Ice-cream vans, samphire and mystery rocks

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 The first sign that summer is coming has always been the return of Gene. Gene collects the parking fees at the National Trust car park, just above the steps to the beach. Sometimes I never get as far as the steps because Gene has waylaid me. We talk about photography, insects, or both.  Last year he was photographing the scorpion fly. But this year there is no Gene. Peter, who has come back, tells me that Gene is visiting family in the States.

       There are other changes too. A pay and display machine for a start. Until now, Peter and Gene would stop each car, ask if the driver was a National Trust member, and collect the parking fee if not. Now  Peter and Alex (his new colleague) still stop each car but  direct drivers to the pay and display machine if they are not  members.

      However the biggest change is the replacement of the colourful ice cream van that has stood at the top of the steps every summer since I’ve been here. On Saturday a new van was sitting in the car park. It sells hot drinks and sandwiches, as well as ice cream, and has a very noisy generator. I could hear the generator from my vegetable plot. However on Sunday it wasn’t there. Peter explained that it had been too noisy and work needed doing to to make it quieter. I wonder how many people will swap their picnics and flasks for its offerings?   

(There should be a photo of the old van here as well but my photo filing system has let me down)

     It wasn’t the best time at Trefalen Farm for the generator to make itself heard. . Marcia has been suffering from a bad cough and sore throat for a week and Lawrence has been holding the fort himself, sitting alone in the farmhouse kitchen. I decided Marcia needed a little present, something to eat to tempt her appetite. So I scrambled over the cliff tops to collect some rock samphire and gave Lawrence strict instructions about how to cook it (just put in boiling water for a second then add some butter or oil).Marcia told me Lawrence served it beautifully, on a large white plate and it was delicious.  

     It was only the next morning, as I was searching in my River Cottage foraging book for more recipes for samphire, that I saw an explanation for its unusal taste . It comes from ‘a cocktail of aromatic chemicals, one of which is pinene.’ Pinene, the author goes on to explain, ‘is a major constituent of turpentine’. I’ve given the reference below if anyone wants to follow this up.

     And finally, a very different story, of magic and mystery. One of my favorite parts of the coast is the cove just beneath the campsite. It is reached by a steep, rocky path and then an awkward scramble over boulders until you reach the sand. So it is visited by few, even in high summer. Yesterday it was of course deserted. But something looked different .There was an oval stone, perhaps a foot high, balanced on one of the boulders in my path. I touched it very carefully and it crashed to the ground. Then, as I went further, I saw more, a semi circle of similar stones, all about a foot high, all oval, all balancing on the rocks between the cliff and the sea. I wonder  who put them there and how long they will stay?

Reference 

Wright,J .(2009).Edible Seashore. River Cottage Handbook no 5.

We didn't bring our sunhats

We are usually alone at Trefalen Cottage, just Chris and me. But sometimes we have visitors. The visitors we enjoy most of all are Gabriela and Silvia, our granddaughters. And last weekend was to be their first visit to Pemrokeshire since Christmas. The weather forecast was not encouraging; icy blasts from the north, strong cold winds, overnight frosts. But they came anyway, bags laden with winter jackets, woollen hats, wellington boots and gloves.  

     But of course the weather in this tiny corner of Pembrokeshire does not obey the weather forecasts. Saturday was warm and Sunday even warmer, especially between the rocks, out of the wind, on the far side of Broadhaven beach.

     This is one of our favourite parts of the beach  because we have so many places to paddle. There is the pool of water fed by the lily ponds, sometimes no more than a big puddle, sometimes a lake. There is the channel that joins the pool to the sea, sometimes a rushing torrent, sometimes a trickle and sometimes not there at all. And of course there is the sea itself, sometimes creeping up the beach, into the dry spaces between the rocks, sometimes hurling itself into the channel.

     And we did paddle. We also  built sandcastles, constructed  bridges across the stream and ate our picnic tea leaning back against the warm rocks. The bag of warm jackets , gloves and hats lay on the beach beside us, ignored. All that Gabi and Silvi needed were their improvised sunhats

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