Letter from Espargal: Easter Sunday 5 April 2015

Easter Sunday is upon us. A happy Easter to us all! The poppies in the valley below are in their glory. If I had to choose just one flower to populate the earth, I think it might be the poppy. We admired them, a great red stripe across the valley floor, as we returned from Sunday brunch at the Hamburgo.

This bloglet is rather late. That's mainly because I had the services of the Ukrainian brothers over the weekend and spent much of my time overseeing their labours in the fields. They are great workers, the pair of them. The work itself was overdue. The lands are drowning in vegetation because I have not been able to plough the growth under. And the trees badly needed cutting back.

In-between times I have been having scans on my back and consultations. More lie ahead as we try to work out what to do about my troublesome spine. For the moment I'm taking things easy and spending a lot of time on the bed.

Jones has spent long, hot hours on the banks above the Great Wall of Espargal, hauling out the most undesirable weeds and encouraging the wild flowers that are trying to eke out a living. At night we have taken it in turns to drag ourselves out of bed and go downstairs to turn the hose on the barking orphans in a bid to shut them up. We can claim some success. So, I suppose, can the orphans.

Barking at the moon aside, they are joyful little creatures that share their lives and happiness with us, alongside a host of other creatures that need no further introduction.

So without more ado, let me wish you again the compliments of the season as an Easter Sunday siesta beckons.