Sunday last, I spent the afternoon taking photos of a celebration. It was Raff's 21st birthday. Raff's Mum, my good mate - Corinne - organised this lovely get together in picturesque, Grantchester Meadows. I could say that this meadow and the surrounding area is steeped in history, but what inch of England isn't ?!
I lunched and drank champagne and very possibly walked on the very same bit of earth that was trod on by Virginia Woolf, Rupert Brooke, Sylvia Plath, Lytton Strachey and E M Forester and so many other notables. I love the Bloomsbury group and have devoured many a book about their lives, loves and indiscretions. They were, quite the people in their day.
This is the path that leads down to the meadow.
Right next to where we planned to set up the buffet table, I noticed this beautiful old tree full of character and sprouting this splendid growth of bright, yellow fungi - high up on the trunk. It looked grand indeed with all the bikes parked against it.
Sadly, it was a victim of someone's heinous act - they had sliced one of the fungi growth clean off the trunk.
I think if this tree could talk - it would say "I'm never lonely!"
I should tell you, that two summers ago I was served a glass of Pimm's over ice. Sickly sweet - I hated it ! But this Sunday, I was in for a totally new way of drinking Pimm's. I thought it was just a sissy's drink. I was about to learn the power of Pimm's. I had just three little servings and it about laid me out under that fungi tree.
The secret ingredients: orange, strawberry, blueberry, lemon, cucumber and the secret weapon - mint leaf.
Mix with fizzy lemonade and viola' - I wonder if the Bloomsbury crowd imbibed on this cocktail ? Could this be the reason why they were always skinny dipping in the River Cam ?
I spied these little two little madams in their Sunday go-a-walking frocks. I was a bit cross-eyed by now.
Because I had some liquid courage by now, I sauntered on over the meadow to investigate what this man was painting. He agreed to letting me take his photo - under conditions that I not show his face. Don't worry Michael, your identity is safe with me.
I love the ancient trees that grow in England. When I first lived on this island, I dreamt of the legendary Tree Man. A mystical, magical dream of a man whose arms morph into branches and whose feet petrify into a tree trunk. He looked like a wild man, with long, thick, black, uncombed hair and fierce eyes. He was surrounded by mist and creatures of the forest. When he spoke it was thunderous and made my heart beat like crazy. It was a powerful dream and now, whenever I look at a tree, I think of him. I wonder if I were to put my ear to the trunk - would he speak to me ?
The guests were arriving now - young, beautiful and spirited - twenty strong.
He's like a young Fabio ! Yummy !! They never made them like this when I was in school.
I ate almost an entire serving of this desert and then found out there was cream in it. I'm allergic to dairy.
I was having a great time and then THEY showed up ! A clump of cloned cows.
He's licking his lips - I think he wanted some birthday cake.
And what a cake it was ! Just so you know - I did not model for the frosting decorations.
The Birthday Girl.
I'm closing with a stanza by Rupert Brooke, because he said it so beautifully -
"Ah God ! To see the branches stir
Across the moon at Grantchester !
To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten
Unforgettable, unforgotten
River-smell, and hear the breeze
Sobbing in the little trees.
Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand
Still guardians of that holy land ?"
Thanks for reading Prairie !
