MISTY MORNING IN THE PARK
I have only slim pickings to offer you - a few flowers and some country scenes, by turns sunny, drizzly and misty. We haven't minded the mist. It's served to shut the world out and (given the mess it's in) that's fine by us.
When the sun did shine, we went looking for orchids. It's the season. Here's Jones taking pics in a field where naked man orchids thrive.
They're still in first bloom, retarded by the dry autumn and possibly the recent rains. It's not hard to see where they get their name.
Monday my English class discussed the state of the busy road and railway bridge across the Tagus. Engineers have warned that fissures, cracks and loose bolts need urgent attention. The government assures travellers that there's no immediate danger of collapse. As we cross the bridge each time we take the train to Lisbon, we declare an interest.
Closer to home, it's the state of old dry-stone walls that's of more concern. Each spell of wet weather brings another few metres crashing down. The wonder is, when one beholds the muddy mortar used to bind them, that they have lasted so long.
In years past, when we had just two or three dogs, we used to drive a few minutes down to the valley floor and walk them along this agricultural road. Every now and then the dogs would startle a rabbit and go off on a glorious chase. (I don't think they ever caught one.) So this was an excursion for old times' sake.
A little further down the road, the view from the bridge shows the detritus from the cane bank drifting down the swollen Algibre to the sea. As dull and damp as our days have been, we've welcomed the rain - and still need lots more to survive the summer.
Back at the ranch, we have our own flowers to admire.
There are none more beautiful than the early purple orchids blooming in the park. (Below) this sawfly lies right in the middle of the path. We've placed stones around to protect it from canine traffic.
Wednesday morning we braved the drizzle to deliver last year's financial bumph to the accountants. Time was when long paper-clutching queues would form outside the Finanças. No longer! These days the taxman accepts only digital returns.
The afternoon brought an appointment with a dermatologist at Loule Hospital. A provisional date has been set for minor surgery at the end of the month.
Still on a health theme, Jones's deep-chested cough, which bears my undeniable footprints, now matches anything that I was able to produce last week. On that front gender-equality reigns. When it comes to explosive sneezes I'm still ahead by a nose. Even so, for a girl-cold, hers is pretty impressive.
CORRECTION
BARBARA AND I ATTENDED A FUNERAL LAST WEEK OF AN ELDERLY PORTUGUESE NEIGHBOUR. WE WRONGLY CONFUSED THIS NEIGHBOUR WITH ANOTHER EQUALLY ELDERLY NEIGHBOUR OF THE SAME NAME, TO WHOM WE APOLOGISE. PLEASE IGNORE ANYTHING THAT YOU MAY HAVE READ ON THIS SUBJECT IN THE BLOG PRIOR TO THIS CORRECTION!
Thursday morning brought the first tick of the year. We spotted the unwelcome visitor clambering about in Pally's thick coat. Jones grasped the reluctant dog while I removed the intruder. Time to replace the bug collars.
Middayish, between the showers, we took Pricks and Russ down to the valley. It was wet underfoot with swampy patches and extensive puddles, but passable with care.
There wasn't a soul around, just traces of piggy diggings among the trees. The birds were singing their hearts out. Russ ran free. He thought he was in heaven. We shared his feelings. Joy is a country stroll on a spring day with a breeze in one's hair.
Let me leave you with the shy bluebells in the park. They're modest flowers, not given to flaunting themselves, but happy to reward passers-by who've a moment to spare and an appreciative eye. As I said, it's been a quiet week.
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