Letter from Espargal: 23 of 2010

There’s the tum-tum of a learner drummer coming from Idalecio’s place. Our neighbour has rented it out for a week to some music students and their teachers. One might be forgiven for thinking that not all are destined to be prodigies. Idalecio hoped, as he passed the gate one morning, that we were not being unduly disturbed. Given that the Valapena canine chorus performs for the village throughout the year, I felt that we had few grounds for complaint.

We haven’t done much this week, not much that’s different anyhow, nor are we likely too until the weather cools down. Midweek, a violent electric storm rent the pre-dawn skies and brought some hope of relief from the heat.

STORM

I had to get out of bed to pull the computer and TV plugs from the wall; then again to close the clanging shutters; and a third time, as a thin unseasonal rain started falling, to put away the tractor, which has been standing outside.

The rain stopped as I did so but that’s life. At least, for the first time in a week, we got a cool breeze through the house. I squeezed back into bed with Jones, Ono and Dearheart and tried to get some sleep.

GREY SKIES

After fetching Natasha from the bus and dropping her at Jodi’s place, (I fetch her again at lunchtime to work the afternoon for us) we went walking in the valley. For once the skies were grey rather than eye-blinding blue, which made a welcome change. By the time we got back to the car, summer had returned; the dogs fell on the water-dish that we carry in the boot.

AMARELEJA SOLAR PROJECT

Here we’ve been bumping up against 40*C. In the Alentejo, to the north of us, temperatures hit a record 50*C for two days running in the village of Amareleja (site of a vast solar power installation – check it on Google). They say it’s no good threatening sinners in the Alentejo with hellfire because it might come as some relief.

I discovered, fortunately without being stung myself, how it was that Jones fell foul of a vengeful insect last week. While watering the garden I noticed a couple of wasps hovering around the tractor gate. Closer inspection revealed a nest that the little stingers had constructed inside the lock compartment.

WASPS' NEST

Although their half of the gate normally remained closed, the wasps suffered the equivalent of a Richter 8 earthquake each time the other half clanged shut. Little wonder that they grew peeved and took out their ire on the unfortunate Jones. I’m a live and let-live person but I draw the line at disgruntled yellow-jackets. Thirty seconds of pressure-hosing served to evict them.

SHEEPFOLD

Jonesy had another intimate insect experience during a walk when she stopped behind the wall of an old sheepfold for a moment’s reflection. A plague of famished ticks instantly set upon her. She fled the scene, plucking the little bloodsuckers off as she did so.

Equally active – remember, this has been a very quiet week - are the armies of ants stationed all around us. Ant legions march up and down ant- ique highways, burdened with seeds destined for their underground granaries. Some ants are almost invisible beneath their loads. Others patrol our front patio, equally swift to swoop on biscuit crumbs in the dog bowls and the corpses of swatted flies.

TAKING A FLY TO SUPPER

Lastly – are you still there? – the bees are going bananas in the flowering wild thyme at the top of the hill, thousands of them. The noise of their wings threatens to out-vuvuzela the vuvuzelas at the World Cup. We’re pleased to see them there; it’s reassuring, given the alarming decrease in bee numbers.

THYME IN BLOSSOM

Talking of vuvuzelas - of course, I oohed and aahed with the fans during the semi–finals – especially the Holland-Uruguay cliff-hanger - and will be back on station over the weekend. Holland or Spain? Somehow I fancy Spain, although this is not a sentiment that I shall share with our Dutch friends. It’s hard to imagine life after the World Cup. What am I going to do for the rest of the summer?

As usual, Jonesy has spent long hours clearing and watering the garden. It’s looking good. Vegetation always swamps us during the spring and has to be cut back severely on our return from abroad. I’ve spent late afternoons scarifying fields that were deep in dry grasses and flowers, great piles of which got wedged into the teeth of the scarifier. I dropped off two loads at Dries and Bianca’s house, at the end of the road, for their horses to nose through.

The council has been round clearing the overgrown verges. Our roads are narrow and crooked, and the exuberant growth has made it difficult to see oncoming traffic. Some corners are completely blind at the best of times. I crawl around them, hooting to announce my presence. Local drivers have a bad habit of assuming that nothing is coming the other way, an error attested to by shards of glass in the road and tyre stripes leading into the fields.

We’ve been trying to use up our reserves of old almond nuts. In time the kernels shrivel and are hardly worth the eating. We crack the nuts in the evenings and share them with the dogs. Jones says we should just crack the shells and leave the dogs to extract the kernels. The dogs themselves are perfectly happy to have them extracted.

There is some substance to reports that a figure was seen dancing around in its under- clothes on our upper patio at sunset on Thursday. Before you send the morality police around, please note that a tick was found in the figure’s trousers. The insect vanished moments after being removed and neither the dogs nor the under-clothed figure were able to find the little blighter again in spite of a tile by tile search of the patio.