It was a particularly long day in the kitchen, yesterday. In addition to my usual bits, I also made a dozen quiches.
I make these only occasionally: they are usually the realm of my market pal, Janet, but this week she's away taking a well-earned break. I don't try to replicate hers - I couldn't. I do know, though, that there is at least one local who depends on being able to get his Saturday lunch from her. And so he did. Sadly, his days in the village are numbered. After 30 years, he and his wife are moving to Cape Town. Closer to family and for care for her as she has dementia. It's taking their toll - the move and her dementia.
On the upside, things are beginning to, well, spring.
The tarragon is springing fresh leaves: I can't wait. It's looking really healthy and hopefully I'll have enough to infuse vinegar and to dry for next winter, and especially for that French onion soup folk so enjoy.
I can't wait for the jasmine to burst into bloom so that I can fill the house with their scent.
Although the day was warm, the night was clear (and cold). The scuddy clouds made a pretty picture with the full moon.
Rambo doesn't like cold. Nor does he like being covered up. He does, however, take a long time to emerge from under the mohair when it's cold. And there's more - possibly snowy - cold arriving tonight. We've had no snow or frost this year. We need both. As much as I hate it/them - the cold, wind, snow, frost...
Until next time, be well
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:
@artywink
@hive.blog and Canva.