Spring mustard blazes on the estate of the future winery where my husband will come to call home in the years to come. The rolling hills of the South Downs fold into the Cuckmere River, snaking its way out to sea. Who wouldn’t mind going to work every day with views like these?
Salty air dances in the mustard’s peppery breeze, rooted in a thin topsoil over chalky downs. Now, how’s that for a special terroir? OK, OK, poetry sometimes gets the best of me…but no one can argue the uncompromising ambiance.
Southeast England is so incredibly green and pretty despite this so-called “drought” everyone’s talking about. Coming here from California, it’s all relative, I suppose. But reservoirs are indeed running lower than is usual for these parts so, dare I say it, bring on the spring showers. After all, irrigation infrastructure is virtually non-existent here (although rainwater catchment is popular); we are witting recipients of whatever Mother Nature offers, expansive views and all.