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Scrumping

>> Saturday, August 1, 2009 –  , ,

to scrump (third-person singular simple present scrumps, present participle scrumping, simple past and past participle scrumped)

(UK) IPA: /ˈskɹʌmp/ SAMPA: /"skrVmp/

U.K. steal fruit: to steal fruit, especially apples, from a garden or orchard (informal)


(According to Urban Dictionary there's also a dirty meaning that I never knew about, but let's just ignore that.)

Acting on a tip off from the neighbour's kids, I found a plum tree. Their youngest said to me "I've eaten so many plums this morning that I feel ill!"
We covertly swapped information, I know about some wild blackberries and an allotment that has a huge peach tree overhanging the fence. The blackberries aren't ripe yet, I'll have to go back and collect some when they are. I'm going to make some blackberry jam. The peaches looked ripe and they're just waiting to be made into a Peach Crisp with Maple Cream Sauce. The plums will also be made into jam.

There are lots of Elderberries too, good for elderberry wine. Earlier next year I'll have to catch them in flower and make some Elderflower Cordial. We are going to be swimming in fruit products, how awesome!

There's a photo version of this post on the photoblog. I'm going to be using this cute image link I made at the bottom of posts that are linked to my photoblog from now on.


Photo Narrative

>>  Posted by satakieli at 9:59 AM |   |  send email  | 

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I am a 24 year old British stay at home mother to a two year old boy. Married to a U.S. soldier and currently living in Germany.

I have seen the Vatican from the very top of St Peter's Basilica, the mud in the World War I trenches outside Ypres. I have walked through Montmartre side streets bustling with people in the evening, gotten lost in the streets of Greenwich Village NYC, run through cornfields on the Welsh border and sat outside with a cup of tea watching fireflies in the fields of the outer Chicago suburbs.

I have held the hands of others through addiction, fear, suicide, despair and come out the other side. I have left everything behind to begin anew.
I have fought mental illness and walked through snow in the mountains of the lake district, England. I have explored the morgue in the bowels of an abandoned hospital on a summer evening, climbed to the top of scaffolding on the outside of a five floor warehouse to look at the city lights of Nottingham at night and I have watched the sun setting on the Texas horizon.

I have held my son's tiny hand through the plastic window on an isolette in the NICU ward. Walked, speaking only in whispers, through the catacombs beneath the ground on the outskirts of Rome and seen the fireworks over Heidelberg castle.

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