St George’s Day

Oh don’t worry this isn’t going to be a nationalist rant. No “God for Harry” here There are plenty of others in Britain’s glorious multiculture who I can leave that to. I mean to say! “In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility” thats where I stop.
Its just that St Georges day does mark one of the focus points in my year. It’s the day (yesterday incidentally) when I hop over the wall in to the field and start the serious business of hunting for mushrooms. People in Britain have somehow learned to unlearn quite how good these are.
The cheeky little fellows that you see sitting at the top of this page are called ‘St Georges Mushroom’ and they nearly always appear in the last week of April. They smell wonderful, conjuring up for me all kinds of happy memories, reminders of other walks and the taste of time of year. With just a little light preparation they lend a lovely nutty mushroomy taste to whatever you care to add them to. In fact I like them so much that the small sweet and tender ones may not actually make it in to the bag, I eat them like little snacks. Their firm fragrance a much better bet than the far poorer things that lurk near aisle 13 in our local supermarket.
Along with this, the week will most certainly mark the return of the cuckoo to my evening garden dreamtime.
There is still snow on the mountains but I can now sit out in shorts (steady on ladies) in the warm evening sun.
This week, more than any other of the year, marks the passage from winter to summer for me.