It's early, the house is still sleeping. Under a few of our guest doors
a chink of daylight can be seen, their shutters must be open.
Perhaps they are snuggled under the duvet, sipping their first
morning cuppa, looking over the rolling fields or maybe they just
slept with the windows bare looking at the inky black star-studded
sky. No light pollution here.
I walk through the dew-covered walled garden, a warm wind blows
may be a distant hint of Autumn hanging in the air, the grass
is littered with crisp edged leaves and conkers.
My girls (our chickens) are glad to see me
as always. Clucking and fussing their way out of bed to see what
delights last night's scraps are. I collect the warm eggs for guests'
breakfast. On the way back to the house, I pick ripe figs from the
heavily ladened tree, another breakfast treat...
Ripe tomatoes as well, Chutney will be todays cook up.
Martin picked apples from the old orchard and we are making
crumbles and pies for deserts,
covered in thick cream or yellow custard. I picked the last of the
blackberries this weekend, jam and sauces for our ice creams
yummy. On my return to the kitchen I can hear water running
through the pipes, a sure sign someone is up? Bacon, eggs and all
the trimmings wait, anticipating full English, it's all ready to fill the
house with the tantalising smell of a cooked breakfast.
Another day starts at South House Retreat.