(The picture shows Ono lying in the new stone bed in front of the house. Jones intends to plant a vine at this spot)
It is Thursday morning and I am sitting at my desk waiting for rain. We have been promised rain on at least three different weather channels. I will be bitterly disappointed if these promises come to nothing. Clouds have been blowing over ever since dawn, with brief sunny interludes that we wish away. We've had enough sun; it’s rain that we need.
This sentiment is not universally felt. Local people tell us that rain will end the tomato-growing season and ruin whatever grapes remain on the vines. From what we can see there are a great many such grapes, not to speak of apples, figs and other fruit. One evening we took Leonhilda, a Portuguese neighbour, to pick grapes at a sizeable plot that she and her husband own near Benafim, where they have planted a grove of fruit, carob and olive trees and a line of vines.
In spite of receiving no irrigation and little attention, the vines thrive and were dripping with grapes when we visited. We picked for half an hour, loading the car till it groaned. Half the booty Leonhilda kept for herself and her neighbours; the rest she left with us. We shall be distributing much of it among the expats. (Maybe Jones will make some grape jam to complement her tomato and fig jams.) Stoopy is also fond of grapes and (unlike me) swallows pips and skin along with the fruit. Ono turns up his nose at them.
We are having difficulty establishing a harmonious balance among our animals. The problem has arisen with the arrival of Squeaker and Squawker, the two young black cats, Nosey’s former brood, who have adopted us. (Jones calls them Paw and NonPaw, Paw having a tiny distinguishing mark on his limb.) They are attractive, friendly animals who come to us for food and affection. They often come ankle-rubbing when we are watering the garden. Part of the problem is that from time to time they pick on old Tommie (aka Fatty Fatcat) who, while he once inspired awe among his fellows, is no longer able to defend his corner. Naturally, we intervene to save his skin.
This exacerbates the other part of the problem. That is Ono’s resentment of the newcomers and his inclination to chase them. Although he has learned to accept Tommie, who has been around for yonks, Ono is baffled by our adoption of more cats and tolerates their presence with ill-disguised reluctance. He is highly sensitive to mood. If we remonstrate with the pair or even look at them askance, Ono takes it as a green light to have a go.
So when I hurled a can of water over them one evening as they ganged up on Tommie, Ono instantly went after them, nipping at their heels as they fled. (No harm was done.) Since then they’ve been a lot more cautious. No doubt they will grow confident again and the problem will repeat itself. Never mind that Jones has expressed an interest in adopting a kitten from Nosey’s latest brood. This six-strong litter gambles in David and Sarah’s garden across the field from us, where we spotted several running around and one peeping out of a watering can as we passed. (My housemaid’s knee is much improved and I’m dog-walking again – rather slowly). Jones is once again sharing their feeding with another neighbour as David and Sarah have returned to the UK.
(It’s drizzling.)
Anticipating rain, I spent some hours with the scarifier turning over the soil on the Casanova field, a steeply sloping plot adjacent to the house. Unless one is going straight up or down, the tractor tends to lurch and drift. As usual, I struggled to make it go where I wanted to rather than where it tended to. To my shame, I bumped into a tree. It wasn’t a very big bump and it didn’t do much damage, except to my vanity, but it did crack the plastic housing on the front of the tractor. I removed the housing and was able to patch it with a metal bracket. It fits and it doesn’t look too bad. My pride will take rather longer to mend.
(Now it’s really raining. I had to dash outside to fetch a ladder from Casa Nada in order to clear a drain pipe that was squirting water in every direction.)
At Jones’s suggestion, I used the tractor to crush an elderly pile of light branches, one of several lying about the property, that I planned to burn once it was safe to do so. (It’s against the law to set fire to such material during the dry season.) The crushing worked quite well and should reduce the twigs to mulch within a month or two. All the heavier stuff has already been cut into firewood and piled high outside Casa Nada. I do hope that we get a cold winter or we shall be left with mountains of firewood for another year (I have got my chain-saw back from the supplier and with it confirmation that the problem I’ve had with it arose from polluted fuel.)
While I was busy with the crushing I noticed a melee of ants dragging an unwilling wasp towards their nest. A second wasp was buzzing the ants. This wasp gave the clear impression that it wanted to rescue its fellow but didn’t know how. When it landed close by, the ants immediately tried to grab it too, and it flew off again in a hurry although it continued to buzz angrily around the group. The first wasp was hauled down, still kicking and squirming, into the ant hole where it was clearly destined for the larder. There is something quite scarily organised and ruthless about ants.
When Natasha came on Wednesday she brought her new video camera to show us the results of her first efforts. We hooked the camera up to the TV to watch. The results were impressive – both the quality of the picture and the camerawork. She had devoted equal time to the antics of her son (seen dismantling the kitchen of the apartment they share) and to a sand sculpture display at a village near the coast. The latter was really something, with giant figures from mythology populating sculpted castles. The sculptors add something to the sand to keep it in place for the weeks that the exhibition continues.
We were guests one evening at dinner in a very smart villa that Irish neighbours have recently constructed with a view to gaining rental income. They live in a cottage in the village but are staying in the villa while the cottage is being refurbished. As they showed us around we admired the handiwork of the local builder, Horacio, who really does a brilliant job. We have often regretted that we didn’t know him when we came to build our own house.
Before sitting down to supper with the rest of the local expats, we played several rounds of petanque. This involves trying to land metal balls the size of oranges as close as possible to a small jack. In the event, Barbara and I won the competition. Given the nature of the ground on which it was played and the unpredictable behaviour of the metal balls on landing, it was as much by luck as judgement. But the others were kind enough not to say so.
We made a trip to Loulé to deposit some pounds in our euro account while sterling is in the ascendant. In a typical year, the two currencies vary against one another by some 7 per cent so there’s quite a lot to be gained or lost. I then walked around with the dogs to the “Senior University” to see when the academic year starts and to confirm my willingness to give English lessons once again. The door was still shut. (There are only 3 staffers. All the lecturers are volunteers.)
With some time on our hands, we sat down over coffees and a baggy to read the two weekly Portugenglish papers. One of them seldom fails to carry irritating letters from two dull correspondents with bees in their bonnets. In the latest issue one of these correspondents threatens to explode if the Crusades are described once more as an assault on Islam. I intend to write to the paper accordingly in the express hope that he will keep his pledge.
*********************************************************************
No comments:
Post a Comment