Roberta Marshall lives in the beautiful city of Durham in…
All that strange silent spring last year I smelt wild garlic. It grew under the trees and perfumed my garden with its pungency. It spread on the wooded riverbanks where I went for my daily walk. I breathed its savoury scent as I dodged other walkers and their dogs on the shady paths, it even came in my weekly vegetable box as a special treat from the growers in these difficult times.
We had not bothered with foraging it from the garden before but now we gathered long dark green leaves and small white flowers from the damp earth and stared at the abundance. I looked up recipes and advice on the internet and busied myself in the kitchen. I followed the instructions carefully to make wild garlic and cheese scones. I remembered from school cookery classes to rub the butter into the flour with cool fingertips. I mixed the ingredients for the dough together with a wooden spoon then by hand feeling the soft dough shape beneath my sticky fingers. I dug out a rolling pin and a long forgotten scone cutter from the back of a cupboard. I floured my rolling pin before flattening the scone mixture and cutting out round shapes for baking. While I worked I listened to a music station on the radio, clicking it off when the news came on.
The recipe was generous. I took scones to two neighbours, first an awkward passing over the fence and then another distanced doorstep delivery with a little news exchanged. In return I received a jar of home made jam from one neighbour and from the other a paper packet of plain flour thoughtfully wrapped in a clear plastic bag. Afterwards I walked slowly back down the path to my house. Once inside I took several deep breaths. while looking out of the kitchen window before I cleared up.
In every year by the early summer the wild garlic and its smell has had its season and fades away.
This spring when I smelt the wild garlic a whole 12 months had passed since our lives had changed so much. We were heading back to some sort of normal that did not feel very normal at all.
I switched on my iPad and started to search through my saved wild garlic recipes.
Roberta Marshall lives in the beautiful city of Durham in the north of England, UK. She finds inspiration for her writing walking around the riverbanks and visiting the historic cathedral. She takes pleasure in reading poetry about nature, with Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry having particular resonance. She also likes reading concise tightly written work, such as the novels of Muriel Spark, and quirky books such as "Snow and the Works on the Northern Line" by Ruth Thomas. She enjoys working on shorter fiction, creative non-fiction and dabbles with poetry on a good day.