September walk at Cogges

I love Cogges, I feel at home there. Maybe in my past life I was a dairy maid there, a cook or a nanny. The walled garden fills me with a feeling of serenity. And my children love visiting it. Eddie keeps asking us to go to visit the piggies and Sasha is craving the adrenalin-packed ride on a zip wire.

The forecast was good (at least, it wasn't supposed to rain, according to the forecast I receive by email every morning but of course, I should really learn not to trust it). It was a tad windy, but sunny, and we decided to walk to Cogges. As soon as we sat to enjoy a cup of latte with a slice of cake, it started to drizzle. But who's afraid of a light drizzle? It was almost 12am, and as the Brits tend to have lunch very early, the cafe was getting busier and busier, and it was time for us to explore the grounds.

First stop: feed the piggies (you can buy small cups of feed at the entrance).
Adorable piggies, Peppa and George, are happy little munchkins. It was drizzling, and slightly grumpy George wasn't very keen to get out. Peppa braved the elements.

Kitchen at Cogges is my favourite room of all. It is spacious and welcoming.

And the beautiful display of china never leaves me indifferent.

Alas, there wasn't anyone cooking lovely little Welsh cakes this Sunday.

From the kitchen we wandered slowly through the garden, with its pretty squashes, courgettes and kale.

Cheeky Eddie jumped on the swing and grinned.

Sasha was delighted that he was the only one on the zip wire, and there was no queue. He was riding to his heart's content.

We also had a short walk around the fields with the sheep. My little man commented "Sheep always poop", well, you can't say it's not true. Sasha was in a thoughtful mood.

My friend Lana George edited the photo, and it acquired a timeless vintage look.

I even managed to convince my other half to have our photo taken, and snapped our selfie.

The open season at Cogges runs until 3rd November, I do hope we'll be there before long.

As we were playing with children, I kept admiring the beautiful rowan tree on the other side of the wall, in the church cemetery. Two neighbours, two opposites - a forever silent cemetery and a busy noisy playground.
Rowan tree is a symbol of Russia to me. Its scarlet droplets of colour and bitter-tart taste bring to mind the most poignant poem by another Russian expat and one of the greatest Russian poets, Marina Tsvetaeva:

Each house, each shrine is strange to me,
All is the same, and all is one.
But if along the road I see
A bush, especially a rowan...

(May 1934, translated by David McDuff)