That’s better, thank you!

Azaleas are part of the rhododendron family, which means that they like an acid soil, not the alluvial, chalky ground at the L’Arche garden in Canterbury. This one was unhappy, planted out of its comfort zone, till our colleague Maurice C. came along. He dug out a hole, lined it with polythene sheeting, filled it with ericaceous compost, and moved azalea in, just before lockdown.

later I applied a little judicious pruning, but he did all the hard work. It has paid off as you see.

Congratulations Maurice! And thank you. From now on, Spring will be that much brighter each year.

Snow day for gardening

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I had a job to do at the garden, a snowy weather sort of job, fixing warning notices for would-be trespassers. Those who came over the wall last summer always left a mess of takeaway containers.

It was a surprise to meet a couple of snow people outside the gate, but the church looked lovely in the snow, as did the garden, and the notices are now in position and giving out their message, loud and clear. An enjoyable morning in a thaw, if only temporary.

The footprints are from Fox, Moorhen with the partly webbed toes, and robin, hopping along rather than walking.

Just a light breakfast, please.

There was a spring in my step, despite the Autumn day and my Autumnal years. I had just been told that my cataract op had been successful, healing was proceeding according to expectations. And the sun came out.

Why not have fish and chips for lunch at Herne Bay clocktower? The shop recommended by Abel was open. I had to wait for the meal to be cooked, and it was all I could do to eat this ‘small’ portion, or so I thought. All of it was delicious.

This board advertising a light breakfast caught my rejuvenated eye. I’m not sure I’d have put that away even when I was doing hard manual work for a living! No doubt it will be as well cooked as the fish and someone will enjoy it, to the last little bean.

Green Tomatoes

Suddenly, my summer in the garden was coming to an end: strenuous exercise and bending forward are to be curtailed for me due to a forthcoming cataract op. Time to harvest the toms, ripe or not.

I’ve made the chutney, NAIB is on salsa duty, since she discovered an out of date pack of wraps, and reserved the remains of the joint for tonight’s meal. It feels like autumn.

Going Viral XXIII: what we take for granted.

Written in 1890, still worth reflecting on today!

Railway lines had been laid over the whole 700 or 800 miles to facilitate my progress; bridges had been built, and tunnels made; an army of engineers, and guards, and signal-men, and porters, and clerks were waiting to take charge of me, and to see to my comfort and safety.  All I had to do was to tell Society (here represented by a railway booking-clerk) where I wanted to go, and to step into a carriage; all the rest would be done for me.  Books and papers had been written and printed; so that if I wished to beguile the journey by reading, I could do so.  At various places on the route, thoughtful Society had taken care to be ready for me with all kinds of refreshment (her sandwiches might be a little fresher, but maybe she thinks new bread injurious for me).  When I am tired of travelling and want to rest, I find Society waiting for me with dinner and a comfortable bed, with hot and cold water to wash in and towels to wipe upon.  Wherever I go, whatever I need, Society, like the enslaved genii of some Eastern tale, is ready and anxious to help me, to serve me, to do my bidding, to give me enjoyment and pleasure.

From “Diary of a Pilgrimage” by Jerome K. Jerome

Going viral XVIII: an unprecedented opportunity to create some new ‘normals’.

Gwen Riley Jones is a computer imaging member of the John Rylands library staff. Since the team cannot get into the library, they are working from home, imagining rather than just imaging. William Blake would approve.

Enjoy the walk!

Going Viral XVI: planting hope.

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If I do not use these pictures soon, the moment will have completely passed. On one of our Sunday walks we passed these two Kentish orchards, one old, one new. How many years will the old one keep fruiting? And how long will the new one be productive? It represents a massive act of hope in the future, something we all need with the virus restricting our lives!

The tombstone of Harry and Winifred Cuthbert proclaims that they were ‘dedicated’ to farming and fruit growing, witness the strawberry plant seen here. Every seed, every plant is an act of hope. So is a smile, a wave, a word of encouragement.

Going Viral I: Out of School

We will be sharing a few light hearted reflections on life with the corona virus.

Four and a half year old Abel received the news about school closures level-headedly. He’s looking forward to donning his Hi-Viz vest and using the litter-picker, as well as gardening again.

Autumnal task awaits.

Birch and lime, birch and lime,

Sweep the leaves up one more time!

Twice a year

Twice a year the hollow old yew in Saint Mildred’s churchyard turns the ground gold: in spring, when the buds burst and the husks fall to the ground, and then again about now, when the needles that have been replaced give up their chlorophyll and die.

Abel and I turned up today to find one of the church carers sweeping up the needles to put them in the church bin. We set to with a bigger brush and two wheelbarrows. Abel plied the one his great-grandmother sent for his birthday and worked very hard, taking loads back and forth to the Glebe compost heap. A confident, competent little gardener at 4 years old. Here he is a couple of months ago on a similar task.

The church carers will be happy to have less mess on their lovely stone floor!