We have had two glorious days. Moral fibre has frayed. Household chores have been abandoned for the wheelbarrow and kneeling mat. The ironing pile, once reduced to a mere foothill, is now a vertiginous ridge walk of Munros. Tomorrow’s forecast is for largely fine but thereafter gloomy. Normal laundry service will resume with the gloom.
I have been up and out with the lark in the mornings, parading round the garden in my über toasty dining room curtain dressing gown, coffee cup in hand, planning the day’s activity and looking for likely looking places to put unallocated plants. Lyra has taken a keen interest and has even dug a nice hole in the orchard for me. I am so used to our splendid isolation that I did quite a double take when Simon called out a greeting from the field where he was walking his new spaniel pups today. Raymond and Anne next door are used to my bizarre morning outfits (in the colder weather the curtain wear is supplemented by wellies and a woolly hat), so I thought nothing of it and chatted away whilst admiring the squirming little pups. It was only later that I wondered what on earth he had made of the Oscar Wilde impersonation………
The Wildean look is only for the mornings though – once dressed I am channelling a cross between Dame Edna Everage and Baldrick. It is still somewhat muddy in places so I am to be found sporting the tattiest of my gardening rags and either wellies or slightly too big work boots. These are topped off with some rather dramatic reading glasses attached to a piece of string with elastic bands. I am down to my last two pairs of sensible reading glasses again (I fear the others are in the compost heap). Noticing the company I got them from before had a sale on, I ordered some new ones from the, slightly different, sale range. When they arrived the reason for the discount was clear. I am therefore keeping the sane ones for indoors and, my little possums, sporting the Dame Ednas for gardening.
The gardening proceeds reasonably well, but is much interrupted by the frogs. The ponds are hoaching with the little fellows. They all sit, heads poking out looking for a lady frog to jump on, eyeing each other nervously. If one moves, the others think he might have a plan and they sidle along just in case. To keep up morale there is community singing. There is quite the male voice choir in the stream. Under the middle waterfall there is a magnificent baritone. So far I’ve only seen one female. In the clutches of a particularly possessive swain, she was wearing an expression of surly resignation. I rather suspect that the minute he lets go he will get a flipper in the groin….
The toads are biding their time. I accidentally unearthed one when weeding this afternoon. It was not amused. I took it over to the pond and it promptly burrowed down under the soil. It brought to mind Keith’s usual trick of pulling the duvet over his head and muttering “just five minutes…”
The last excitement of the day was a quick spin to the Hirsel to see the latest calf. Lachlan and Lyra actually saw this one being born a couple of days ago when out for a walk. it’s a sprightly wee thing and was louping all over the field pestering its aunties and quite brought me in mind of a Labrador puppy.
Spring is definitely all around. I can’t quite put my finger on it but there’s an expansiveness and growingness in the air. It smells of fun. I think the calf had the right idea – it’s time to skip.