Letter from Espargal: 3 June 2017

Friday dawn: Jones has been busy with the camera while the house sleeps.

Let me begin last Saturday, the start of the blog week:



Slavic joined us in the afternoon, having had other commitments in the morning. Our first job was to replace a leaky elbow joint in last week's leaking tap. This meant removing all the rocks around the base of the pipe, not my kind of work. At the same time we cemented in the metal pole that supports the tap and surrounded the new elbow with sand. Then we went clearing in the park.



The dogs camouflaged themselves in the undergrowth to watch us at work. There are still sections of the park that haven't been cut back in years. Unfortunately, these tend to prove highly attractive to some very prickly and invasive customers. The worst are esparga, the wild asparagus, and a tough, very nasty creeper called silva. It's resistant to just about everything short of nuclear attack.



Jones appeared one afternoon with some old glass and ceramic objects that had been dumped by the wayside. They included this Limoges ashtray that I thought might be worth a few bob. However, a brief perusal online showed numerous similar objects being offered for sale at two-figure prices.



Other treasures included this crystal bowl and the ceramic jug, both perfectly usable. From a neighbour we gathered later that all the objects concerned came from an adjacent house whose elderly occupants have passed on. A relative had set about clearing it out. Jones hates to see anything useful being thrown out. Her previous acquisitions include two elderly dumped chairs that I have coaxed into a reasonable state of sittability.



One object that I haven't been able to mend is an Ettore Gripper. It was one of two given to me by my sister some time ago, ideal for picking up objects from the ground without having to bend down. (I use it mainly for the dog plates, 18 of which have to be picked up each day!) Much to my dismay, one of the devices suddenly gave up the ghost. I had to drill out the rivet-hinges holding the pincers to get at the works. A close inspection revealed that the plastic mechanism controlling the pincers had simply disintegrated. As the gripper was both expensive and hardly abused, I felt cheated. It had come from the US so there was little point in following up.



Of an evening, when she finds time, Jonesy likes to take a minor baggy up to the talefe on the summit of Espargal hill, both to contemplate the sunset and to escape briefly the doggy and dinner duties awaiting her. She took some wonderful pictures of giant fennel against the background of the hills and the clouds. I think this one's a masterpiece. It reminds me of some of Salvador Dali's works (unless I'm thinking of somebody else)!



Here's another!



That's enough - for the moment, at least!



We watched hours of coverage of the Chelsea Flower Show. To our surprise, more than one of the gardens featured a variety of grass that we do our level best to eliminate. Jonesy calls it sprinkaan  (grasshopper) grass. The seeds have harpoon points and stiff backward-thrusting hairs that hook into the dogs' coats and are the very devil to get out again.



We root up handfuls of these grasses every time we go through the park and dump them on a pile, to be burned. The weather has turned hot. Even so, on days when there's little or no wind, the bombeiros are still permitting people to burn off heaps of cuttings. I spent a morning at it. It was hard work.



Also hard at work are our commuting neighbours, David and Sarah, who are down from the UK for a few weeks. Jonesy popped over to say hello one morning, as she does. While there, she noticed the bees refreshing themselves on the thin layer of water that lay upon the pool cover.



We haven't had any encounters with bees for a while. And I've managed to keep the ticks at bay this past week. Jonesy came across one that was just about to settle down to a meal in her groin, a favoured spot, as I know from painful experience. She needs to wear gaiters around the bottoms of her trousers, as I do.



Midweek we drove across to May's house, which was to be sold that day. Ken and his son had vacated the house at dawn after a two-day visit to make final preparations. As agreed with them, we removed a sack of goodies that they had left behind and a magnolia tree that Jones feared might perish if left unwatered for any length of time.



It took us half an hour to get the pot into the boot. What a to-do! We came home via the back roads with the foliage sticking out, praying that we wouldn't bump into the cops. They take a dim view of any such adventures. Thank you to Fintan for helping us to extract it on our arrival. It weighs a ton.



This agave's expansionist inclinations were starting to to block off an entrance to the field. Jones took a cardboard cutter to it to get rid of the lower limbs. One has to do this with care as the thorns are needle sharp and the juice that flows from the plant burns the skin. Jones got away with a few pricks - very sore pricks, I should add.



Here's our typical lunch table. Jones has fruit, dried fruit and her home-made yoghurt. I prefer the low-fat commercial variety, along with muesli with a spoonful of honey and whatever's going. The orange bowl contains the remains of half a bucket of first-season peaches and plums from our grafted trees, with a great many still ripening.

BUTTERFLY ON A FLOWER

Thursday pm: Jones has gone off to visit a neighbour. I have been working on the blog. This time next week the people of the United Kingdom will be electing a new government. As Labour's fortunes have improved, the Pound Sterling's have worsened. We are watching and listening with more than a little interest and concern.



Here's Jones's Thursday evening sunset to round off the day and the blog.