Any fears we had of a painfully dry winter have been dispelled. As I write, the rain that's falling steadily shows a healthy inch brimming in the gauge. We are heading for the wettest November in years - and the month is barely half done. That's fine by us. In this community, winter's rains nourish summer's crops.
But the first half of the week was made in heaven. For the three days of gentle autumn sunshine, Idalecio and Miguel came to cut back our trees. There are scores of trees on the property, none of which had been pruned for years. We asked Idalecio to treat them as he would his own.
This he did, concentrating on the carobs, the olives and the almonds - the fruit-bearing trees which have long sustained the Algarve. While Idalecio wielded his chainsaw, Miguel dragged the branches away - the leafy ends to be mulched, the boughs to be cut up for firewood and the rest to be burned.
Miguel is an engineer who, like thousands of other graduates in Portugal, is finding little outlet for his qualifications. So he welcomed the opportunity of some gainful exercise in the sun. Among other things he is a personal trainer - as his physique attests. These days, he says, you have to be able to turn your hand to anything.
It was his first experience of driving a tractor. I advised him to take it slowly. The three stages of tractor driving are: learning nervously, gaining in confidence and then frightening oneself nearly to death. Several of our neighbours have had nasty accidents. Tractors have great power and no discretion.
While the workers laboured away, I set about making a fire. This had to be one of the most unwilling fires I have ever lit. It mocked my efforts. The ground is saturated as is much of the vegetation. Time and again my sticks would catch alight, only to extinguish themselves again in a depressing wisp of smoke.
I wasn't ambitious enough, said Idalecio, who took the tractor to fetch the moutains of branches that Miguel had built up. One at a time, he backed them up to the fire, barely visible behind the shunted pile of greenery. In minutes my piffling little blaze became a roaring inferno. It wasn't a problem.
There was hardly a breath of wind and the surrounding trees were at a safe distance. This is the time of year for pruning trees and vines and for burning the offcuts. There's no other practical option. Around the valley plumes of smoke rise into the air as the farmers set to work. Officially one is supposed to notify the fire service.
For the first couple of years, I did - and a fireman came along to inspect the piles to be burned. Then, like everyone else, I just waited for the first rains before setting the offcuts on fire. This week I also did my share of carving Idalecio's severely pruned boughs into useful sections.
Load after tractor-load of wood found its way to the top of the property where a giant woodpile has taken shape. The wood will have to spend at least one summer and maybe two drying out before it becomes suitable fuel for our wood-burning stove. Right now the dogs are gathered around the stove
in a melody of quiet snores as Jones prepares supper and I type away.
So that's where our week has gone, along with dog walks, English lessons and outings for May and Olive. During one outing we came across a discarded sofa, several cushions from which are now dog beds.
Jones, who has taken most of the pictures - including this stunning dawn - remains behind the camera this week. But she's hale and hearty, busy with the usual chores, feeding the cats in Casa Nada before our morning walk and supporting the neighbourhood critters after our afternoon stroll.
Speaking of which, here you see Raymond crouched anxiously behind Dearheart as she laps away at a saucer of milk. Raymond hopes that Dearheart will leave some milk for him. But like a gentledog, he waits his turn. Would that there were more like him.
Next week our garden shapers will be back to finish the job. Meanwhile we have our heads down as the rain falls and the winds howl about the house.
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