I’m at a loss.
It has rained, it is raining, it will rain.
We get 40% more precip than London, which is saying something. After years in this country I fully understand why people talk endlessly about the weather.
Decades ago my father (I don’t think my mother came along) took me and a friend strawberry picking in a field on Long Island. Lines of strawberry plants in sandy soil as far as the eye could see. Hot day, lots of picking and eating. The smell.
I took my son strawberry picking (plus raspberries and a variety of veg) at a pick-your-own place in Edmonton when we lived in northwest London.
Seriously, my brain is frizzing. The rain isn’t due to stop for another five days and it’s not clear whether we’ll be able to travel outside of the UK this year (well, there’s the Falkland Islands …). My choice in this country would be Norfolk (lavender fields, seafood and incredible beaches [check out the end of Shakespeare in Love for Holkam – I’ve been there; it’s astonishing – the pic of Gwinnie doesn’t do it justice – you walk on sand, climb over some dunes, and you’re on sand flats that go on and on and on during low tide).
But, it’s a six-hour drive from here (which means it would be a six hour drive back, pretty much negating the five days away). Where I live is going to be very busy from June through August. The roads aren’t great here and the people who come on hols cause a lot of accidents. I’m seriously thinking of taking us to London for five days. The dog can hang with friends who do dog care for a living (meaning I trust them to take good care of him). Maybe an Airbnb given most from London will be here. Good food and walking aimlessly.
What I really want is the beach and those summer smells.
Hot fried food. The onion rings from the shack on Hampton Beach in New Hampshire where my parents lived for years. Very hot summers, freezing cold Atlantic. Run in, run out having turned blue, bake yourself on sand. Do it again. I worked one summer at McDonald’s. The late shift (6 pm-1 am). My mother and I would go to the beach mid-afternoon. It made work bearable.
Berries and veg baking in the sun. Going to the pick-your-own place in north London. Strawberries, raspberries, squash, beans. Hot sandy soil. The smell of ripe fruit. Getting freshly bake scones from the farm shop. Sitting at picnic table after the picking eating a modified cream tea.
Horses. Even though I don’t ride here (I might start again after a lifetime) a lot of people keep horses. Not rich people. Normal people with normal jobs who decades ago bought a field (which would now cost the earth) and keep a couple of horses. If you walk through the village a few miles south (which the dog and I did yesterday) there are always people riding . Everyone knows to stop their car and wait till the riders and mounts have passed by. When it’s hot the world smells of horse, manure, hay and leather tack. Given the village is uphill from the estuary and two miles from the ocean, add in salt air.
It’s pouring again. Just pounding down. I took a pic but it doesn’t do the water justice.
Please tell me some wonderful hot weather stories with associated smells.