Every now and then something small and marvellous happens, an insignificant event that really lifts one spirits. And such was the case last weekend as I was turning over the soil in our large field. We’ve had no rain at all this year and the ground was exceptionally hard. This was perhaps for this reason that an egret glided down and began stalking along barely a metre behind the scarifier blades, stabbing into the furrows as he went. He was beautiful and I felt really privileged to be in his company.
He followed the tractor faithfully and fearlessly for several minutes until, much to my annoyance, he was chased off by a neighbour’s dogs. The dogs were just doing what dogs do. But I did wish that they’d leave my egret alone.
Later, when I returned to my task, I was joined – not by one – but by three egrets. They were not as bold as my former companion and kept their distance. Even so, I was delighted to have their company and to be able to provide them with a snack. I have often been followed by a robin when turning over the soil but never before by egrets.
That night, Jones and I had more company, more than we needed. A breezy evening grew gradually windier until we found ourselves sheltering from a fully-fledged gale. The force of the wind was quite frightening. I managed to close most of our large shutters, which are otherwise liable to get ripped right out of their hinges. It was hard to concentrate on either the TV or the radio.
We could hear items being hurled around the cobbles and something clattered heavily from time to time on our roof. I think it was part of the solar water-heater.
Slavic and I later went up to discover the culprit – without success. We doubly secured and insulated the pipework that might have been responsible. We’ll have to wait for the next gale to see what success we had.
The storm left all our animals deeply uneasy, unable to relax and unwilling to lie down. Little Prickles was impossible. Jonesy eventually took him into bed with her. Ono was already there, so was Dearheart, the cat. And Mary was on the carpet beside the bed. There was barely room under the duvet for two humans. We lay in the dark for what seemed like hours as the furious winds gradually blew themselves out. In the morning we found our possessions strewn about the cobbles.
To make matters more complicated, the electricity supply was so poor after nightfall that we and a neighbour both phoned the EDP’S 24-hour complaint line. A sympathetic official noted the situation and said he would send out a team to check. Thirty minutes later two fellows in yellow jackets arrived on the scene. They had tested the supply at the bottom of the village, they told us – shouting above the wind - and had found it seriously wanting. They promised to try to remedy the situation the following day. We know the cause of the problem: we’re too far from the nearest transformer and we doubt that things will improve much until a new one is installed but we certainly can’t complain about the service.
Wednesday: The Met Office warns us to expect another big chill until at least the start of next week. It’s cold; close to freezing overnight. I wore seven layers today – I counted them – while driving the tractor and working with Slavic in the garden. He was pretty warmly dressed too. He continues to improve our paths and garden steps as well as repairing the crumbling walls of the old sheep- and pig-pens.
These were built in traditional fashion by the farmers who originally lived here, some just of stone and others of stone with clay as a bond. They've done pretty well in spite of their fragility; they must be at least 50 years old. But under pressure of the elements they do appreciate a little tlc from time to time.
Also immersed in several layers was Natasha, who was cleaning the large windows on the south patio. She didn’t thank me for taking this picture. Women liked to prettify themselves before being photographed, she explained, and she didn’t feel at her best. I informed her that I never felt at my best, not where pictures are concerned. I always look a lot funnier than I feel.
Here are some flowers that Jones rescued from a supermarket. She feels a strong bond with flowers and communicates with them. I heard her reassuring these that they’d soon be sitting happily in the sun. And so they are. It didn’t sound corny, at all. The BBC reported this week on how plants alert one another to possible dangers. (Read it for yourself if you don’t believe me: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-16916474) I talk to the animals all the time – and they sure make their feelings clear in return.
Portugal is gearing up for carnival, which it always does to mark the start of Lent. (I thought the name came from the Latin, “carne vale”, meaning a farewell to meat. But according to Wikipedia, one can choose from several rival etymological explanations.) February is a silly time to hold street processions in Europe but that’s how it is.
The floats are pretty racy, some of them, and the girls riding on them don’t leave much to the imagination, in spite of the cold weather. This picture shows a huge “rabano”(French turnip or black radish, according to my dictionary) that a local worthy had carved in anticipation of the celebrations. Its owner cut a slice for us to taste - a bit like a radish, said Jones. I took her word for it.
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