Autumn adventures...

 My grey cottage cat.

Autumn! Yeay! Thanks for covering my garden, ever so lightly, with your softer light and warm colours. I'm beaming at the fluttering leaves, feeling mellow, enjoying the autumn balance between mind (contemplating, dreaming) and body (plodding, raking)...

The clocks have already 'fallen back', so the evenings are darker earlier. Nice! What I'd really like are snuggly night-time temperatures, so Minimus the cottage cat will curl up by my toes. Moonlight (as in the recent Easter nights) encourages her hunting instincts, with much squeaking outside the (shut) cottage window in the middle of the night. No, Min, you can't jump on my bed with a mouth full of live rodent. It is not done. Not in MY cottage. Oh, I almost forgot - clever kitty!

Friday 6th April

Another great autumn day - I've cleaned gum leaves and weeds out the garden by the dogs' kennels. In have gone six bags of horse manure, worms and all. Out has come a dying Hebe (just not tough enough, too old anyway), some white flowering medium sized Agapanthus (lurking underneath a Viburnum, too shady), and a couple of miniature roses (redirected to the bonfire - I have plenty in pots).

I am allowed to go to bed early tonight with my new library books. I have a choice of bed-climbing the West Ridge of Mount Everest, walking up (i.e. from south to north) England following spring, or travelling the Silk Road with the learned Colin Thubron. I lead such an adventurous life in my cottage, hee hee. Here's hoping that the temperature will have dropped down to something cosy.

Saturday 7th April

OK, so digging in one fence post (over by the white roses in the Allotment Garden) and attaching the netting to it took me one hour. This would seem to be a very inefficient work rate. No-one will ever hire me as a fencer.

Book Review...

My bed-journey following the braided network of routes whimsically called 'the Silk Road' didn't really get off the ground (far too nerdy). Everest had real photographs, but alas, the writing didn't appeal - I never found myself stumbling along behind, as it were. And there were too many avalanches.

 Down they come?
Trees in the Hump

Journeying through springtime...

So the Journey de Nuit (?) went, by default, through the English Springtime. Already I have been lectured on Climate Change (that's OK, I guess), told off about Population Control (not so sure about this), and made to feel guilty about using my car. I was rather hoping for an uncomplicated wee ramble surrounded by bluebells and emerging hedgehogs. Too romantic, perhaps?

Sunday 8th April

Hee hee. Non-Gardening Partner has made a tactical blunder. Would he help me in the Hump, chain-sawing dead branches off the trees? He was feeling lazy, so he chose to deflect the issue. Maybe not, he said in a measured tone, because he had actually been thinking of getting all the Hump trees 'flattened' soon. Soon? Flattened? Soon!!!!!!! Yippee!

How soon is soon? 'Soon soon' would mean lots more winter sun in my house. More sun on the Island Bed. My gardening mind raced around like a dog chasing its tail. More light! Roses would enjoy growing here. When did he think 'soon' would be? Soon! How terribly exciting. Poor bloke. He'd have been better grimacing and chain-sawing for half an hour. Car travel, where he is just across from me and can't escape, is now particularly lively. You can probably hear him sighing...


I have done the following :

  1. Cleared a trailer load of mess from the Hump (Ooh - how exciting! See above)
  2. Burnt it all.
  3. Made the front fence dog-proof.

This last item involved stretching out and stapling chicken netting to the existing fence (through which my naughty dogs could squeeze, when the mood took them). It took me ages, and the Sunday afternoon traffic roaring past at 100 km per hour was unpleasant, the speed a horrible reminder of the need for dog safety.

Right. I've wined (house Merlot) and dined (hamburgers) and am off to my autumn bed to continue my spring journey. My writer-man is a bit of a crock, actually. By day he wails about people and industry messing up the English countryside, then by night he checks into a fancy hotel. And when it rains he has the day off. The sprinklings of English spring poetry are rather nice, though. Such poetic seasons, spring and autumn.