It has been a long dry week and I have been short of time to go the the lottie in the evening. So it was with trepidation I went to the lottie on Saturday morning. I was on trailer duty so I was at the lottie quite early. I was chuffed to find that everything was making a living. I thought the plants would be parched. I was not sure what I was going to do at the lottie this week until I saw the plot. Then it hit me. I decided that I would finish the path at the end of the lottie. It, like the side path, has never been touched since I took up the plot and I had resolved at Christmas to make a vineyard round the edge of the plot. This end had been waiting its turn. The end of the plot has been home to fifty big milk cartons which I used to use to hold the fleece off the seedlings. The cartons, part filled with water, kept the fleece ten inches or so above the plantlets which stopped the fleece beating up the little plants in the wind. I emptied the water out of the cartons and put them in the back of the car. On the return trip with the trailer I spyed a recycling point in Overseal. In one trip I dumped the cartons and the trailer.....result.
I went home to collect a few tools and stock up on breakfast and drinks. The first job at the lottie was to splashed plenty of water about especially on the Potatoes. The wind was blowing gently away from the plot so I decided to take advantage and got a fire going in the trash can. I got a good blaze going. Once it settled down I had a good base fire I piled in all the dried weeds and Brocolli stem and other assorted combustable rubbish and left it to its own devices. I set up my well worn routine, wheelbarrow, fork and bucket for stones all to hand. I put on my Ipod, wide brimmed hat and gloves and set to converting the scruffy end border into to a neat and level path. I went home at one pm for a break and a sandwich. H looked after me. I was a little despondent. Toiling in the heat of the day I had only manged to dig over and weed about half the border. Mind you it was a treat to have H's Elderflower cordial to cool me down. H has found the right measures for the cordial which is sweet yet sharp. I still had the remainder to dig and weed, put in some extra edging , rake and compact the path, loose all the excess soil and plant the two vines. I went back to the lottie about two pm, plugged the Ipod in a again and set to. I had a crisis as I got the last two foot of the bed because it was an awkward space to work in. However I broke it. From then on the work just flowed. I made a raised area which I intend to pave and compacted and graded the remainder of the path. At about five pm I dug out the holes for the last two grape vines and planted them with a bucketful of home made compost.
The vines are Muscat Hamburg which is dual purpose [dessert/wine] red variety. I figured the end of the plot got the Sun for the greatest part of the day so the red grapes would get a sporting chance to ripen. The grapes in I spent the next 45 minutes watering. The white grapes got a dowsing. They have settled in and are growing vigorously. The spuds got another soaking. I allowed myself a few minutes to admire my handy work. Finishing the path was the last "infrastructure" type job that needed doing. On reflection it is something of a milestone. My back was aching but I picked some Timperly Early Rhubarb for H and went home.
Sunday was Father's Day. I got to lie in. Then a cup of tea in bed. Miss L got me a gift and had my breakfast made for me when I finally decided to rise. H made made a full english for me. H has always had trouble with fried eggs. They nearly always end up crispy round the edges and runny in the middle however she is a dab hand at fried bread. Whilst there is fried bread, running yolk, brown sauce and hot tea on the go you won't hear any complaints from me. H was out on Saturday and bought a bunch of books from a local fair. I had just finished reading a book by Dave Crystal "By Hook or By Crook". It was a meander through the Welsh marches by way of India, America, texting, accents in Bees and other animals in search of language, dialects, idioms, Pubs names and the roots of village and towns names. It took me ages to read it. A couple of pages at breakfast, half a chapter at dinner time and here and there when I had a few minutes spare. H met Crystal at a recent seminar to do with her current work and was blown away by his ideas. I just enjoyed the book. I have started another book. One Man's Furrow by Reg Gammon. It is sub-titled "Ninety Years of Country Living". He was born into farming stock in 1894. He was a writer, artist and countryman. He made a name for himself writing for the Touring Cycling magazine and other periodicals. He even went to Galway, Eire in the thirties on cycling holiday. Some of my readers might know why that is important to me. It was an easy read and I finished it Monday evening.
Because it was my day off H decided we should go for a walk. The signs were ominous. H got her boots out, her rucksack, stick and made sandwiches. H said airily that we take a walk to Overseal by way of Donisthorpe, Acresford and Netherseal. That is all well and good but Overseal is a couple of miles from our house and that was supposed to be the end of the walk! It was a nice day and I was still happy about the lottie. As usual after a couple of miles I had to take over the navigation as we went through new territory for us. It was a hot day and a gentle breeze that was very drying. We had to detour round some fields. They grow cows round here and the fields seem to be full of: Bullocks being fattened, they are frisky buggers and would quite happily trample you under foot as they barge about the field. Heifers with a Bull or the old ladies with calves, with or without a bull. In any case beef on the hoof is trouble. It just come in different sizes but they all seem to be brown. H's route manged to miss all the village centres and the pubs found therein. We bent the rules a bit by skirting Overseal and headed for Shortheath, a hamlet that has a beaten up sign that proclaims "The Centre of England". It is only half an hour walk to our house from Shortheath. It was interesting to see the villages from a different perspective.
Monday night a hopped up to the lottie after Tea and did some serious watering and a bit of light hand weeding. The Fat Hen is making a bid at the moment but it is only growing in a small area of bed 3. Odd but never mind.
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