Dear Readers,
The enjoyment of baking a christmas cake is more engrained in me than the delight of eating the cake itself. I love this early preparation for a time of celebration deep in winter. Seeing the dried fruit on sale at the end of supermarket aisles has brought the urge to make the cake.
It has also reminded me of a poem I wrote that uses part of this baking ritual – the moment when the fruit, which has been soaked overnight in lemon juice and whiskey, is added to the mixture. I hope that you enjoy it – the poem I mean – sadly - I cannot share the cake!
Le Grá,
Frances
Working Together
To the creamed bowl, all ready,
comes the fall of plump fruit.
How gingerly you sink
the wooden spoon, cupping
the fruit and turning it
into the cream, scooping
and working it in.
Then the real work begins.
You find your stride
and with ready strength,
you turn and turn.
We are at that easy speed -
synergy, where all is flexible.
Like the ship,
having turned in the harbour,
in that careful way of something
tremendous in a shallow space,
now happily is at sea,
its great churning engines
milling the ocean.
I love this Fran, so relatable! x
Thank you Sheila. 😊