Letter from Espargal: 22 May 2020

The rain is no more. A mighty thunderstorm over the lower Alentejo signalled the last downpour of the season.  The remains of the fire that glimmered in the wood stove a few days ago are smudged faintly on the glass.


DAWN WANING CRESCENT MOON
Hard on the heels of the departing rain came eager summer, bounding over the hill like some giddy teenager.  Temperatures have soared into the 30s. Watering the garden is again a daily chore.



Sunday we went walking with David and Dagmar, friends who moved a while back from Loule to an apartment on the fringes of a lightly wooded area by the sea. The sweep of countryside is beloved of walkers and cyclists from nearby Quarteira - and little wonder.



Barbara and Dagmar observed a large snake slithering down from the branches of this carob tree before disappearing into a hole in the trunk. I regret that David and I were slightly ahead of them at the time and didn't see it. It was gone before Jonesy could snap it.



Snakes aside - and they mind their own business - there's room enough for all to wander at leisure among the trees. Seating comes in the shape of fallen trunks. Sitters are advised to keep a sharp look out for the ants that often infest them.



Monday restaurants reopened as the government further relaxed the Covid-19 confinement measures. We celebrated with supper at the Hamburgo. Strict rules limit the number of clients according to space. Tables are carefully set out, two metres apart.


MANUEL, PROPRIETOR OF THE HAMBURGO
Serving staff are required to wear masks at all times. Diners have to wear them to enter and leave the restaurant and while crossing the floor to visit the loos - lest they should cough in the presence of others.



The one place they are not required is the kitchen.  Graça, the chef, put one on to come out and have a word with us. As is clear from the photo, diners there were few. Manuel says they will decide at the end of the month whether it's worth their while to continue.



Each time we return home from an outing, we admire the vibrant display of poppies in an adjacent field. Our poppies are pretty spectacular too but are interspersed among the bean plants.



The neighbour's, on the other hand, are simply a floral symphony. Their intensity reminds me of the rainbow parade of tulips that dazzled us on a visit to the Netherlands many years ago - great swathes of brightly painted countryside.



Wednesday, while Natasha set about the house, we shopped for pool equipment - our summer cover is disintegrating - before heading to Faro beach for a take-out tuna sandwich, consumed in the car over a leisurely view of the estuary.  Small groups of families were camped on the sand. New rules dictate beach use for the foreseeable.



At the airport across the estuary there was no sign of life. Aircraft were glued to the apron. Only Lisbon airport is still active. Faro flights are expected to resume next month. (We changed our easyJet passwords after hearing that hackers had stolen millions of client login details.)



On the way home we stopped at our favourite Loule snack bar for our first coffee and (shared) rice cake in months. How good they tasted! We've really missed them. From behind their masks the staff welcomed us back.



Another small success that day was the arrival of a long-awaited replacement coffee flask for the study coffee maker. Finding a supplier took a lot of google time. The first two outfits that listed the flasks came back to us to say they were out of stock and not expecting any. A Spanish firm was finally able to supply one.



Thursday we took our first swim of the year. The water's a comfortable 26*C. We had spent most of the day working our cotton socks off with Slavic -  weeding, pruning, strimming and clearing. It's the time of year when the garden has to be stripped of winter's excess. Load after tractor load of greenery was deposited on one or other compost heap.


JONES CRESCENT MOON
The process is a bit like undressing a bulky lady to find she's been wearing everything in the wardrobe, and there's a surprisingly slim figure underneath.



Carpets of these lovely blue flowers can be found along our walks. We've long admired them as we perspire our way around the hills. Neither of Barbara's comprehensive guides to local wild flowers listed them. Eventually we tracked them down on the internet - Scabious Jasione Montana. (I bet you were just dying to know that!)

Letter from Espargal: 15 May 2020

There are days when I feel my age, just a bit, with somewhat gritty hips and grotty back. I do not say feeling "old" because old is not part of the Jones vocabulary in this context, nor does she encourage others to use it. "Old" is fine when referring to friends or describing treasured possessions. We merely age a little from time to time.



As you may imagine, my real challenge is not coping with the afflictions of covid-19 or age, it's what to put in the blog. I can tell you about the weather - it's been wet - but I can see you drifting off already.


CAR PORT TREATS ON A RAINY DAY
Or I can tell you about carport treats and wet ambles around the park on spiky-seed weed-covered paths -


BARBARA PIC
foliage glistening and trees dripping - but I think I can hear background snoring.



Of rather more interest, to us at least, is the hole that Barbara discovered in the side of our driveway. She wondered whether I'd asked Slavic to dig it for one of the numerous plants we're always, well, transplanting. I hadn't and he hadn't. It must be the work of an animal, presumably either a dog (the more likely suspect) or wild boar. Although the latter turn over the earth, we've never come across any of their holes.


THE GIRL I MARRIED
What I've spent most of the week doing - apart from taking lengthy siestas in my recliner and settling down to Netflix - is sorting out our many thousands of digital photographs.


SHE GREW UP
These cover several decades of holidays, visitors and occasions as well as episodes in our youth and the lives of a great many pets.



My wife has been making daily visits to our early-fruiting plum tree and returning with the bounty.  Some of the fruit goes into our nightly salads. The other trees promise far less ample crops. We are still enjoying the plums she (and neighbour Sarah) stewed last year. (Keep up the good work, ladies!)



When she's not in the garden, Jones likes to do the washing or vacuum and mop the floors, a task that tends to interrupt my Netflix viewing  - although the headphones drown out most of the noise. She prefers the window-blind up; it's been lowered to accommodate the TV.



The cats are not keen on the vacuuming either. Their preference is to observe proceedings from the safety of the stairs, with escape options both up and down.



unless there's a companionable rainy-day wood fire glowing in the stove.



When my lap isn't available, Mini makes herself comfortable on a cushion. (Mini is the only dog I've come across whose tail wags furiously in her sleep, presumably the indicator of a delightful dream. In Mini's case, it would be about food.)


DATURA: ANGELS' TRUMPETS
The rain has gone down well with the garden, which is gradually taking over the paths, the patios, the cobbles, the steps and our lives. The newly strimmed sections of field mock our efforts, springing up again as though they had merely ducked.


ANOTHER BARBARA PIC
Which brings me pretty much to the end of my story for the week, such as it is. The rain has blown over for the moment. The dogs are chaffing. It's going to be as muddy as Flanders. But mud comes off and duty calls. |

Letter from Espargal: 8 May 2020

SLOBBER ROCK
Some days, when we are too exhausted to take the dogs walking in the afternoon, we just amble around the park instead, always ending up at slobber rock. Slobber rock, up near the top gate, is where the dogs get their second treat. (The first is handed out in the dell near the bottom of the park.) Knowing what's coming, the mutts crowd around me in slobbery expectation, drooling generously all over my clothes - an experience not for the faint-hearted or the fashion-conscious.



That was the case on Thursday after a busy time with Slavic. It's the time of year when Jones is afflicted by hay fever. Her eyes water, her nose drips and her skin gets scratchy.  It is not only she that suffers; poor Pally - making his way through the tall grass - explodes in a series of paralysing machine-gun sneezes. Eventually Jones feels obliged to pick him and carry him to the nearest path.



It was while exploring the terraces that I came across these three beauties, sheltering amidst the greenery.



Jonesy crouched down to take a close up. They're our second pyramid orchid discovery within the park - such glorious flowers! The season for orchids is virtually over but the late rains - more due this weekend - have helped to extend it.



Slavic spent much of the day strimming areas of our field close to the house, as the law requires.
I'm reluctant to plough our big field yet as the poppies and daisies are still so spectacular; I really need to wait for the last rains.



But we cut the grass around the solar panels and delivered two tractor loads to the Dutch couple with horses at the end of the road.



The early plums are have started to fall. Now that the fava beans have been exhausted, Barbara has focussed her attention on the plums instead. Some she turns into jam. Others she stews up and then freezes. They make delicious eating throughout the year, often as part of a yogurt, muesli and nut lunch.



Shelling the last picking of beans has fallen to me, my hair much in need of Fatima's scissors. This is the last of the crop.



The garden meanwhile, thriving on the late rains, has gone berserk. The plants have quite overpowered the paths. We've spent hours - with Slavic's help - cutting back the vines and ripping the morning glory out of the branches of surrounding trees. The creeper, for all its beauty, is a real invader, a coloniser of everything around it.



Which brings us to Friday afternoon. That's Mini that's staring hopefully up at me. She and I have both had a pleasant siesta on the bed. I am careful to cover my groin with my iPad after lying down as she tends to use me to trampoline across the bed. I spent much of the morning in Loule waiting for a non hospital appointment (that's one that you think you have but the hospital doesn't). I wasn't really sorry to miss it. The Covid-19 arrangements, with masked patients queued at the front door and scattered dismally around the car park, are quite depressing.


MALVA FLOWER
Portugal has announced a programme of gradual easing of Covid restrictions, foreseeing the stepped opening of various classes of business.  Masks are obligatory in all interior public spaces - Jones takes hers off at the first opportunity - and social distancing is carefully practised. Restaurants will be permitted to open in the second half of the month, with customer numbers strictly limited according to space.



Midweek Jones instructed me to go outside to behold the last super moon of the year. I did. It looked much as usual, if a bit hazier, but at least I could honestly say that I'd seen it.



One afternoon, Marie presented Jonesy with these alstromeria flowers from her garden. I think they're lovely. They're also formed the flower bouquet that Barbara wore on her wedding day.



Come on guys! It's time for a walk.

Letter from Espargal: 1 May 2020

Calças-de-cuco (Cuckoo's trousers)
Last week's health warning still holds. The blog editorial committee is divided over the wisdom of trying to show or say something different week after week while conditions are so limiting. And the blog may well take a few weeks' break. 



This week's mini drama, presided over by Jones, was played out on the path beside the property.  The incident involved two dung beetles, the smaller of which had collected a ball of dung that was coveted by the larger. These creatures are much in evidence at this time of year, generally seen backed up against their little round prizes. My wife, disturbed by the mugging, intervened to protect the smaller beetle's interests, using a leaf to try to keep the mugger at bay.


BIG BEETLE ASTRIDE HIS DUNG BALL
In vain. The thug would not be distracted from his prize.  In the end Jones watched helplessly as he made off with the dung, leaving his victim empty-footed.  We sometimes come across such beetles lying helpless on their backs, and do our best to right them. It's a tough life on shit street.



The week's two big jobs have been watery ones. Wednesday I turned off the jacuzzi pump with a view to replacing the water with Slavic's assistance the following day. In the event, he couldn't come - car trouble! Jones assisted me instead, first to empty the tub and then to refill it.



It's quite a big job as the jacuzzi sits on the upper patio, which means much raising and lowering of hose pipes, as well as directing the old water on to the appropriate plants. Now we wait a day or two for the jacuzzi to warm up.



Friday dawned sunny and windless, ideal for removing the winter cover from the pool. We were impressed by the clarity of the water that had lain undisturbed for six months. The bulges you can see beneath the cover...



are these three large gym balls that were intended (with partial success) to raise the cover in order to drain off rain water. The rain still collected in pools. When we drained a large one earlier this week, we came across thousands of mosquito larvae. We got the little buggers just in time.



Having removed the cover - it was pretty dusty -  we hosed it down and spread it out in the sunshine to dry before folding it up and putting it away. Then we put "the shark" to work to vacuum the bottom of the pool. Now all we need is for it to warm up. Spring is steadily giving way to summer. The car's air conditioning is already working hard on our weekly shop.



Another task was to shear Russ. With their thick coats, both he and Bobby have been struggling on our walks, panting heavily and pausing in the shade to catch their breath whenever the opportunity arises.



Neither of my electric dog clippers was up to the task, even with new blades. In the end I took a pair of scissors to him, hacking out as much wool as I could before thinning out his undercoat with a wire brush. Somewhere along the line, sheep genes got into Russ's family line.


A DRINK AT THE WATER ROCK
For the dogs and us, long walks make up the highlights of our corona-epoch days. We spend the best part of an hour on an extended afternoon circuit,



often listening to the BBC  news programs as we make our way along the paths. At night we catch up with the Portuguese news. Portugal's government, like most, is caught between trying to revive the economy without rekindling the spread of the virus.



On our return from the hills, we sit down to biscuits and baggies. There are no words to describe how good they taste after such exertions.  The beasts simply collapse for the better part of an hour,



rousing themselves again for supper. I do the dogs' meals. Jonesy does ours. We haven't had any complaints (although Barbara does express the wish that the local restaurant would at least open to do take-aways!)


SALSIFY FLOWER (Tragopogon hybridus)Enough unto the week!