Letter from Espargal: 17 of 2009

Today is the 1^st of May. “Workers” are marching around Portuguese centres to give vent to their feelings about the state of the economy and the government’s handling of it. Portugal’s small communist party is very active in arranging such events on behalf of the proletariat. But here in Espargal, the day has dawned like any other. The tradition in these parts is to celebrate the holiday by having a riverside picnic. To avoid the picnickers and their passage along the road to the river, we took ourselves off in a different direction this morning and have just stumbled back in the door, nearly two hours later.

On the table we found a brief thank you note from Mike and Lyn, who had texted us with a request to make use of our bathroom as water supplies to their nearby holiday cottage had dried up. In fact, water supplies to the village have dried up as the result of the latest problem with the system, whatever that may be. Such hiccups are not infrequent. Like most villagers, we simply switched across to a private supply. We keep the cisterna semi-full, with sufficient water to last several weeks, and should have no difficulty refreshing ourselves and the garden until the local authorities turn up some time next week to sort the problem out.

BUG ORCHID
Lyn has spotted a variety of orchid that we have never come across before. How she did so is hard to know, because the flowers – there were several of them – were hidden in low scrub at least ten metres from the track that the couple were following with Jones. It’s a route we often walk and we had no idea that we had so frequently passed close to this little jewel. Mike borrowed our orchid book and was able to identify the discovery as a “bug orchid”.

SWALLOWS IN FLIGHT - MIKE
We have had the pleasure of Mike and Lyn’s company on several occasions, generally at the end of a day after the couple have returned from bird-watching and flower-discovering expeditions down at the coast. The area around Faro airport, which is situated on the edge of the marshes, is a particular favourite of theirs as Mike is an aircraft enthusiast as well as a bird watcher. He likes little better than to photograph anything with wings.

HERON - MIKE
His pictures bear testimony to his flair although, as I observed to him, it’s hard to know whether he’s an average photographer with an amazing camera or an amazing photographer with an average camera.

What I am coming to is that one evening I had a call from him to say that he and Lyn had parked near the salt pans behind the airport to do some bird-watching, only to find when they tried to leave that a barrier had been lowered across the road and locked in place. Could we help extricate them?

STILTS (OR SOMETHING) MIKE
Of course we could. After loading the car with a selection of crowbars and hacksaws, I set off, borrowing a large chain-cutter en route from Horacio, the builder. But I got only as far as the River Algibre, ten minutes away, when Mike called again to say that they’d been rescued. Three dubious-looking fishermen, who were passing in an elderly car, had seen the couple’s plight and gone to their assistance. It took one of them just a few seconds with a rock and a length of iron reinforcing-rod to break the chain that secured the barrier.

PLANE LANDING - MIKE
At this point, the police turned up, summoned by the airport fire-brigade on the other side of the security fence to assist Mike and Lyn. But seeing that the fisherman had already done the job, the police shrugged off the damage to the barrier and went on their way. All this we gleaned over drinks on the south patio when Mike and Lyn turned up half an hour later, none the worse for their experience – other than feeling slightly foolish.

JONESY WEEDING
If I was not able to help much with that rescue, except in pouring drinks for the hapless victims, I was able to assist one of the locals who had driven into trouble with his tractor. The man concerned had been cleaning a field with a scarifier, leaving great clumps of earthy weeds scattered about in his wake. At one point, he had tried to drive his tractor across the top of a particularly large clump, while still dragging a pile behind him. The end result was that the tractor sat on top of the little mountain of weeds while all four wheels simply dug themselves into the earth. Needless to say, the driver felt a bit of an ass. (That’s a donkey, Canadians, the animal that Mary rode into Egypt – not a butt).

I lent assistance by undermining the pile and dragging the weeds out from beneath the vehicle until it was able to free itself. This took all of half an hour of breathy, sweaty labour. As the driver may be known to some of you, it might be as well for him to remain anonymous.

For kitty watchers I’m pleased to report that Braveheart is much improved. He’s eating again and showing his old fondness for his big canine friend, Raymond. The pair of them are quite sweet to watch, as they settle down like the lion and the lamb, side by side. Even nervous Dearheart has quite taken to the dog.

I have bought Jones a gift, a new mobile phone (cellphone, handy – whatever you call them in your part of the world). It’s a small, neat Nokia, one that comes with icons rather than menus, that I chose for her with special care. She was finding it difficult to read the screen of my old (iron-age) model, which she inherited when her even older (stone-age) model gave up the ghost. Moreover, the battery was playing up and it was not possible to obtain new batteries for these obsolescent models. Jones, who’s a bit of a technophobe, was not particularly grateful for my kindness. I have assured her that in time she will come to appreciate the phone's merits - although it probably won't be today.

One afternoon I went around to the site of Horacio’s new house. He’s about to lay the floor – 40 centimetres of reinforced concrete.Why it’s so thick I don’t know, because he wasn’t there when I dropped in. But I hope to discover more on Monday, when the cement trucks arrive. His workers continue meanwhile with the building of the most impressive stone walls all around the sloping site.

I doubled up on my English lessons this week and will do so for the following fortnight to compensate my pupils for the three weeks that we shall be away in Canada. We have been having animated discussions about the outbreak of swine flu. Jones and I are due to fly out on May 19, returning on June 13. As much as we look forward to the trip, the pandemic has done nothing to reassure us about the prudence of flying at this period.

Late April and early May bring a flurry of planting to the valleys around us. The farmers lay down strips of black plastic, along with a fine, perforated plastic hose to irrigate the young plants. The seedlings are planted in small holes that are poked through the plastic sheeting, to insure that only they and not the rapacious weeds benefit from the precious moisture. We watched the local women hard at work in the fields, bending over to plant one tiny seedling after another, thousands and thousands of them. Come mid-summer, the plants will be heavy with melons, ready for the tourists.

I have, somewhat reluctantly, ploughed under the dazzling red poppy field that represented what remained of my beans. That’s because a host of pernicious weeds were spreading at the feet of the poppies and there was no way of destroying the former while leaving the latter alone. This afternoon I am committed to assisting Jones with her weeding. In particular, she wishes to do away with the ageing borage plants. These are annuals that spring up in the winter and wither away to a dirty brown in the early summer. While in bloom they are very attractive, especially to bees.

BORAGE
Speaking of which – we had lunch with friends, Eddie and Lesley. The former has taken to bee-keeping, capturing swarms that he has found near their home north of Messines. His apiary has expanded from one hive to four. We wondered, after seeing a programme on the mysterious and alarming deaths of so many bees across the world, whether his had also been affected. Not at all, he said, adding that wild flowers were plentiful and no pesticides were used in the area. Long may it last. We can speak for the excellence of the honey they produce.