Flower, bee, pollen.
Flower, bee, pollen.
This installation has appeared at The Mantles. I thought it best not to ask.
I’ve started back to work. Not for all of my clients, just those who feel they are ready, and of course where it is safe to do so. On Monday I returned to The Mantles. They have done me proud. It seems that they have been listening after all. Weeded, mulched, dead-headed, the greenhouse full of rows of carefully tended seedlings. Have I built-in my own obsolesence, I wonder?
We are all learning how to make things work for us and at the same time keep everybody safe and happy.
Luckily we are well versed in such things at the Mantle Mansion. This is how Lord Mantle always serves me my coffee.
A very enjoyable day at The Mantle’s. Apple tree and rose pruning. Spanish bluebell extraction (and to think we got rid of every single one last year). Cheese on toast and slab cake. Omphalodes and hellebores. Magic waterproofs that worked once more. Waterlilies and a truck load of frog spawn that you can just about make out in my murky photograph.
Too soon? Are all those fidgeting bullseyes doomed?
As I may have already mentioned, I am not a keen driver. I do it because I have to. I don’t dread the more familiar domestic journeys, but longer excursions are not so welcome. Needs must. We all have our crosses to bear, and to be honest there are much heavier loads.
However, there are days when it seems less of a chore. Today was one. Today I drove to The Mantle’s estate. Quite often on this particular journey, one that takes me from town to the edge of Exmoor, I imagine experiencing it for the first time. In my head I commentate as I travel along the way, pointing out highlights. The views of bracken hills, the flowering gorse, the fast running ford, glimpses of sea, the beech hedges and winding roads which lead to narrowing lanes. A close encounter of the buzzard kind, road running blackbirds and the memory of snowdrops that are yet to come.
On the estate Peggy the cockerlab or poobrador or something like that, was in residence, more teddy bear than canine. Over coffee The Mantles and myself chatted about yogic ear plugs. We had homemade bread and toasted cheese for lunch and mince pies for pudding. Oh, and we did some gardening.
On the way home I startled a flock of goldfinches, glinting as they flitted away.
Lord Mantle: I like Francis Bacon.
Me: Oh I don’t, he gives me the eebeegeebys. If I was to write a critique of his work, or even a thesis entitled The Artistic Merits of Francis Bacon, that would be exactly what I would say, “he gives me the eebeegeebys”. Except I am not sure how to spell it.
Lord Mantle: E E B E E G E E B E E ‘ S
Lady Mantle and Myself in unison: There is no apostrophe!
Lord Mantle: Yes there is, by golly!
Lady Mantle replied alone. This could quite easily escalate into one of their marital ding dongs which general end in a very messy cow pat flinging shoot-out. For this reason, and not wanting to get between them if such a thing should happen, I thought it sensible to hold stum: Definitely not, it doesn’t have anything belonging to it so consequently it doesn’t need one.
Me, before Lord Mantle could reply, trying to divert attention from the dangerous apostrophe: I wonder if it ends in Y.
Lord Mantle who is easily sidetracked: Yes, Y ‘ S that would work
Me, unconvinced and cowardly: Perhaps ……….
Lady Mantle takes deep breath and starts making strange whimpering noises whilst pawing the ground.
Me: Shall we do some work now?
Post event note: According to the Collins English Dictionary the word is spelt heebie-jeebies, and means a state of nervousness or jitters. It was first used by the American cartoonist W. B. De Beck (1890-1942) in his comic strip Barney Google.
We weren’t even close. But there is definitely no apostrophe.
Today Lord and Lady Mantle were called away on top secret business, possibly something to do with road testing custard slices, but I can’t be certain. I was left to my own devices. Dangerous you might think. And I wouldn’t blame you.
By nature I am a flitter, jumping from one task to another and back again. This doesn’t work well when you are working with other more methodical folk. Being home alone meant I could dance around to my heart’s delight. Two days of dry weather gave perfect seed collecting weather, if you discount the gale force wind. I trimmed back the black elder and tree peony, allowing plenty of space for the soon to be on site Men with Machines who are going to trim/butcher the leylandii. Pots of pelargoniums and dahlias were moved to the greenhouse, I dug up the black zantedeschia and chocolate cosmos to keep them company. Weeds were ousted and prize winning compost incorporated.
They returned just in time for His Lordship to make me a quail toastie and pour me a pint of claret for lunch. No one mentioned custard slices. Mum’s the word.
Although there is still much colour in the garden, gazanias, alonsoa and osteospermums, I loved the muted, stone-washed tones of this lace-cap hydrangea.
“Quick, quick, come and see this!” Lady Mantle called out frantically.
His Lordship and myself dropped our croquet mallets and ran at full pelt towards her plaintive calls.
“Is it a newt?” I asked
What other exotic creature could be lurking in the flower bed? A boomslang, an axolotl, a New Zealand flatworm?
Panting after our exertion, having run a full 10m without a pit stop, we demanded:
“What have you found that is so exciting we had to drop everything and rush to your side?”
“A really big worm”
Lord Mantle looked at me. I looked at him. We sighed in unison and walked away muttering “a worm” and “not even a very big one”.
As we retreated we could hear Her Ladyship exclaiming:
“Look! It’s as big as a snake, enormous, come back!”
Attention seeking again. When will we learn?
There is no photo of the “enormous” worm. I hope you aren’t disappointed. Instead you have a picture of a canna seedpod, just ready to drop its contents to the ground.
I’ve been a bit dippy lately. Dippier than normal.
Last Saturday I mislaid my house keys. I had been embarrassingly (to OH anyway) counting out a tonne of small change in a local cafe and forgot put them back in my purse. Luckily we were reunited without too much stress.
In the week I forgot my steel toe caps and had to struggle through the day wearing inadequate holey pumps. This was not quite as traumatic as wearing my slippers to school, but almost.
Today I forgot my bag. I noticed that the passenger seat was spookily empty approximately 5 minutes before reaching Lord and Lady Mantle’s estate. This oversight meant I had no money, no phone, no diary, no packets of seed, no multi-tool, no teabags, no stationary kit, no paper bags, no spare pair of socks, no camera, no coffee granules, no mini first aid kit, no anti-histamines, no emergency humbugs, no manky tissues, no ear phones which would have been useless without the phone anyway, no penknife, no notebook, no pen, no other pen, no pencil. Most importantly, with the prospect of imminent disaster, I had no glasses. Luckily Lady Mantle and myself wear the same size so she leant me her diamond encrusted spare pair.
I must concentrate harder.
Travels of : ँ : a Yogin
Writing lifts me up.
Adventurer. Hiker. Advocate.
Gardening, nature and country walking
Still learning after all these years.....