Weekend

 

Saturday morning, sunlight through cherry tree leaves yellow and green, it is a bright morning after lovely days of heavy rain. The rain has softened the ground, so first thing is to pop more of the broad beans into pop-holes wrought by a bamboo stake. Wrinkled green, smooth brown and tiny black oblong broad beans drop by odd numbers of three or five into moist earth. Meditation is easy while raking long nectarine leaves that have scattered everywhere, meditation for example upon leaf-blowers, happiness not to have a leaf-blower, extraneous nature of the instrument, stupidity of said apparatus, unmusical features of same. Strawberries are transplanted into new pots, mixed with compost, their knotty straggle clipped and roots pivoted into fresh pop-holes with aid of a buckled saucepan of water. Compost bins need turning over and the cat watches closely, the bin at the back fence an historic site for jolly little mice. Transplant of herbs and pot-bound flowers into larger containers, everything dragged from shady summer locations to sunny winter locations where warmth is optimal. The front is a jungle, such that the meter person left a bureaucratic letter stating he couldn’t read the gas, which is not inaccessible but bureaucracy must be heeded, so wild correa bushes are turned into a topiary of a wombat for easy sight lines. Trimming the cootamundra fronds lets several trees and bushes breathe towards the sky, hacking out of intrusive callistemon branches gone mad, likewise a chance for other species to reach forth. Dinner of roasted pumpkin and moghrabieh couscous with Pyrenees red. Listen to jazz. Sunday morning, fog clearing as the fennel stands are cut back, the hint of aniseed in the air. The thousand garden pots are rationalised and stored in the handmade rabbit hutch, while the terracottas are refilled with best foundation for planting of herbs next weekend. Clear the dead wood under daisy bushes and lavender, the aftermath of recurrent once-in-one-hundred year heat events. Prise apart jammed pot-bound tiger orchids for propagation in fresh orchid mix. A neighbour starts up a chainsaw to cut timber, but blessedly it only lasts a quarter hour. Pleasant lack of motor mower choruses in the vicinity. Shake out the little yellow leaves fallen into the cacti and succulents, ruining their Monet dapple, before shifting the lot into a warm vista for winter, and some behind windows. Weeding tedium but what’s to be done, teeding wedium needing medium seeding freedom the mindless hum as this continues. Maybe clear the gutters if someone’s here to help with the ladder. Later in the day, retire to read Etty Hillesum and write letters. Dinner will be vegetarian shepherd’s pie with sweet potato mash and the other half of the bottle of Pyrenees red.