The problem with installing large plate-glass windows (as everyone knows) is that birds occasionally fly into them. This morning we discovered TWO.
The little Cirl Bunting (above) lived to tell the tale. He sat quietly recovering on my hand for about five minutes, before eventually flying off. Just enough time for Lady M to take this photo.
This young Cuckoo, however, was not so lucky. His demise came suddenly and unexpectedly.
Strangely, he flew into one side of a large sliding window; the other half of which was open. Quite why either he or the Bunting wanted to inspect the interior of my 'tower', I don't know. Maybe they'd read about it somewhere.
It's sad to lose any birds in this way, but to lose a young Cuckoo seems particularly so.
Certain objects become so commonplace, that one forgets that, to others, they might be of interest.
These very roughly fashioned pots are to be found almost everywhere in the pine woods. They are made of terracotta, with a simple glazed interior. So, what are they?
In the not too distant past, the whole of the south west corner of France was thick with pine trees; these were tapped for resin that was then distilled to make turpentine. Nowadays much cheaper substitutes are manufactured, making the tapping of pine resin almost redundant.
The pots above were strapped to the trees beneath a simple galvanised strip of metal, and the resin ran into them, rather like latex or (I imagine) maple syrup, from a cut in the trunk.
Now they're mostly just left to rot, other than a few that get made into rustic garden candles. I've drilled holes in a few to make flower pots, but they're really a bit small. Any suggestions?
One comes across strange things in the countryside; this one was pointed out to me by my friend Craig. What it is; I have no idea.
It's a 6 ft high Gorse bush completely covered in web. No doubt hidden somewhere are either spiders or caterpillars who have been so wonderfully industrious, and no doubt in time they will let themselves be known to us. But for the moment it looks as if the candy-floss man has been practicing his skills out in the open air.
I have to admit to a smidgen of vanity, and that if there was a reliable faux-sun-tan pill, I would probably partake.
Like most people, I just feel better with a bit of tan on my otherwise pale and pasty post-winter body. My problem is that I cannot stand the idea of sitting around sun-bathing; or, even worse, smothering myself with oil.
There is no question in my mind that the easiest way to become the next multi multi billionaire is to invent a tanning pill. Many years ago such a pill DID exist, but the 'tan' was more orange than sienna, and its success was short-lived.
The first person to invent a pill that gives a natural looking all-over tan will make a FORTUNE. Why has this not happened? Surely it can't be that difficult to develop.
The Chestnut trees are in flower; so in come the bees.
Chestnut flower honey is probably the last choice for most people. It is dark, rather bitter, and can leave an unpleasant after-taste.
Anyway, Chestnut trees are what we have most of in this area. Their pollination is essential for good crops, and good crops are essential for a healthy economy. The honey is almost a by-product.
My only grouch is that the local bee keepers (knowing that it's stinking hot) don't think to supply their bees with water, so they all make a 'bee line' for the nearest puddle, pool, or pond. This year we've done away with our own small pond (they don't drink swim-pool water), so it's fallen to one of our neighbours to be inundated with swarms of thirsty bees. She isn't happy; especially as she has three small children. And with hundreds of bees now regularly gathering just by the steps of her house, I don't blame her!
p.s. Since I wrote the above, another lot of hives has been brought in, which are sitting about 150 metres from our house. The slightest damp spot left from watering plant-pots now has it accompanying swarm of bees. Frankly, I'm a little pissed-off.
This is the entrance to a rather nice nearby house, whose 'doctor' owner lives less than 100 kms away in Brive, which is in the Correze (we are in southern Périgord). He usually spends two weeks in the summer here, and occasionally a short while at Easter.
About 35 years ago, his late father built this 'Borie', at the bottom of a small paddock, which looks back up to the house. At the time I lived about 200 metres away, and I made a point of walking by the site every day when it was originally being built; and observed the whole process from nowt to finished.
The stone, the builders, and the style all came from the Correze. He wanted, when in Périgord, to be reminded of his home back in Correze. A little like dining in a Chinese restaurant, but keeping a side plate of tripe-n-onions in view, just for reassurance.
It's a beautiful little building, built entirely of stone. But somehow (to me) it looks wrong in its present surroundings. The stone is hard grey and angular, whereas our local stone is soft and honey coloured (see top picture). And the style is too extravagant for our (probably) much poorer area. Our local 'Bories' are much smaller and more simple affairs.
I would have thought that if, when away, he always wanted to be reminded of home, it would probably have been better to have stayed there. It would have been cheaper too!
Poor old Monty. Only 5 months old and he's already suffered more of his fair share of woes.
Since his encounter with the processionary caterpillar (to which he lost a good part of his tongue), he's now developed a couple of half-tennis-ball sized lumps on his sides, which have been shaved and are being treated with some anti-inflammatory 'horse' balm.
The vet' thinks this could be a reaction to where he was previously given his jabs. Cortizone has strange side-effects.
So, you relax by the pool dear Monty. You deserve a little pampering. We'll bring you your lunch later!
The youngest fruit of my loins, Wills, makes it his duty to see that my mind is occupied with matters other than just vegetable plants and tubes of umber.
This is his latest offering that arrived in saturday's post.... 'The Hermetica' and 'Corpus Hermeticum' both concern the writings of the thrice-great Hermes (Thoth).... And Wasserman's 'Militia of Heaven', looks at the relationship (if that's the right word) between the two opposing secretive bodies of the Crusades; The Templars and The Assassins.
Does everyone have such thoughtful and considerate offspring? Or am I just privileged.
I thank you my darling; a poignant selection. Oh, how I love my 'children'!
For those who've not ventured into such secretive enclaves, this is the interior of a bog-standard French tobacco drying barn.
The complete stems of tobacco were suspended from wires (on two levels) and left to dry in a haphazardly-controlled current of air; the weight of the plants was enormous. In winter, the barns were then used for the stripping and sorting of the leaves, before sending them off to the state buyers; in our case, to Bergerac. The tobacco eventually ending-up as those Gauloises or Gitanes fags, so evocative of France.
We have recently acquired the above barn, and will probably put in an upstairs floor, with loo, shower, and window, to make a very large studio/workshop area. The whole barn measures 20 by 7 metres; effectively giving us 280 square metres of extra usable space.
The growing of tobacco has now all but finished in this area. Developers must be rubbing their hands.
p.s. Some barmy American smart-arse 'preacher' (something Evans?) has declared that the world will end tomorrow. So goodbye everyone; it's been great knowin' y'all...... I'll see you again when he's gone!
When we opened the pool this year, not only was I slightly (totally) incapacitated, but the water was also pretty filthy. However, I never really worry about such things; they're usually soon fixed.
Much more important was the fact that some bloody mouse had taken up residency in the electrical control box, and effed-up the works. But Bertrand, my electrician, soon had it all working again.
The flagstone area around the pool (amusingly know as 'the beach') is always dirty and stained after its winter sojourn spent under the tarpaulin, but this is also soon remedied with copious amounts of diluted bleach and a stiff brush.
The water itself receives a massive shock of fast-disolving chlorine, which makes it instantly sparkle again. It's just a shame there isn't something I could do to raise the temperature of the water; even after all this hot weather, it's still only 20 C . Kettles of boiling water perhaps?
In my present condition it (unfortunately) fell to Lady M, this year, to vacuum the bottom, and brush any green algae from the sides; both of which she did perfectly.
By the way; that's my studio behind the table and chairs. Well, some of us have to work hard!
I'll have my Pimms now please nurse.
p.s. I wonder if there's an olympic swimming category for one-armed breaststroke; I'm getting quite good at it!
The two month drought has meant that Haddock's has been somewhat neglected this year. However things are now changing.
The artichokes are going crazy. This one plant, by the side of my compost heap, already has about 10 edible heads. I'll have to have a big artichoke lunch. We have about 8 large plants in all.
The small tomato plants are still behind their protective tiles. When newly planted the heat of the sun can kill them off, so I take precautions. The tiles also protect from sudden hail storms, etc. As usual I've put in Marmande, Roma, and a whopping Portugese variety; the Cherry toms just self-sow.
The onions, carrots, dwarf beans, aubergines, peppers, courgettes, butternuts, and broccoli plants are all doing well, but being 'one-armed' has meant I'm a bit behind with planting out the sprouts, cavolo nero, kale, and swiss chard. There's plenty of time, and they're all in good sized pots, so not a problem. I've also popped in a few salads that were kindly donated by my friend José.
Once a year (yesterday), the good people of our area are invited to tour the more remote and/or beautiful parts of the village on foot, on bicycle, on stupid quads, or on horseback. Thankfully, this year, most of the quads-bikers stayed at home.
The route takes them behind our house, past Haddock's (you can just see my artichokes, vines, and toms above), and off into the woods on a 24 km hike.
I would estimate that about 100 horses went by; mostly with girlies aboard, mostly not wearing hard-hats. (this bunch above all shouted 'fromage' when they saw me taking their picture)
I'm still resting a very painful torn ligament, so the only sunday activity in which I personally took part, was bellowing instructions to Lady M on how to clean the pool. Well, someone's got to do it, and she did a very good job.
It's been unusually hot here for almost two months. No rain; no respite. So I decided to open up the pool a little earlier than usual.
We have a pretty standard Hayward circulation system of pump, filter, vari-flo valve, and wall-mounted electrical control box. When I turned on (after having gone through the usual set-up rigmarole, nothing happened.... I opened the electrical box to find a bloody mouse nest and several chewed wires.
I am now waiting for the electrician to come and fix things for me. Meanwhile my now uncovered pool is probably about to turn green.
My own fault of course, for not having put down mouse-poison, but I really could do without all this bullshit.
Doris Lessing, flashers and cats
I have been reading for some weeks now (about three) Doris Lessing's
autobiography, Walking in the Shade.
Doris Lessing came to London in the 1950s havin...
2 days ago
The difference between an optimist and a pessimist, is that the optimist enjoys himself whilst waiting for the inevitable! I AM that optimist!
This is a daily, optimistic, 'photos and comments' blog. I make no judgements (only occasionally), just notes. If you wish to comment in any way at all, please feel free. Everything and everyone (except the obdurate and dictatorial) is very welcome.
I was born just south of London, but for the past 46 years I've lived in S W France. I am a painter by profession, and writer by desire. Lady Magnon and I live in an ancient cottage, in a tiny village, in perfectly tranquil countryside. We have a vegetable garden called 'Haddock's' (this may crop up from time to time), plenty of fruit trees, and a view that takes the breath away. I try to treat our planet with respect, and encourage others to do likewise (without preaching).
Contentment is a glass of red, a plate of charcuterie, and a slice of good country bread. Perfect!