~A DULL SATURDAY MORNING
The weather is always a good place to start a conversation. Like a gambit, it provides openings to the serious stuff. Thus far, our weather has been curiously and pleasantly cool by high summer Algarvian standards. While the French have fried and the Brits have baked, we have got comfortably by. If the temperature of the pool has fallen from a balmy C33* to a crisp C28*, it's a sacrifice worth making.
Also grateful for the relatively cooler weather have been the thousands of firefighters dealing with the early crop of summer wildfires. Helicopters clattered over us at the weekend when a big fire closed the north-south highway near Silves. On Tuesday a menacing orange sky north of Salir interrupted Barbara's pre-dawn meditations. Neighbours reported blue-light emergency vehicles racing along the main road in the early hours. Sadly, most of the wildfires are the work of misguided people.
On the domestic front, Dearheart appears to have reached an uneasy truce with Jack, who has now become a fully accredited member of the upper class. He's not fussed if you pick your way past him and, given the right incentive, may even move aside. For a while we tried blocking off the stairs to prevent him from ascending but, given the needs of other upper class members, this caused more problems than it solved.
Our modified kitchen continues to bring us great satisfaction. I hope the novelty doesn't wear off soon. The containers of dog biscuits and canine medication that used to reside on the work surface have disappeared into cupboards, pleasing Jones no end. At the same time, the living room appears to have doubled in size following the removal of dog beds and other clutter.
Although Jones is the established rescuer of those desirable insects - especially bees - that find their way into the house, my services are occasionally required, especially when outsize intruders - such as this fellow - are concerned. Jones's rescue technique is to place a glass over the stranded creature and to slide a sheet of paper beneath it. On the other hand, rodent releases - under spousal orders - have been assigned to me. A new trap, baited with the spicy sausage recommended by the vendor, proved its worth, closing on the rat that has been wreaking havoc in the storage shed. Like his predecessors, the captive was set at liberty in the fields beyond the village (where snakes are appreciative of a rodent snack).
For years Jones has been taking daily bones to two neighbouring dogs that are the parents of some of our brood. Of late, she has also been feeding several cats and a litter of kittens. I should add that there is a surplus of cats and kittens in Espargal, as in most villages. Much as she appreciates the kittens, my wife gets very testy with roadside Toms seen having their way with young females. There's about as much romance in feline relationships as there is discretion in Trumpian tweets.
Wednesday Nelson returned to finish redecorating the house. High winds had ruled out any painting earlier in the week. Here he is up on the roof. The larger chimney bears witness to our winter living room fires. The upper chimney, over the kitchen stove, gets little or any use. I can't remember when Valapena has looked as smart.
Thursday brought the start of August - and August signals the start of the important carob-picking season. Carobs, which are by far the most important crop in this part of the world, provide a livelihood for a great many country people. Serious farmers fertilise their trees during the winter, something we failed to do last year. And as the winter was drier than usual, our crop this year is rather thin.
Even so, those of our trees that benefit from the irrigation of the garden have a useful supply. While I stand to pick carobs from the branches (in order to give minimal offence to my protesting left leg) Barbara stoops to collect them from the floor. Note the presence in the background of Mini, who is also an enthusiastic carob collector, although few of hers find their way to the bucket.
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