Love is in the Air...
Beau Ram (our merino ram, his name a backwards version of Rambo) is in seventh sheep heaven. Yesterday he was moved into the front paddock with a few select ewes for - ahem - 'company'. Simple souls, sheep.
Simple souls, gardeners : my last pet lamb, Stu Lamb (his name a backwards version of Lamb Stew, oops) is buried underneath a Golden Queen peach tree in the orchard. There are just a few peaches on it at the moment (it is not the healthiest of fruit trees). Each afternoon I take Pebbles for a walk and pick one to eat. I look forward to this reward all day.
Will You Accept this Rose?
Back to ovine romance. Serious rams get stuck in a paddock with over a hundred ewes, but Beau just gets four or five - the ones with the finest merino fleeces. Timing wise, he always gets to hang out with the lucky girlies just as the New Zealand version of The Bachelor is playing on TV. This seems rather symbolic to me.
2020's offering, The Bachelorette, features two lucky ewes and twice as many rams as could ever possibly be necessary. These chaps hardly chest butt each other, let alone charge with a clash of horns. Pretty tame, really, and the production style is cringe-dreadful - unbearable to watch.
But yes, I am recording it. Why, you may well ask? Light relief? Something to amuse in these somewhat trying times? I couldn't possibly comment! Hee hee...
A new week...
And so starts a new week of staying safe in my personal isolation bubble. This morning I have two Zoom meetings - first with my Silver Swans ballet class, then with my friends for lunch. I did so much gardening yesterday that normally I would give myself today off. Anyway, it's raining.
Shrubs and Trees
Please no fire ban...
Hoping (crossing all fingers) that the fire ban doesn't come off too soon. Otherwise you won't see me for smoke. Aargh! In a normal year, about now, all the restrictions are lifted and I can start (safely) to clean up all the burnable rubbish. Not a happy garden task for me at all.
Anyone who can genuinely say that they genuinely enjoy an autumn bonfire has to be living sentimentally in a storybook past. Maybe they're old-school British gardeners, with a rake, a tiny plot of land and a few hedge trimmings, the odd pile of leaves and bracken, etc.
Not me. I don't like the autumn bonfire at all. Not even the first one, standing out there in the crisp air poking at the flames with the rake. Bonfires are definitely not romantic.
So why do it? Because of all my Australian trees. My gardens, lawns, driveway, etc. are covered in piles of mess from its big gum trees. I love these Eucalyptus trees. But they're messier than a teenager's bedroom. And nothing they drop on the ground will compost. Long live the fire ban, I say!
And the rain continues to rain, as decent rain will do. Yeay! Thanks from my grateful plants. Meanwhile, out there in the front paddock...