With the ongoing, maliciously fine, largely rainless, weather my mornings tend to start at 4am when the eye of Sauron inexorably finds a chink in the curtains and blasts me on the forehead. I then shuffle all around the bed looking to recover some shade. With the weary repetition of “are we there yet” from the back seat of the car five minutes from departure, I then snooze, check the time, find that a bare 20 minutes have passed, snooze, check the time etc, etc. Finally, just as I get wrapped up in some interesting dream, I am bolted awake at the cliffhanger stage by the alarm. A prolonged period of compiling a list of jobs for the day follows. By the time I get up, a good third of these have been filibustered out and it is time to walk the dog. Reader I bucked the trend today. Whether it was a benign passing cloudlet or a particularly assiduous curtain shutting last night I know not, but 4 a.m passed without any message from Mordor. In celebration, I eschewed the snooze and planarama and just got up. And here I am, pots watered at the front, kitchen cleared up (a bit) and the Tai Chi under my belt (with a particularly successful standing on one leg and doing stuff bit). I should have moved on to ironing the bunting (it’s a long story to which I may return) but instead I thought I’d get the cushions on the patio chairs and pen a line.
After a week off to recuperate from the open day, I am firmly back in the wheelbarrow traces. Aphids have descended en masse on the last of the lupins, so I have cut them right back. We shall just have to wait and see what reappears next year. I’m not overly concerned if some don’t make it; there are a gazillion seedlings down in the quadrant bed (which, as you will recall, was declared a lupin free area last year after the drought/competition from the oaks reduced them to feeble efforts that attracted a host of aphids). When we finally get some rain, I’ll pick a few out to replace the potted ones sold in the plant sale and use those as next year’s gap fillers. I’m conflicted about lupins – they are fantastic when they are out, and they last for ages – but the gap left after you cut them down looks like a missing front tooth. This would be less of a problem if I kept them firmly in the middle of the border, but somehow mine seem to inveigle their way forward. I’ve extracted four of the most forward and aphid attracting ones this year and shall be replacing them with something (not sure what) that will stand better after flowering. I am pinning my hopes on the autumn sowing project to deliver swathes of giant antirrhinum to act as temporary dentures for the rest. Hopefully I’ll be able to reheome a good selection of the remaining seedlings on the back track (towards the back where the daisies get leggy and annoying) but this is going to call for some serious mulching as the soil there is very sub par. If I can get rid of more of the lysimachia behind the bottom pond (or even just definitively get rid of the stuff I’ve now dug out twice) there’s some room there too. Lots of autumn/winter plans….
With the weeding pressure somewhat reduced, Lyra, mum and I have been venturing a little further (and at a less frenetic “got to get back” pace), indulging in a little nature dudery. The Hirsel cows are still very much in holiday mode, in the field by the stream. The large family group under the great oak has splintered. Ivor the bull and his kaffeeklatsch of mature laydeez remain firmly wedded to the shade, but a paddling faction of calves and younger mothers has claimed a spot on the bank of the stream. We were also taken by surprise in the woods on Wednesday by a solitary heifer in my favourite reflecting pool. I tiptoed past leaving her to her moosings. The little white calves seem the most adventurous; I noticed one had carefully positioned itself on the stream bank as far as possible from either parental group. He (or she) was staring down into the water with the air of someone contemplating their first swan dive.
Along the river tiny sand martins skim along the surface, kindly hoovering up midges. The grassy flood plain is the swallow playground and every inlet harbours family groups of ducks, the youngsters enduring a constant refrain of maternal imprecations. By the cauld on Monday, we puzzled over the bizarre dance of four white egrets. Two would come together, then a third would appear and chase one off. A fourth would arrive and chaos would ensue with two seeming to run off and the others chasing fruitlessly. Much flapping, swapping positions and flying off continued – a veritable postie’s jig, until they resolved into two settled groups, the smaller ones tucked into the bank and the two larger ones, eyeing each other balefully from opposite ends of the cauld. We concluded it was two males looking for mates and two females that were having none of it, taking the inter male competition as an opportunity to sneak off and establish a cozy “sisters are doing it by themselves” enclave. I could tell mum thoroughly approved….
On the home front we seem to have acquired a raven, which is steadily denuding the cherry tree. This morning I spotted three more (or a murder of very large crows indeed) on the lawn. Has a gateway to the underworld opened in the fruit cage I wonder? I shall proceed with caution picking the gooseberries. Our usual house martins are all now on their second clutch – aside from the ones over the windows at Luigis. Their nest seems to have been taken over by an enterprising house sparrow with a huge brood. Allison from along the road is borrowing a strip of the cow field for a few weeks for the younger Shetland ponies whilst the stallion visits the older ones. As we came back from walking her ladyship this morning our coos had moseyed over to see what was going on as the temporary dividing fence went up. I wonder if they will like their new neighbours? I shall report back.
