South House Retreat

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.