Mellow fruitfulness and all that

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I recently re-read Keats ‘to Autumn’ and no matter how many biscuit tins it now graces, the poetry is no less beautiful and seems so particularly true this year. Ian and I have often been out walking in these golden, still September days, as we explore and settle into our new home at Dartington. After the open spaces of Dartmoor, the landscape here seems so, I’m afraid to say, mellow and fruitful!

A Dartington quince

Now that I no longer spend hours in the car every day, I have time to contemplate not only murderous rage but also more creative activities such as photography… and jelly making. A walk yesterday in the ever magnificent Dartington gardens provided a guiltily scrumped quince to add to those gathered from a friend’s garden and our very own apples. So guests at our Autumn celebration next week will be the unwitting test subjects for Sam’s quince and apple jelly. Ian was less enthusiastic as I set about harvesting puff balls from the playing fields ready for a ‘lovely mushroom soup’ this evening. He’s just told me that he’s actually planning on giving his stomach a rest this evening and giving supper a miss…

Hobbit house with handy mulberry tree

Meanwhile we continue to search for a more permanent home. I quite fancy this one in Dartington gardens which, while being rather small, does have the great advantage of a mulberry tree just outside the door. Here we discovered that it’s impossible to discreetly scrump mulberries as the dark red juice runs down your arms while you quietly reach up to pick the ripest fruit, leaving you to then walk in for a drink at the White Hart looking like a mad axe murderer. Black mulberries, such as this one, were apparently mistakenly introduced to England by James I as food for his plan to boost the economy through silk production. Sadly the silkworms prefer eating white mulberry leaves, but it did leave us with beautiful, old trees such as this one (and badly stained arms).

Also in Dartington, we discovered a medlar tree. I remember renting a house with an unusual friend at Uni who used his bedroom floor for ‘bletting’ medlars. The pungent aroma of over ripened fruit pervaded the first floor, but we did then get to avoid scurvy throughout a poverty struck winter by living on a steady diet of porridge and medlar conserve. No one has fully grasped the true meaning of ‘mellow fruitfulness’ until they have lived next door to a room of rotting medlars….happy times!