A few hours ago found me trailing up the back stairs, naked , wet and festooned with pond slime (having deposited my Lara Croft pond clearing outfit straight in the washing machine). Needless to say Anne next door called to discuss tomorrow’s dining options. I did alert her to the parlous state of affairs, what with me being in the skirly pip and mostly green, but Anne declared she had seen it all. I grabbed a towel and the barbecue is definitely on for tomorrow. Pond clearing at this time of year is a strange business. There’s an unspecified squishiness underfoot and the blanket weed that proliferates in the sun has a strange, aerated texture – like instant whip with added spinach. It is also blisteringly hot, storing solar heat in the air pockets. On scooping it up, I can almost hear the nearby lilies breathe a sigh of relief. Every bucket of gloop has to be parsed through, to ensure that the hideous moloch style dragonfly pupae are released for transformation. I’ve seen a couple already this month, hanging on the water soldiers letting the green life that seems to animate them flow down into their wings. Anyway, the jobs done and I’ve done my best with the radox to remove the evidence – the tiny circles of duckweed appear to have their own source of superglue….
Aside from the pond exploration, Mum and I have been walking with a vengeance of late. We are (or I am anyway) trying to get back to pre op step levels. Naturally this has entailed enhanced cake needs and I’ve been experimenting away (as is my wont). Some further work is required before I sign off on recipes, but no one was complaining much so far -especially not Lyra. Lyra’s response to the additional exercise has been to peg out ostentatiously immediately after returning, perking up only at the hint of confectionary items. Our first long stretch took us round by the fields toward Kersfield. I’ve not been down there for an age and missed peak yellow entirely. The rapeseed isn’t far from harvest now, a tangled mass of biscuitty crinkles. The wheat still has a little way to go, with a touch of blue at the base, but tight, heavy ears. Hopefully there will be a good harvest. We went down the day after a storm and the air was heavy and damp, but still curiously warm, tinged with the scent of the chamomile that springs up gleefully in the field margins. I startled a hare, almost at my foot, and it shot off up the path. Lyra bumbled along heedless and didn’t catch its scent for another hundred yards when she stopped and began rooting accusingly in the head rig as the hare disappeared over the horizon. My butterfly hunt was more successful and I caught a shot of a tiny Essex skipper, rather far from home.
Other wanderings have taken us round the woods where the little brown butterflies live (compare and contrast the ringlet and meadow brown below….). As we walk mum continually disappears from view, leaving me talking to myself, only to be found rouping some gooseberry/raspberry/cherry. You would think I don’t feed her. On a scorcher of a day earlier this week, we went along by the river where there was much paddling (hound) and great excitement to see a family of young herons and our old friend the egret (mum and I). The river is surprisingly high, despite the hot weather, positively swirling along, and the fishermen are out in force. The wheat seems to be further along there and the peas are already harvested! Judging by the quantity of pigeons on the field, I think a few may have been left behind by the freezer vans. Today the forecast was for hotter than hell, so Keith shooed us off early and we circumnavigated the Hirsel lake. The forest of suspected redcurrants I eyed up earlier in the year have all proved to be duds. Either it is too dark with the hedge trees in leaf or they are some other plant entirely. On the plus side, I have now added a small Tortoiseshell to my collection of orange/red flying fellows. The mystery of the missing cygnets, ducklings and goslings was also explained (we’ve seen barely one of each) by the otter bobbing up and down boldly in the middle of the lake
In the garden everything is tipping over into the chaos of high summer. The hot garden is finally sizzling with orange hemerocallis and shocking pink penstemon. In the gravel garden it’s all about the agapanthus (and dierama but they are a nightmare to photograph, wafting and shivering in every breath of wind). We are almost overcome with bees. I found an absolute monster of a black and orange one, a complete Darth Vader, on the cephalaria. Mum had to go one better and claims to have discovered a whole new articulated lorry type on the lavender. Today I braved the afternoon sun, trying to work up a head of steam for pond clearing, cutting marjoram and oregano for drying. I was not popular with our apian friends, even though`I was careful to leave three quarters of every clump. There’s been a bee moth on the white valerian too – but it whirrs around so fast I can never catch a picture. Maybe next time….
In other news, Lachlan’s new kitten Mabel has arrived. Lyra went over to Lachlan’s house for a week to get to know her but was sent home in disgrace two days later accused of trying to eat the poor thing. Possibly a slight exaggeration, but when we went over on Thursday Lyra did spend an unwarrantable amount of time watching the cat flap. Anyway, Mabel will grow and give Lyra a good whack on the nose and honours will be even. For the time being the floofster is back home and visiting only under controlled conditions….
