Another Day, Another Jam

IMG_0765Another dodgy start to the day.   A car crash meant my route had been blocked not far from my destination, necessitating a U-turn and finding an alternative route.  Although this was the back road I was not alone in my plight and a large queue was quickly forming.  All however was well-tempered.  A kindly man rolled down his window and said “We had better go through Shirwell, follow me”.  I’ve never been to Shirwell so I thought why not, something to add to the travel section of my CV.  A rather nifty three-point turn later and I was following a soft top Audi up and down lanes perhaps more suited to quad bikes.  With those in front and those behind we formed an undulating snake hoping not to meet someone attempting the reverse journey.  With just enough room for my little car, 2m Devon banks tight on either side, it was like driving down a drainpipe.  There were a few ominous pauses, at which point I was amused by The Boomtown Rats playing “Rat Trap” on the radio.  After 20 minutes we were back on a mainish road with such modern accoutrements as white lines and lanes, always a bonus in my book.   To put your mind at rest, the driver of the turned car was not seriously hurt.

Later at Lionel and Lavinia’s all was much calmer and definitely more beautiful.  Mauve gladioli, repeat flowering azaleas, shining japanese anemones and most striking, this vibrant lobelia enjoying the welcome sun.

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Funny Old Day

IMG_0741It was a funny old day from the start.  Not something I could put my finger on, or attempt to explain, but somehow it felt misaligned.

It began by waking a little later than was planned.  The upshot was I didn’t have the benefit of a slow and gentle adjustment from dreamland to what I occasionally call reality.  After a manic rush I was again on schedule, albeit with the prospect of cheese and jam sandwiches for lunch and my pants on my head.  Off to work.

As I approaching The Farm a rabbit ran into the Triangle Bed (my pride and joy) causing me to slam on the brakes and leap out to chase the little beggar out.  At which point I discovered that Bunnyfluffytail and his equally cute extended family had been having a feeding frenzy since I was last in town.  Later I found a dead frog which had obviously been foolish enough to get in the way of their voracious orgy of destruction.   Now I was softly growling (the most scary type), pants were still on my head, and I had developed an alarming twitch.

Calmed somewhat by a cup of caffeine, and pant malfunction kindly pointed out by Mrs G, I was given the Farm update.  This included the sad news that Mrs Duck, who had been doing so well to protect her young, had lost every one of them in the last couple of days.  We suspect a mink.  Grrrrrr!

So boldly out into the fray.  Whoever suggested that we would have showers today should go and look up the meaning of the word.  “A torrential and persistent deluge” would have been a more accurate description.  The soil was cloying and looked sickly, making any attempt to work it both a battle of conscience and deeply unpleasant experience.  Grrrrrrr!  Still some progress was made and although I felt a little guilty leaving the vulnerable (and tasty) plants to their fate, in between “showers” I had managed to dose them with anti-bunny spray.

Homeward bound I was amazed to find myself in some kind of, even now it is hard to believe, “traffic jam”.  This was a blast from my city past.  Then I remembered, it is Carnival night and the whole of North Devon were heading in the same direction as me.  Grrrrrrrr!  Luckily they weren’t actually going to my house.  I couldn’t have coped with that, not all of them, not after the day I have had.

Redistribution of the Wealth

IMG_0648It the time of year when gardeners begin to eye up seed harvesting potential.  Of course this involves our own gardens but also includes the plots of our friends and neighbours, and sometimes perfect strangers.  Ever vigilant, ever watchful, we earmark the prey and use all our wiles to win the bounty.  We slip into conversation how much we love the plant in question, we wonder aloud how easy it is to propagate and sometimes we ask directly for a contribution, perhaps promising some of our produce in return.  This weekend I have returned from the Midlands with a small bag of french marigold seed, a compact and floriferous little gem that caught my eye and my imagination.  Redistribution of the flower wealth is all well and good, the trouble lies after the chase, when we have gained the prize.  This is our downfall, the weak link in the chain.  It would seem a little presumptuous to travel with seed packets and a marker pen so we have to make do with what is on offer to store the seed.  “Don’t worry” we say “I will remember what they are and deal with them as soon as I get home”.   It may surprise you to discover that my life isn’t that organised, I have given up hope that it will ever be, so this rarely happens.  Thrusting a chilly hand into a pocket I invariably come across some unidentified pod floating about.  Looking for a hanky to mop my fevered brow, secreted black pearls will scatter on the hushed museum floor.  When searching through my handbag for smelling salts I make the sticky discovery of a napkin squashed with over ripe berries.  Rarely do I have a clue as to where, how, or why they are there.  Sometimes I sow them anyway, sometimes it is a missed opportunity.  This cartoon shiner of a hollyhock is on my acquisition list, I will definitely remember this one.

Rain Didn’t Stop Play

IMG_0686Just as the Inuit language contains 50 different words for snow *, in North Devon we have a similar amount for rain in all its incarnations.  Today it mizzled, drizzled, thought about raining, poured down, threatened, spat, spotted, dripped and tipped.  Still at the Farm we worked through most of the day, clutching onto the charlatan weather forecaster’s promise of intermittent showers.  By the end of the day I was soaked through sturdy waterproofs all the way to my liberty bodice.  Whilst dashing from thundercloud to thundercloud, this Rudbeckia “Irish Eyes” was glowing in the gloom, supported and supporting the Cerinthe major.  A rather nice pairing, I thought.

*It appears that this much bandied fact is thought by many to be at best apocryphal, at worst a hoax.  Some however are adamant this statement is true.  The “many” and the “some” are academics, professors of linguistics and the like, you would think that between themselves they could work it out.  Anyway, as I was just using it as a handy way to illustrate that it rains a lot in North Devon, and I don’t (unfortunately) know any Inuits, I cannot confirm this either way.  It may have been better just to have said “it rains a lot here”.  It rains a lot here.

Rain Stopped Play (again)

IMG_0655After yesterday’s wall to wall sunshine today was the flip side of the coin, floor to ceiling rain.  Unfortunately this meant I had to cancel my visit to Max’s, disappointing as we are only just getting to know one another.  He had bravely been out for his constitutional and luckily agreed that it was a little soggy today for digging in the soil.  So it was a day confined to barracks.  Soup was made, a writing project completed and the chores list is now a little shorter; prevarication was also indulged.  This beautiful grass, Hordeum jubatum or squirrel tail, was yesterday shamelessly waving its silver pink tassels in the balmy breeze.  Today I am guessing it will be looking a little more like a water rat!