Flower Press

When I was little, I used to enjoy flower-pressing with my mum. We didn't do it very often, but it felt quite special when we did. I have the press we used, and was pleased to be reminded that it still has flower in it, from the house I grew up in, a fuscia. The fuscia was huge and separated our lawn from the rocks and mud at the very back, with a tall stone wall that backed on to the railway. It was a great little space where we could dig things up without disturbing any plants. I remember excitedly excavating a Victorian washing line pole from the ground, sieving soil for hours, and hanging off the great big sycamore that stretched above us.

The Bug and the Bear enjoyed cutting the flowers, and clamping down the press. One of the flowers was a dwarf double-headed daffodil, they remind my dad of his own dad, who took growing paper whites for Christmas very seriously!