At the end of summer, when everything is a bit bedraggled, these lilies scream MARCH! The orange fleshed peaches are for Joe, gifts from Granny’s garden.
I kill succulents. Two pots of herbs flourishing at this time of year = a sign of great things to come.
We can see them from the window behind the kitchen sink and they can hear us carrying on. They’ve been breaching security and breaking into the orchard about four times a day, but this has given us a chance to train the pups.
One day I’ll write to you about the five dogs motley dogs we have. Plenty of character and potential. Not one of them in full time work.
It was one of the most exciting moments of the year when the black kelpie pup joined me in quietly “reminding” the weaners to go back to their paddock. Hope springs.
The girls staying with us braved the nightmare that was the meat house, removing two freezers, a massive chopping block, a meat safe, rusted tins, hooks, bits of cream separator, plastic bags and towels, dusty print and most of the thick layer of mutton fat that was coating the floor. My plan is to furnish it with nothing but a steel bench, a chair and a light globe – my dream writing environment and a room that doubles as a place to butcher meat when we need it. From here, I plan to writing a winning entry in the next Elyne Mitchell award. Plans are good. Even when god laughs.
A great year for pomegranates – fertility, jewels, danger, promise and threat.
This was the first year I dead-headed roses. The second blooming is so precious.