Focus

The little camera I use for work focuses itself.  Actually my big posh camera does as well but at least I have the option to switch to manual.   Sometimes self focusing is good, sometimes not.  On reflection often it is not, occasionally it is good.  This photo, taken at The Farm on Thursday, got me thinking.  I know, dangerous territory, it happens from time to time.  Although not text book photography, I like the fact that the centre is blurred and the sides sharper.  Instead of concentrating on the centre of the picture your gaze is drawn around the whole shot, taking in all the colours, forms, light and dark.  A fluke, but one I am happy about.

Yesterday was my birthday.  I love birthdays, not just mine, others’ also.  People who say “Oh, I don’t bother now” or “what is the point at my age?” I say boo sucks to.  For the fortunate, including myself, it is a day to be treated and remembered and when love is explicit .  It is hardly indulgent, to be a little bit special on one day out of 365.  Embrace it, I say.  And return the favour.  We all deserve to be the centre of attention one day a year.  To be just a little bit more in focus.

Good Contacts

Fennel

What better way to pass a free morning than spending it repeatedly poking yourself in the eye for a few hours?  Yes, I have been trying out contact lenses.  What fun!

I have been finding wearing glasses whilst working very tricky.  It is gradually descending from mildly irritating to downright tedious.  I don’t need to wear specs all the time (yet) but can’t read a word without them.  This translates in gardening terms to “spot weeds”, “find pests”, “read plant labels”. As anyone who has tried to walk about wearing reading glasses will know, this veers from comical to dangerous. So my specs go on for close up work and then off again to visit the compost bin.  When not in use they sit on the top of my head where they get caught up in my hair which necessitates an inelegant and often painful removal when I need them next.

Only last week the pound shop glasses Farmer Tony generous donated to me, when I had forgotten mine and was squinting like Mr Magoo, fell off the top of my head at which point I promptly stepped backwards  and crunched them.   Tricky.

There has to be a better solution.

So when at a recent eye test they suggested contact lens, I thought, “why not give it a go?”  They also mentioned the words “free trial”.  Even better.  I am not naturally squeamish.  I love watching a good operation on the TV, but when it comes to the eyes being treated I can be found hiding behind the sofa looking for lost crisps.  I am definitely eye squeamish.

Still I was game.  Faint heart never won good eyesight.  This morning was my initial appointment. All was well until I had to put them in.  “What I have to do it myself?”  Eventually I managed it, after much pushing and prodding and stretching and thoughts of “beam me up Scottie”.   My tutor was a saint.  And the result was great.  No irritation, just much better eyesight, it was truly amazing.  All was well.  We had this cracked.  Then I had to take them out.  Or not, as the case might be.  After an age trying, with eyes red and sore, I admitted defeat.

My humiliation culminated in an ethereal optician putting me in a headlock and removing the offending lenses.

But I’m not giving up.  Yet.

Flying Ants

Ants

I was at Max’s again yesterday, and on one of my forays to the top of the garden I checked the black plastic compost bin which we lovingly refer to as the dalek. This bin is not a pretty beast, but until we get something a little more aesthetically pleasing in place, and indeed a composting system, it is serving a purpose.  This purpose is hiding things from ourselves.  We bung stuff in, dandelion and dock roots, mind your own business, creeping buttercup and other such demons, and forget about it.  The same goes for the other one.  Yes there are two.  Should we be worried about an invasion?  Perhaps we should contact the Doctor.  Anyway, for some reason I thought I would have a look at what was going on inside.  Nosiness I suppose.  It wouldn’t be the first time I had got into trouble for being overly curious.   Not this time though.  After a couple of seconds I realised that the piece of artwork I was looking at was an ant nest, some of the residents ready to fly.  I rushed to get Max’s Dad and we peered and wondered and admired their handiwork.  Quite how or why the shapes had been formed, I have no idea.  Any clues anyone?  All I know is that nature is indeed a wonderful thing.

The Curious Incident of the Dog, a Stick and a Bad Shot

Ensete ventricosum 'Maurelii'

It was a mistake to admire the wonderful Red Abyssinian banana, Ensete ventricosum ‘Maurelii’, in Max’s garden this morning.  I think it is what is known as “tempting fate”.  Like a ruddy phoenix this tender African has recently risen from the ashes.  Last winter it was left outside with only a thin fleece for protection.   Remiss of us.  Some might say cruel.  Even our mild North Devon winter is a harsh environment for a plant that prefers to stay above 7C.  It was touch and go for a while, “compost heap” was muttered on more than one occasion.  But we were patient (unlikely as that might sound) and prodded and peered for any sign of life for weeks on end.  Then a tentative new leaf began to emerge, and all of a sudden this burnished beauty took off like rocket.  Now it is lush and lovely.  Any neglect has been forgotten and hopefully forgiven.

Until tea time.  Sat on the bench half way up the garden, watching the white horses play on the distant sea, we enjoyed an afternoon cup of tea whilst taking it in turns to throw a stick for Max. Someone (not me and not Max) lobbed what amounted to a wooden club right into the border. The unfortunate banana received a direct hit, ripping one of its wonderful leaves down the mid rib. Later I tidied up the wound, carefully removing the damaged section, all the while apologising profusely.  It is now sporting a rather cheeky peek-a-boo look.

I gave the missing piece to Max’s Dad to make himself a hat.  Out of tragedy comes high fashion.

Reflections

Last week Lord Mantle announced that he had found some photos of the garden taken before we began our attempt to reclaim it.  Later, when studying these shots, it occurred to me how quickly we forget what has gone before.  It does well sometimes to look back at what has been achieved and give yourself a high five or perhaps a more ladylike equivalent.  Nothing like a bit of reflection to bolster the spirit.

This has not be instant gardening.  The soil is dire and full of stones, Lady Mantle’s old gin bottles, metal, glass and Spanish bluebells.  We have worked hard.  However you would be wrong to suspect that it has taken a long time to turn around this garden.  It is only its second year and although it is still work in progress, it is beginning to look the part.   There have been mistakes along the way, shuffling has had to be done and visions synchronised.  But working as a team and laughing along the way has meant that a daunting, neglected wilderness is now a colour soaked, fun-filled oasis. Most importantly, it is now loved.

Well done L&L Mantle, you have made this garden your own, as the philosopher Yazz once sang “the only way is up, baby”!