incorporating one of my local products, Cheshire cheese. 

Ingredients:
For the pancake

125g Plain Flour
2 medium eggs
350ml Semi-skimmed milk
1 tbsp of vegetable oil   

For the pancake filling:
Tesco Cypriot New Potatoes, about 500g chopped
1 medium white onion
1 tbsp vegetable oil
Sprinkle of paprika
1 tbsp plain flour
100g Cheshire cheese, 
100ml Semi-skimmed milk
200g Natural plain yoghurt
Spinach leaves, a handful
Chives and parsley garnish
Chilli flakes, just a sprinkle

Method:
Cut the new potatoes and boil until soft, around 20 minutes.
Fry the onion in the vegetable oil  and some paprika until golden.
Add a tablespoon of flour to create a thick pasty
Add the yoghurt and whisk, slowly adding the crumbly Cheshire cheese
Add the milk until sauce reaches a creamy consistency. 
Add the potatoes into the sauce and the spinach leaves too.

Make the pancakes by sieving the plain flour into a bowl and then make a well in the centre.
Add the two eggs and the milk, whisking into a batter.
Oil a frying pan and place a ladle full of the batter into the pan
Cook for a few minutes and of course practising flipping is necessary. 

To serve:
Place cheesy potato sauce onto the pancake and garnish with herbs and a sprinkle of chilli.

A delicious mid week dinner and we all love pancakes so there might have even been some sweet ones afterwards too. 

This is my entry into the Tesco and Foodies100 #CypriotNewPotatoes challenge.