Synchronous senescence. These words have been stuck in my head since my final year at school- I always thought they had no place in a Biology lesson. Instead, as a fine example of alliteration, they should have been found nestled in the middle of a Robert Frost poem. They describe the turning of leaves in Autumn: the carpet of golden yellow and burnt orange that is now only a matter of weeks away.
I always associate this time of year with being sent 'up the back field' to pick spuds. These, combined with the carrots, turnips and cabbages straight from the field, would be crafted into the most delicious soups by my mother. Sitting around the table in the kitchen, a fire roaring in the stove and the windows veiled in steam, you were never so glad of a hot bowl of soup.
|Minestrone with Cheese and Tomato Focaccia Bread|