Tilly and I have just walked back from a spot just south of North Berwick. Mr Gaucho dropped us off and we had a wonderful wander home. We didn't see a soul, just enjoyed the soundtrack of the wind, and the song and calls of birds - great tits, skylarks, peewits, curlew, seagulls blown inland from the nearby coastline, and the constant chattering of chaffinches and co.
I can remember my mother recounting the country saying that a young man can only kiss a girl when the gorse is in flower. But he's always in luck! There is rarely a time when there isn't a little bit of gorse blooming somewhere. At the moment it is full blown and gorgeous.
We passed this lovely bank of honesty, glowing pure white in the shadow of the overhanging tree. I've made a mental note to go back in the autumn and harvest some seeds from those decorative, papery round seedheads.
In complete contrast to the romantic billow of white honesty, much of the landscape at the moment shows evidence of having been controlled by GPS as the new crops have been sown!
One part of me enjoys the clean lines which create a kind of design, but it is a bit soulless. I very much prefer the rolling countryside which lies beyond.
At Easter time, when I was about eight or nine, we cooked up some gorse flowers, and then boiled some eggs in the water. The shells turned bright yellow! Then we drew all over them with coloured crayons!
Walking towards this gorse bush, I received a waft of spicy coconut from the mass of golden yellow flowers. Delicious!
I love the smell of gorse which we have lots of down here in Cornwall. I always tell the kids that it smells of coconut ice-cream! x
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