She has, she isn't, and the awning?

January 2010

BEFORE: This, then, is the old 'kitchen' caravan. With awning still pristine, everything intactus.

November 2010

Oooohhhhdeearrr! And so the now redundant kitchen caravan has a new hat to wear: the awning. Taken up into the air and repositioned by one of the huge blasts of wind which came visiting during the night.

And so we have a mucky mess: mostly loads of assorted gardening paraphanalia, the old camping twin tub washing machine with which I had many a merry moment until the advent of the new washing machine, the old washing machine kindly donated by friends but which konked out after a couple of months, and the chicken.

And she has! Up off the nest she came a couple of days ago, to have a feed. And I had a look at her nest in the dustbin. A broken egg shell. And  a baby chick. So she has / had one hatchling. I say 'had' because I have not seen it since, and don't like to get her off the nest to have a look, because this hen has, with remarkable stoicism, sat tightly upon her nest, despite the awning flapping and blowing about around her. 

She ought to be moved. Not sure where we can put her though. We have minimal barn space here. Could have done with having the roof of the Tall Barn finished, but no sign of that being done any time soon. So she will have to keep camping out in her dustbin.


As for these two:

They continue to lay seige to the front door, waiting for the appearance of Dad Hubs so he can feed them. They are the lowest of the pecking order here, being the littlest and youngest, but are doing well nonetheless. Just wrecking my plants round the door, that's their fav pastime. But I suppose their thinking is, that while they wait for grain, that they may as well have a munch on what else is available. They are sleeping in Bool's old puppy kennel at night. Seems to suit them.

On the piggy front: Tess. Is she or isn't she? She isn't. Upon frequent examination of her posterior, we have noted an increasing pinkiness. So, no, no babies were made last time. Which is just as well really, as we are still in the process of building another paddock. And Max has quietened down as well, which is a relief. Although he still lays his ears back and dribbles and snorts when Hubs is anywhere near him. I keep telling Max that Hubs is not interested in Tess as a possible mate, but he doesn't listen. Like all males,  he seems to switch his hearing off when it suits!

Copious amounts of rain have fallen over the last day or two, but the temperature remains quite mild so we haven't had fires on during the day. But we have had our newly purchased electric blanket switched on all night. OoooohhH! Getting into that bed, out in the caravan, which is toasty warm, is like getting into a deep bath of lovely warm water. I slide into those sheets, and submerge myself into the welcoming warmth. It is quite, quite delightful! And I firmly push to the back of my mind any stray thoughts about being electrocuted and should I wear PJ's just in case.

Thinks we have learnt: That it takes team effort to get a smallholding up and running, and that patience is a 'must have' requirement in regards to the animals one has on one's smallholding. They all have individual needs, and will not hesitate to speak if they are upset or in need. Not only are we having to learn French, we are also having to learn the body language and vocal language of thirty six other beings. Patience, as I say, is a 'must have'.  

And so: what are we going to do about the seeds to be sown next year now the awning has become a hat, having been recycled from its previous role as our potting shed. Don't know. So will await inspiration on that one.

Meanwhile: Have a good day!

Two things

The first thing: On the ongoing subject of the dock weeds growing in great profusion in our newly grassed fields. And my dilemma is this: if the seeds from these plants can be used for grinding into flour, and if the leaves in spring can be used in salads, and if the roots are also of use in cooking and holistic remedies, should I be digging them up with the intent to burn them? What is the distinction between seeing a plant as a weed to be got rid of, or a possible supplement to the kitchen larder?

But the docks are strong growers, threatening to make the fields into dock-pasture rather than grass-pasture. So what to do!

My conclusion is this: Dig up the big docks. Leave the baby docks. Sheep should be on the fields next year and they should be able to keep the young docks in check so they don't become the prime pasture plant. If any of those plants shoot up a flower head which provides seeds, then these I shall harvest. Good plan, don't you think? Now all I have to do is go out and dig those parent plants up and get them sent to heaven.

The second thing: I have started up another blog called The Writing Pathway. It came into my mind that perhaps I could pass on the learning I have acquired in regards to getting a book written and self published so that others might feel encouraged to do the same. It is a long process, fraught with frustration at every turn, but oh what a feeling of achievement when one has one's book in one's hands. No matter that no-one has bought it because the sense of achievement is awesome.

And an update: side field now partially with the fencing wire. Roof almost completed. One thermal vest, two t shirts, two fleeces, one sleeveless fleece, one wrap, two pairs of socks, two pairs of trousers plus thermal 'long johns', but no heating on because I can't be bothered to switch on the fire. This is what I wearing at the moment: obviously it has got colder! Freezing fog is the mode of weather at the moment, which evaporates mid day to give us an afternoon of sunshine. Then I have to unpeel myself from the layers because I get overheated! Ah the joys of living close to the mountains in SW France whereby the temperature can go from very cold to very hot all in a few hours!

Lots of English are going back to the UK now. Not us. We are here to stay. So gathering to myself my fork, my bucket, my two pals Bools and Gus, I am off to try and put my wellies on prior to another parent-dock attack. Bending over to get those wellies on is a task indeed when one has so many clothes cluttering up one's physical movements!

Hoping your day goes well, and is full of interesting moments, saying au revoir pour ce momente.

In memory of the Little Washer.

On arrival: The now-bedroom caravan, the rear end of. Parked up by the Pig / Chicken Hut now the Hutto 'office'. In the doorway Hubs's generator. To the fore of that, a petite green stool used for sitting my posterior on. To the left of the stool, water bottles. Centre is a once upon a time wine making container, again being used as a water container. Beside that lies the black plastic thermal shower bags. Two.

And gracing the entire photo is the blue washing machine, the Little Washer. It is a twin tub. You put the clothes in one side, the machine gives them a swirl. You then take the clothes out of that side, putting them into the spin dryer side, not forgetting to put the water outlet pipe into the wine making container so that the outgoing water from the spinner can be recycled back into the washing water, the heat of which has been provided by water from a kettle, and some more water (lukewarm) from the thermal shower bags.

The electricity to run the whole operation came from the generator. It was noisy and coughed up a fairly large quantity of fumes. Not to worry, at least we had electricity. That was before we had mains supply. When we did, the generator was retired from ops and I graduated to an extension lead.

It is surprising how much washing can get done in this way, even though the constant recycling of the washing water as the pile of clothes is worked through turns the colour of the water not far of black.

At the end of the washing, that water is finally emptied out, and fresh water put into the washing machine, carried to the machine by the water containers. This was before we graduated to a hosepipe.

Then the whole procedure of washing starts over again for the rinsing of the clothes, only this time clean water is used to top up the machine as the rinsed clothes are removed and put into the spinner. Hence the stool for my botty. It is a long process. But, heyho, we are camping, and at least we can have clean clothes. And surprisingly enough, the clothes do come out clean.

People visited during one of the washing ops. When the Little Washer was in its second home, which was the gazebo. Down her jaw dropped as she surveyed the machine. Quite frankly she was shocked, herself being only forty and conditioned to automatic washing machines. This twin tub thingy was too primitive for her to comprehend, so she kindly donated her old top loader. Wow! I had become upgraded!

This is the 'before' photo, when the gazebo was pristine. It didn't stay that way for long. One blast of a summer storm made us realise that it was really a 'in-waiting' kite. Thereafter it became covered in big green tarpaulins anchored down with loads of rocks.

Which worked for five months until this happened. A big tempest blew in and squashed it flat. It was either that, or letting it take flight. We said it couldn't do that, so it sank down in a heap instead, helped along in the sinking by an almight blast of the fiercest wind. (The bedroom caravan had now been moved to the other side of the courtyard).

But beneath the tarps the Little Washer was safe, which was just as well because the front loader died a couple of months later, and back into ops the twin tub came. As you can see, I had now graduated to a proper washing basket, proper buckets and bowls, with the electrics running off the main supply but via the kitchen caravan (which replaced the gazebo). Out of view is a hosepipe.

And then a bit of a weeny problem started. "Ouch!" I said. "What happened there!" And "Ouch!" again as I pushed some clothes into the washing water. It felt like pin pricks. Not hurtful pin pricks. Just prods really. But surprising nevertheless.

I was being electrically shocked by the Little Washer.

Hubs came running over to investigate my squeals. Banned me from using the machine ever again. Suggested a new washing machine. But: roof not on. Nowhere to put a new machine. So moi said "No, I will soldier on." In grand manner did I say those words.

In true 'Dunkirk spirit' I did.

However: it all got a bit silly. Over the weeks the machine kept snapping back at me. I started phantasizing about my body being belted through the air in a great curving arc of electric shock. I started to become afraid of my friend, the Little Washer.

It was eventually taking me all day to get the washing done because I had to keep taking the electrical plug from its socket to break the electrical current coming from that, through the washer, and from thence into me. Enough!

Roof partly on. Time up for the Little Washer. I am sure it would never have deceased me, the shocks were only tiny, but it was the fear of what it might do which finished me off with it. That, and the time it was taking to do the washing. I am back in the saddle with my work now, and need to find more time.

So last Saturday Hubs marched me to the shop and here is the new equipment. Whoooopppppeee for Hubs! Whoooooopppppeeeee for the Little Washer! Woweeeeee for the New Washer!

Now all that has to happen is for the water to be connected, which Hubs is having trouble with but I am sure he will fix it, being my Hubs / Head Gardner / super duper IT man / and now DIY fixer.

And so I say in all gratitude to Bruv Bill who donated both the Little Washer and the gazebo: Many thanks, and Hoorahhh to you for having the forethought to donate two such necessary pieces of equipment.

Now: what to do to the Little Washer. A plant pot perhaps?

One tile, two tiles, three tiles up, & Sara's snake

You have been spared yet another photo of our roof because my new camera eats batteries like a hungry shark, so: the back roof is now having its tiles put on. And really the only feeling I have at this time is of disbelief. As if my life is galloping onwards and I am several steps behind. Catch-up time, I think, when the builders have gone, and we have got all the boxes, furniture and other assorted paraphanalia which seemed vital to our UK lifestyle but which we haven't needed at all since we arrived here sixteen months ago, from out beneath the tarpaulins and into the dry space of the house. And that will be satisfying enough. Meanwhile we will carry on living in the caravans for the winter. We've done one winter already, so are more prepared than what we were last year. And if the winter storms hit us too badly, well we can always move into our house temporarily.

Sara down the road came by yesterday with the news that her friend had been almost attacked by a hissing python of a snake. OK. A bit of exaggeration, but it was very long snake of over a metre long, and had taken up residence beneath his car. Didn't like being disturbed, so had had a hissy-fit at him. He hastily retreated, meanwhile the snake took it upon itself to climb at the nearest tree and continue its hissy-fits.

Now this is disturbing. Walking around the local woods and fields have reassured me that there is not too much wild life around that is likely to either attack or eat me. This time last year there was lots of hunting going on, with guns going off nearly every day and quite close by as well. This year there is silence. So either the local huntsmen are giving this area a rest, or there is nothing else to shoot.

But: snakes. Sara prodded the snake up the tree, her intent being to make it come down so she could somehow box it up. What she was going to do with it then she seems to be fairly vague about, but I suppose she felt she had to take some action. It stayed put. Became more hissy, so all retreated. An Internet search fetched up the info that it wasn't a poisonous snake but could make a hefty bite if it felt so inclined, and that it killed by wrapping its coils around its prey. Ooooohhhh dear!

Not to worry. We are aways up the lane, but Sara isn't. The snake is in residence at Sara's house along with the camels, the lamas, the goats, the pigs and the chickens. It is not likely to want to leave either, because she has loads of young chickens which are snack food for it, and the bare-knecked chickens lay their eggs all over the place which provide it with nibbles. I said the only thing was to make loads of noise when they were moving round the farm. Bang drums. Stomp feet. That sort of thing. Then it could either clear out of the way, or have a hissy fit so you would know where it was. Don't know what else you can do about it. Neither do I like the thought that it can climb trees. I thought only jungle snakes did that.

Naughty Gussy. Musing over whether to have him de-balled or not, I was veering toward not. I have tried running the legs off him each morning by two hour walks, thinking that would wear him out so he would feel less inclined to go trotting over to Fleur. (The lady dog across the road) Hasn't worked. Not only that, but he will not let himself be easily caught when I go and fetch him. War is now on. On lead for his walk this morning. No glorious hunts and gallops through the maize and woods today, and de-balling it is. He has pushed me into the decision himself.

I am not sure if Fleur is in season, but I don't think so because Boolie doesn't seem to be excessively interested in her. Which means that Gus is going to be one of those male dogs who will sniff the wind and then follow any scents of lady dogs wafting about. This will not do. Because he will then wait for an opportune moment and be off. And another thing: why is he howling? For some reason he has taken to sitting in the middle of the courtyard and howling, which starts Bools off too. They have been fed. Walked. Lovied up. So why the howling? Is it some sort of doggy phone-system? By his howling, is he saying 'Wait for me, oh you wonderful lady doggy, and I will come and play and do all sorts of things with you if you only but wait for me'? Is this his way of answering the doggy lady scents he has captured on the wind?

Otherwise, all is well, down here in South West France. The temperatures have dropped fast the last three nights, so into thermal vest and thermal long-johns. Not very elegant, but hey ho! Caravan homes and country living dictate the necessity for these items. And layers. This morning I have on: 1 vest, two t-shirts, 1 body warmer, 1 hand knitted cardi, 1 pair long johns, 1 pair of trousers. BUT I don't have any heating on. The reason for this is because I can't be bothered to switch the gas fire on. This not only helps my carbon footprint, but also the bill for the gas cylinder refill and my sinuses which get clogged up whenever heating of any description gets switched on. So with halo shining brightly, and hoping my rather slender reserves of patience will carry me through another day with Gussy-boy, I say cheerio for now.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Take the positives from your yesterdays and forget the rest. Today is the start of all your tomorrows. x

On the subject of the mouse

Now I might have seemed a bit of a wooz when I evacuated the Hutto (Hut Office) the other night at such speed, and I need to explain what had happened. Now I am not afraid of mice, after all they are God's creatures, but when one is concentrating very hard on finding the words of inspiration for one's blog, and as you other bloggers will know, sometimes it can be quite hard work, and out of the corner of one's eye one sees a big grey mouse having a walk up the wall beside one, just an arms length away and at head height.....well, I defy anyone not to have let out a squeal. Or two. So I did.

Which upset Hubs, who had his headphones on and was deep into a game of Internet Chess, such that he lost the game which didn't please him at all. So he had a grumble at me about 'Not being silly'. But he did act on the second sighting of the mouse, because it took the same walk up the wall a few minutes later, just as I was trying to finish off the blog sensibly. Off he went to find the broom so he could 'Shoo it out'. Meanwhile Gus and Bools had woken up from the doggy sleeps, and were pacing about restlessly. What had been quietness and calm and now become the reverse.

Hubs realised that it was really no use to try to 'Shoo the mouse out' because the Hutto is so cluttered up with stuff at the moment. 'You'll have to get a mouse trap tomorrow' he said.
And with that we all exit the Hutto, except Gus who has to stay behind in his kennel.

Cup of Ovaltine in the kitchen caravan. "I'll just take this bowl of veg peelings out to the compost heap" says Hubs. Comes back a few minutes later fuming. "Toto (Bruno's shetland pony) is grazing on our grass by the veg plot. If that ******** horse eats my fruit trees I'm gonna ********* that ********* horse!"
And to fill you in here with a bit of info: Bruno, our neighbour across the road, has decided not to keep his litte horse penned in by an electric fence any more, but to let it wander where it will. It was, apparently, having a wander out into his field, having a nibble of grass, and then happily wandering back to his stable behind the house. But it would seem that now Toto had decided to expand his horizons by popping over the road to have a look at what he could eat here.

Hubs was not best pleased. His fruit trees are precious to him, having watered them from the river over the long months of summer. "I'm going to have a word with Bruno about that horse" he said.
"Why didn't you chase him off?" I said.
"Because I don't want him to get run over" he said. "But if he eats my fruit trees....."

And so to bed. Lights out. BBbbbbzzzzzz. Hubs leaps out of bed, crashing over me as he did so. (We are sleeping in a caravan so sleeping room is minimal but cosy.) 'There's a mosquito in here' he said.
'Oh crikey' I thought, 'This could take ages'. Once Hubs goes on a midge hunt no-one is going to get any sleep until it is caught. Me and Bools are frequently trampled over as he lunges for the mosquito if it is in flight, or if he sees it parked up somewhere, normally out of easy range.

"There it is" he yells triumphantly, walloping the ceiling of the caravan with a hefty thump, and examining his palm to see if indeed there is the squashed remains of the mozzie. Yes!

Now we can get some sleep.

Just drifting off: From the vicinity of the Hutto comes a cacophony of noise: squeals, yelps, howls, whines, barks, yaps, thumps. Thumps?

Hubs springs out of bed, crashes himself over me ( he can't get out his side because he sleeps against the window) and Bools (who sleeps in the gangway beside me). On go the lights. Thump. And again. Thump. Hubs grabs some clothes and hurtles out of the door. All goes quiet. I feel anxious. Was Toto in the courtyard bashing things up? Was the tall barn roof finally collapsing? Or worst still, the walls of the house? The quiet lengthens. Should I go out to investigate? Perhaps Hubs has been knocked over the head by An Intruder. Still I wait.

Not to worry though. In through the door comes Hubs. "You won't believe this, but Gus has only gone and unhooked the latches on his kennel door. ******* ** ****** ********." He says. "That door (the door of the Hutto) what I paid a lot of money for, that ****** dog has gone and chewed a hole in it"

The night is flowing majestically on. Tick Tock, the clock says. 'Sleep', my head says in response, 'I need sleep'. Hubs lurches his way over me to get to his side of the bed. Zooom! A big, well more 'huge' really, flying thing swoops between Hubs and me in the middle of his lurching. And here I must say that sometimes Hubs does have a tendency to linger in mid lurch. Sort of not out of bed and not on his side of the bed, but parked up over me. Which he was doing when the flying thingy zoomed through. "Oh what was that now" Hubs said with resignation. But since it wasn't a mosquito and wasn't going to bite him, he finished his lurching movement and collapsed onto his side of the bed.

All quiet. "Let's have a snuggle" Hubs says. Ah but not before I have had that final loo run of the night. Which requires of me a careful feel round as I head toward the caravan loo area, in case I trip up on Bools.

Eventually we are settled. We are heading towards dawn at a cracking pace now. Bools sighs, no doubt wondering about the sanity of his owners, Hubs rolls over and sighs, no doubt worrying about whether he is going to have any fruit trees left in the morning, and I am asleep now too. But the tick tock of the clock seems very loud suddenly. Makes me stop my drifting off to sleep moment. Up I get again. There! It can sleep in the cupboard tonight.

Things I have learnt: That if one sees a mouse and it is getting late in the evening, and the other family members are quiet and dozy, then it is best not to make a huge hullabaloo because it only wakes everyone up and delays the joyous moment of falling to sleep for ages, or hours as what happened on this night.

The mouse is still loose. I did get a mouse trap but I have forgotten to give it to Hubs, and a few minutes ago I did hear a bit of a scrabbling about, or I thought I did, so if I see a mouse I am going to gently and silently evacuate the space so the males of the family are not woken up!

And at sixty plus, I am not frightened of mice, it is just that they make me jump. Frogs do the same. Only frogs are normally at ground level and not at head height. Toto is banned from visiting and is being kept within electric fencing again. The Big Thingy which flew across Hubs I think was a moth: it hasn't been seen since so is probably happily munching its way through my clothes in the nearby cupboard. The 'hole' in the door is more a chunk taken out of the wood: with a bit of a rub down with sand paper and some wood stain applied, it will act character to the door and lend itself to the general beaten up appearance that the Hutto has anyway. After all, it is an old place, and a pristine door did look out of place. And my camera has become deceased so no photos today. Otherwise, all is well.

What are we doing today?

Kept on making out adjustments from our old UK lifestyle, that's what we are doing.

At this moment I am having a go at preserving tomatoes, which seems a lot of effort what with it involving kilner jars and steaming and oh, grumbly, grumbly, more mess. I am sitting outside the awning, the sun is shining, and you know what? I have the smidgeon of a one-ness with what I am doing, which means me and my head are engaged in the same task. Most often, when I am doing a task, my head is off doing its own thing, thoughts rolling round my head hither and thither while I carry on doing what I am doing. Today, we seem to be all together as I sit with legs akimbo prepping the tomatoes on the grass (? well there would be grass if it were to rain: just now the grass is hay. And dust.) in between my feet.

Hubs is tinkering about behind me in the tall barn. His Project Of The Day is to put a blade sharpener onto an old cutting bench. My idea. Last time he used the sharpener it was on the floor of the awning. He wouldn't let me post those photos, but now he has put the sharpener into a safer position, I'm going to slip this one in:

I have just had a sip of tomato pulp, the recipe as given to be my friend, Val. Not much of a recipe really, just 1Kg tomatoes, 1 spoonful of sugar, 1 spoonful of salt. And so why does it taste so much better that the tinned tomatoes bought from the supermarket. Hence: another small step in our desensitization from supermarket food to home-grown. Really, really, food really, really tastes so much better when it is grown and harvested from fresh, that is what I am discovering.

"That's bad luck. I've broken my drill." Hubs yells out. "I've got the bit stuck in it."
"Try some oil" I say.
"Can't. Haven't got any."
"Try some Olive Oil".
"Where is it?"
"In the kitchen caravan".
Where in the 'van?"
"In the cupboard".
"Where in the cupboard?"
So I have just gone and got it for him, which seemed the best thing to do. And now Hubs must be a happy chappy because I can hear the drill working. Must go and rescue my bottle of olive oil otherwise that will be lost forever. He has a tendency to put things away in odd places. Bless.
"I've mounted my gear!" Hubs yells out. Imagination does a quick flash, but sensibility returns. Project Sharpener has been a succeess. Now I can hear him sharpening up something. Hang on a minute while I go and do a photo shoot for you.

"Vera, I did a big boys job" he said, pride oozing from the top of his head down to his toes: better than spending all day playing games on the PC which is what the usual Sunday acivity consisted of back in the UK. Living life, that is what Hubs is doing now.

Now it is later on in the day, and I have a confession to make: my Preserving Tomatoes didn't get very far, just down into our tums. The tomatoes were just too tasty to boil up in a kilner jar, so I added a few bits of this and we had them for lunch! Methinks that the Preserving Tomatoes Project might fetch up as a 2010 project. I am a little nervous about handling hot kilner jars, especially in the close confines of the caravan. I can manage jam jars, but kilner jars seem beyond my handling skills at the moment. But there is always next year. And I should be in the kitchen in the house. Whooppeeee! More space. Less cluttered. More tidy? Probably not!

Family pow-wow sitting on the floor of the half barn this afternoon: we have decided to save money by filling in the holes in the wall of the half barn ourselves, and also tiling the floor. The money saved can go to the fosse. Now the veg growing season is slowing up we needed a project to carry us through to the end of the year, so this will be it. A bit of dissent amongst the pow-wow members over the colour of the tiles, but that was soon fixed by a cup of tea and a biscuit. There was a plate of biscuits but the pow-wow member with four legs decided to grab a couple before they were shared out. Said member was sent away in disgrace, leaving the other pow-wow members with less to nibble with their tea, but bonhommie restored. Third member made a return soon afterwards, so all in all it became a productive pow-wow meet although the colour of the tiles is still up for discussion.

Now we have come to the end of the day. Soon time for bed. It has been a grand day, with lots of activities which are good for the soul. And here is my desk:



....which is awash with pots of chutney and jam waiting to be found a home. Plus the desk itself is sticky, and the computer keyboard and the mouse, and everything else! The kitchen caravan is just as sticky. Which means that I, of course, am sticky as well!

Hope your Sunday was a good and productive day as well, and that you laughed as much as we did.

Making friends with the Wind

I could here the wind rocking the tree tops out by our river. My pinafore flapped over the bowl of figs hiding them from view: goodbye for the moment. Jamming prep put on hold.

Along my spine there came a shiver as I heard the sound of the wind ratchet up another notch. I stood and watched my pinafore. "Do you want to come play with me?" the wind said as it tussled the fabric playfully.

But in my mind I was not here. I had backtracked in memory to late January: to the day, the longest day, of the Tempest. Oh fearsome strong was the wind on that day. Not a wind but a raging, roaring surge of air that was supreme in its arrogance. "You are all smaller than me" was it's message. And we were.

I suppose, in the scale of things, that it was not perhaps as fierce as the fiercest of hurricanes or tornadoes. But it was a big wind nevertheless. Big enough to blow trees over: loads of trees. Big enough to carry gallons and gallons of water which fell onto the land which fed it into the water and made our river big and full of an energy which was sufficient enough to carry away in its surge the trees which had fallen down into it.

We laid all day in the caravan, tucked under blankets, freezing, wet, mentally blitzed, hearing the wind roar its way towards us as if it was an army marching as to war. Phone lines were cut, electricity was cut. The outside world seemed miles away.

For hours the wind made its surges. We dozed. But in our minds we still heard the roar of the wind-fronts approaching us through the trees. From all sides it came. We seemed to be surrounded by an army of wind fronts. It was the tramping sound which was the worst. How can a wind sound like it has feet, but this one did. Big booted feet. Stomping towards us. Coupled with the sound of the wood of the house, what was left of it, moaning its anxiety about being moved about so forcefully, the elderly gate of the front porch mooing like a cow as it was bashed about against the side of our campervan, and the tarpaulins on the roof beams, what was left of them, flapping angrily with whip-cracks of temper, as the wind tore at them and eventually did them unto death.

And the legacy of that long day was that I flinch when I hear the wind, any wind, play amongst the treetops. Breezes I am OK with. Not so good with windier winds.

Today, I made a grand flinch. Along my spine it ran. For today the wind was a tad on the wild side. Not naughty, just frisky. Sufficient to blow my pinny across the figs I was prepping for jam. Sufficient to lock my mind back to the day when we almost became passengers of the wind.

'Twas no good. For this fear was starting to feed itself into a bigger fear, and that was of being outside in the wind. So I took a deep breath, and reduced this fear by telling it that today's wind was a gentler wind not an angry wind. Stimulating, not destructive.

My eyes caught and held Hubs's eyes as he crossed with the tray of tea for the builders, who were even then up high, working on our roof. Unspoken memories flooded between us: it is surprising how much can be said in a glance.

Things I have learnt today: That when one has had the hugest of huge experiences, which has shaken one to the very root of one's being, that sometimes it can take a while to get over the shock of that experience.
That one has to careful not to let that shock build on the original memory and make it more that what it actually was.
That sometimes smaller triggers can spark those heftier memories into life.
That it is better to cloak that original memory in loving memories rather than let the more difficult memories have the upper hand.

So: In January last, the biggest of big winds blew our way. With great teamwork Hubs and me battled our way through. Wow! How exciting it was! This I will have to work on, but at least its a start! And if you have had a horrendous experience which sometimes pops to the surface of your mind and looks like spoiling your day: Wrap that memory round with lovingness and find something good within that experience.

I carried on with my task, the wind continued to blow and got stronger, but I concentrated on my task and didn't scuttle away inside out of its way. That, I think, will soften that other memory so that in time every time a strong wind blows I do not automatically click on to that day in January when a Tempest blew our way. Rearranging my mental filing cabinet containing the Tempest Memory is what I am doing.

Plus I made four pots of marrow and ginger jam, eight pots of fig, jam and six pots of tomato chutney. Crikey my halo is shining bright!

Sending you pot-fulls of blessings.....

(January 2009: A Big Wind: Part One, part Two, and part Three.)

Drowning in veggies.

What is it with me! I seem to have the knack of opening things upside down! Of late it has been the box of matches which is opened loads of times during the day to light our camping stove in the kitchen caravan. So just now, I was thinking that we would have scones for breakfast since we are minus any bread because I haven't made any as yet today and we gobbled up the last of the loaf last night with some spoonfuls of the first batch of this season's home-made fig jam, (gorgeous!!!). Anyway, scones. Baking Powder needed. Mmmm, not much left. Not sure if our French supermarket sells it. If they do, it will be labelled in French (of course!) which will require of me some researching. Therefore need to use the remainder of the contents sparingly.

So then why do I open it upside down, sending all the contents everywhere! Fortunately some could be scooped up from the handily place recipe book over which it had fallen, just sufficient for today's needs. The rest fell over Bools, our Springer Spaniel. And how could I have opened the container upside down! That is what I am now asking myself!

And so my day makes its progression.......

I photo-shot myself by mistake and was going to delete the picture but stopped and mused about how this is actually what I am doing for a lot of my day - busy doing this, busy doing that....

And the reason why I am so busy is this lot:

..........and

So I have a problem. I have been removed from the half barn, or rather the produce has: three bags potatoes, loads of onions, wheelbarrow full of courgettes and squashes. The builders required that I remove it all because they wanted to do the floor. All is now squeezed into the awning. And it is very untidy, and not really a good platform on which to shout 'We are being self sufficient' because to be quite honest with you, it is all a muddle. The onions have been dumped on top of the piles of tomatoes, the figs are being harvested as well, and to be quite frank with you, I am getting a tad fed up with this feeling of being drowned in veggies.

I have pots and pots of chutney and jam and no where to keep them apart from The Hut which is now crammed full of food. In the middle of it all we sit working away on our computers. Hubs began complaining about an odd odour the other day. A hunt around and he found a box of six eggs which had somehow managed to fidget their way behind some paperwork and were now well past their sell-by date. Not to worry though. The temperatures are starting to slide down a bit, so I will be able to keep some of the food in the kitchen caravan soon.

And that is why I put that top photo in, because of my commute between this area, that area, and everywhere in between just to cook lunch. I tell you what, though, it is getting me fitter, and I noticed the other day that my thighs have got some emerging muscles on them! Wow! From out of the cellulite, muscle is appearing! Crikey! Never thought that would happen again in this lifetime!

And so now: lessons I have learnt: That I am a messy so and so, but that I have an excellent excuse not to fret about that at the moment because of being drowned in veggies.
That I have picked up foot speed since arriving here just over a year ago.
That I have found a new love in my life, and that is my husband as I keep on discovering new facets of him which were submerged beneath our UK lifestyle.
That I am continually discovering new facets of myself, and that's not a bad statement to make when one is sixty-two.
That I will never have the svelte shape of my sixteen year old self again, but for my age, year, and model number, I am doing OK. Hope you are to.

Camp Washing and Twirly Pipes

Loads been happening, so where do I start! First of all, a little bit of a downer happened on Wednesday morning when the donated top loading washing machine decided to keep receiving water, which it then promptly dispatched out through the exit pipe. In other words, it stopped working properly.

A few choice words exploded into the air, after which it was head down for a rummage under the tarps to excavate my Bruv's donated camping washer:

Now this was my life saver when we got here and was in use constantly from June up until December, when the other washing machine was donated. It has a few minor ailments but it still works and so has been asked to do few more washes. Hubs did say that he would buy me a new washing machine, but I always said that I would wait until we moved in the house before we did so.

So off we go again! But today I had an Idea. Why not use the water from the well instead of from the tap. How's that for a Self Sufficiency Off Grid Idea! Not only that, but I had filled two dustbins with water from the well last night, and it has been so hot today, that the water is warm enough to put straight into the little tub. Normally I would heat about three kettles of water to get it to a lukewarm temperature, but not today. In fact I had a moment's fantasy about getting into the remaining dustbin which is still full of water, and having a stand-up bath. I would have done as well, only the bins are out front and in full view of all passing traffic both in the lane and on the Plaisance road. So, perhaps not such a good idea! Ah well...... my daughter is coming over for a few days and is staying in a gite up the road, and I have mentally booked myself into getting a shower there.

But I really do feel quite proud of myself in my self sufficiency endeavours aka the washing machine. It uses less water for a start even if I use tap water, and it is good for my arm-reduction because carrying the water cans to and fro is a good weight lifting exercise. Plus I get to have an empty washing basket. When using an automatic machine I always have washing hanging around waiting to be washed because I will only use the machine when I have a full load.

However, my good natured regard for my little twin tub washer has been promoted by the builders unexpectedly arriving yesterday:

And this is what they did:

Whooppeeee! The floor! Not in all of the house, just in the pantry, bathroom, and hall. And can you see the twirl of hose coming out of the wall on the right? (You might have to inflate the picture!). No! Not the big twirl. The little twirl beside it! And that, my dear friend, is where my eventual washing machine is to go!

So I can hold onto the task of camp washing, because there is twirly pipework which says that at some point in the future I will be back to having piles of laundry waiting to be done!

Things I have learnt: That when one does not expect things to move forward and one works hard at being happy with the moment, that moving forward can suddenly take one by surprise!

And to finish off: the halfbarn ceiling is now almost done.

Now all that needs to be done is the seams to be covered, the lights to be fitted, then painted. Now must dash back to my washing machine, sending a happy thought out to my Bruv on the way.

'Milking' Amaranth, plumbing and plodding

This magnificent beast of a plant is Amaranth. It has seeds which can be used for grinding into flour. They are tiny, the seeds. Can hardly been seen by the naked eye. It has been one of success stories here. Grown by moi aka Under Gardener from seed, repotted, planted out, thrived. Does a convenient droop of its leaves when it is thirsty, and stands proudly over all the other plants out front.

It is ready for harvesting. Uno problemo: Just How Does One Do That! It is upwardly pointing. An Idea made entertainment in my head. 'Milk' them. You know, like you would stroke the udder of a cow. Did I succeed? Well, sort of. I did get a yield of seed. Plus other things, like spiders and other creep crawlies. For more of that little experiment have a wander over to Jumbly Gardening, and look at 'How not to harvest Amaranth'. Being self sufficient is ever an ongoing learning curve here!
And here is Head Gardener home from the fields, putting his trusty (?) ancient rotovator to bed for the night after having spent a happy afternoon whizzing up and down the veg plot out back. Him and his trusty implement are managing wonderfully well at this task. Bless.



And so the plumber came this morning and left this trail of pipes.




And for the first time in all of its life the house will be plumbed. Not only with cold water, but with hot as well. It has been decided by Project Manager Hubs, that we are to have a boiler, having become enamoured by Ron's boiler in situ over the now blocked up with an apricot stone sink in the dining room.

Now I am happy with a kettle. Having lived with a kettle as my main hot water provider for many months, I have become perfectly happy with that means of heating water. It is simple. Fill the kettle. Plug it in. A few minutes later and hot water arrives.

I find a smidgeon of dismay arriving in my head when I observe these wires, pipes, and other various assorted electrical and plumbing detritus now festooning my house. Because it looks complicated. Filling a kettle is not. It is easy. And if the kettle decides never to work again, then all you do is go buy another one. But all those wiry and plasticky pipes and things look ssssooo complicated, but Project Manager Hubs says not to be so silly and 'You do want hot and cold water don't you!" he says, "And it means you can have a shower whenever you want...".

Mmmmmm.........uno showero? Mmmmmmmm.......washing my hair more than once every few weeks? Mmmmmmmmmm..........having proper girly type evenings when the armpits, feet and other neglected spots on the bod are given a good going over with nice smellies? Mmmmmmmm......lingering while naked without fear of planes and microlites overhead having a good look at what I am up to, which is a concern when I have occasionally braved Ron's boiler shower by the now blocked with an apricot stone sink.

If you were to see me at this precise moment, you would notice the teensiest little smile tickling the corners of my mouth. I may be changing my opinion about all those pipes and cables and things!

Meanwhile uno ploddo at my PC. Strewth, if I had known what a task it was going to be when I fiddled about with the entry page to my website, then decided to tweak other bits up as well, which led onto an almost complete re-write of the whole thing, I would have left it all alone in the first place! Well perhaps I wouldn't have, but Tech Team Guy Hubs decided to 'show me how to do this little thing' and 'oh this would be a good idea for you to do' then off he goes leaving me to sort out his instructions, most times suggesting I do an Internet search if I get stuck.

I have spent the last three weeks grappling with css code, which to PC bods would be no problem at all, but to me, quite frankly, it is mind blowingly difficult. Just to get drop down boxes, for crikey's sake. Yes, but then the format of the individual pages had to be changed, which meant the graphics had to be altered, which meant the colour-flow didn't work page to page, and so on.

My head has felt as tangled up as a ball of wool would be after a bunch of kittens has messed about with it. I wake up in the middle of the night with a line of code cruising through my non-asleep head. When I have spent ages interred in the lines of code, to hold a sensible conversation with me is not do-able. And yet the pages look far simpler than what they used to be! That's the irony. For all my hard work, the web site just looks more streamlined! Oh well, it should make the reading of it easier, and the navigation simpler.

Things I have learnt today: That it is great to be living the life of a camper when one knows that one will not be doing it forever!

So Hooray for the Plumber!
So Hooray for the Electrician!
So Hooray for the Builder!
And Hooray for Project Manager / Tech Team Guy Hubs for pushing me and the house along!

And off I go, to apply my very pickled brain back to the task of my website, wishing you happy moments in abundance and the ability to laugh when the happy moments are a bit far apart.

Photo-shooting the house!

Just thought I would show you how we are getting on with our home. Or rather, how the builders are getting on. And here is the toilet and shower. OK! So actually toiletless and showerless at the moment, but the outlet holes have been made through the thick walls so that's a start. Have decided on separate loo and shower room downstairs, mostly because Lester has a man's fantasy of being able to sit on the loo doing jobbies without anyone else being present.

I think it is the chats on the two porta potties which have encouraged this requirement. I think it is very chummy for one of us to be sitting on the number one's loo and the other to be sitting on the number two's loo, having a conversation throughout our individual loo-sessions. Our two porta potties are in the same toilet compartment of the bedroom caravan, by the way.

I think he is fed up with lack of contemplation space. I think he is pining for loo-privacy. I think he deserves to be given the reward for his efforts in getting our house into shape by receiving the pleasure of solo loo-ings in the future.

Of course a wall will have to be built to enclose the loo and shower. Because as one sits on the loo this is the view one will have if the builders do not finish the floors, or get the roof on.

But Johnathen is getting a move on with the ceiling of the half barn and it is half way to being finished.

There was some discussion as to whether or not to put a wall mid-way along the space, but I stamped quite heavily on the idea, thinking that the space needs to be kept clear because we don't know what the long term use is to be of this space. But it is coming along at a goodly pace.

Which cannot be said for my oven at this particular moment. For some reason it has gone on a go-slow. A new gas bottle has been inserted, but no. It is taking hours to get dinner cooked, and we are starving, it being nearly two hours past lunch time. So I am off to see if it is still unwilling to work on a Sunday, and am repeating to myself lots of the Hope word: I hope the builders manage to get here this week, I hope that we get some more rain after having had a few bucketfulls already today but we could do with a few bucketfulls more, I hope that my dinner gets cooked sometime soon because the vino that Christian donated to me a few days ago and which Lester has just given me a glass of just now has started to go to my head it being a fifteen percent proof vino and is absoloooooootly delicious and like drinking nectar from the Gods not that I have even drunk nectar from the Gods but you know what I mean and my tummy is outraged that the fuel it has been given today is two pieces of toast, a piece or two of shop-bought cake because I went on strike with cake baking, one cup of tea, one cup of coffee, a couple of sips of water and a goodly slug of 15% Spanish vino.

I am now going to see if I am going to be fed today. I hope I will be. The wine is definitely having odd reactions on me........ tottering away to the kitchen, I send you blessings of the day.

Fleur banned, buildery update, summer storms.

Update: Fleur banned!

She is such a seductress of a dog, and if a human female would have probably been locked up or earnt a fortune selling her favours. Since Boolie is male and intact, her female ways end up by tangling his head up in knots. In other words, he doesn't know who he is or with whom his allegiances lie.

So what he does is this: when she isn't here he sits outside the gate and watches for her. All the day he will do this. In effect, he has become fixated.

To un-fixate him we have to tie him up on his lead inside the courtyard, or put him in the bedroom caravan for an hour or so. This seems to give his head time to unscramble. But most of all he is a danger to himself. You see, we have roads on two of our borders.

This morning, round the back field we went. Lingered at the river's edge which was cut yesterday by the local municipality hommes in their tractor which can cut everything. Grass, brambles, shrubs, baby trees, etc. It is a fearsome instrument of destruction and has cut a large swathe of bank, clearing it of brambles, nettles, young trees (which we wanted to keep!). So now we have a bank directly off our field.
And here is the view to the left, under the bridge.

And to the right, where our river beach is.....

I had a moment or two of quietness, then off along the bottom end of the field, parallel to the road. Boolie was stopped ahead. Dead still. A statue he had become. As I drew close I looked across the road. Fleur, the temptress, was sitting coyly on the other side of the road. She oozed sex.

I heard a car approaching from across the bridge. I saw Boolie partially un-statue himself, and stiff-legged tiptoe across the road. I called him. Deaf-headed he had become. The car was now visible. I crossed the road to get Boolie. Fleur had meanwhile moved off down the lane which is at right angles to the road. Bools was nose to her rump. Taking him away, that is what she was doing.

The car beeped at me. I was in the way. "Sorry" I mouthed at the driver. Claudine heard the commotion. Came out of her Chambre d'hote which was beside me. We had a chat. Don't know what about particularly. She is the only one here who gives us no quarter in regards to not being able to converse fluently in French. Everyone else breaks up the sentences into small portions for us. Claudine doesn't. One day we will fox her and meet her as linguistic equals. Not for now though. But I think she is tired from her busy summer of visitors, has offered us some cucumbers, had trouble with her pump, and wasn't wearing a bra which I absolutely sure I interpreted correctly because she flipped her bosoms up and down.

Meanwhile I was calling Bools, who knew by my tone of voice, that I was not amused. He went down in a low crouch. Fleur was nowhere to be seen. Scarpered off. I went and got him. I was cross.

So Fleur will be discouraged from coming here and seducing Bools. No doubt she will stay away for a few days, then back she will come again. She is persistent. But when she comes into season, she will not come and ask for Bools to service her. Oh no! Off down the lane she will go, and get herself pregnant by a scrappy little black dog. Then off to the vets she will be taken for the doggy equivalent to the 'morning after' pill. All she does is practice her feminine doggy ways with Bools and tease his head to pieces!

Update: The Builders:
They came in yesterday, dropped off plastic sheeting and steel mesh for the house floors, then went. But said everyone on holiday, pow-wow soon with the plumber and electrician to sort out where everything is to go, and where do we want the toilet, shower, washing machine, sink, etc. They didn't seem to mention the 'roof' word.

The lighting cables have been put in the roof of the half barn by our French electrician. Now the plasterboard can be put up.

Generally, slowly, we are moving forward with the re-build. It occurred to us yesterday, that when all is done, that we will virtually have the equivalent to a new-build house, but with old walls.

Update: The weather:
Changing by the day. Autumn is on the way. The light changed last Friday. Suddenly there was a rich mellowness to the sunshine and we could feel the seasonal change. It was magic.

We are into the time of summer storms now. Last night we sat outside in the dark and watched the lightning flashes coming towards us. It was magic. Then it rained, and that too was magic. At least the caravan awning was covered by a replacement tarp, so everything would stay dry.

Today we are going to steam-cook. It is hot, as ever, and the sun is going to pull the moisture back up to the sky which the rain clouds deposited last night. Which means that our energies are going to be zilch because the air is going to laden with water. Not to worry though. Have lots to do with my web site so can utilize this steamy heat to do so.

As ever, life is good down here in SW France.

Messing about with our tarps

Am a mucky pup after spending the last few hours underneath the tarpaulins sorting out the tangle they got into after a storm at the weekend left them all bedraggled and looking sorry for themselves. We are going to hose the tarps down tomorrow so they look tidy. They are very muddy. I could do with a hose down myself, but will make do with a flannel job.

The awning on the kitchen caravan took a beating in the last storm we had, and ripped. Lester was deliberating on whether or not to buy a new replacement, but I looked at the huge pile of tarps loitering in the tall barn, left over from the tempest in late January. They were supposed to be up on the tall barn, but the wind tore them off. So in a heap they have lain.

So I thought to myself: self sufficiency!
And I began.
Out from the pile I dragged three. My thoughts: to tie them together to make a big one. Then drag it on top of the caravan, over the old tarpaulin, or rather, the remnants of it.

That was the easy way.

That was MY way.

However: Out from the office comes Lester and reviews my enterprising attempt to keep us dry. Without a tarp on the caravan, the awning leaks like a sieve. Everything inside will get wet. He says "I'll go and buy a new one tomorrow", and I says, "No you won't, we will use what we have already." We are seriously earnest self sufficiency trainees, and that means that we do not charge off to the shops and buy whatever we need, but try instead to have a go at using our own resources.

Which was why, at that particular moment, I was lying flat on the ground, tying three tarps together with string, with Boolie licking my ear because he thought I was playing.

This didn't go down too well with Hubs. 'If you are going to do a job, then you may as well do it properly' is his motto.

Well, I WAS doing it properly. 'Self-sufficiency' properly!

He goes back into the office. Gives me ten minutes or so, then simply has to come and take charge. He says "That won't work. There's holes in those tarps".
Oops! Hadn't seen those. Was too busy sorting out how to jigsaw puzzle fit three tarps of different shapes and sizes to make one big enough for the caravan roof.

So we have a bit of an argument with each other about which way is the best way to proceed. Hubs wins. He has noticed the tarp covering our belongings in the tall barn. It is the last of the huge tarps we bought after the roofs came off last September. It was never used, so came in handy when we had to evacuate the half barn when the building work commenced. Anyway, it has been covering our stuff. It is filthy! Dust and water, making mud, which it is covered in.

In great gungho manner we tackle the job. Remove tarp from our stuff. Good to see everything still dry and in good shape. Apart from my box of shoes, the contents of which have acquired a nice green sheen. They should polish up again, so no probs. Recent rain had made some puddles in the tarp to moisten our tarp removing endeavours. Sort of oiling us along.

Over to the kitchen caravan. Tarp held down by loads of big stones. Hubs orders that "All the stones have to be put in a pile over there". My heart sinks. The intended pile is miles away. "Why can't we just put them here. I won't have so far to walk" I say.
"No" he says. "If a jobs worth doing......etc...."
"And those pots needs moving, and those plants, and all of that stuff" he says waving his arms at a quantity of gardening paraphanalia.

"Crikey" I thinks to myself, "I wish I had left the b******y awning to rot!" No P word today, you notice, it being not a strong enough word to used when messing about with one's tarps.

Stones over in far-away pile. Energies at zero. Need food. Stop. It's nearly dark. "Sandwich then?" I say to Hubs.
"Great idea" he says. "Can I have a sardine sarnie?" That's not too much effort. But I have been thinking of a quick slice of bread and homemade jam each. Not much effort attached to that. Sardines require the tin to be opened. "And can I have an onion chopped up in it?" I glare at him. Ungracious, I know, to treat one's Hubs in such a manner, but chopping onions, albeit a minor task during the morning's cook-up for lunch, but messing about with onions late evening becomes a major task of epic proportions.
"Oh don't bother then!" he responds. I huff off.

But soon perk up once fed. It is getting dusk. We look at each other. "Let's push on and get the job done" we say.

Off comes the old tarp on the kitchen caravan. We drag the other tarp into position. But hit a prob: It is immensely messy and wet, and is hard to get hold of so we can haul it over the roof of the caravan. Nothing for it, but to get under the tarp and push it up onto the roof from underneath it. Yuk! Yuk! Yuk! Hubs has already unpeeled a humungous slug from it. Yuk! Rubbing against my back, my hair, and then over the top of my head, the b****************y tarp slides. I can feel myself getting wet. I yell at Hubs ungraciously to "Get a move on why can't you!" He yells back "I can't get a grip on it!"

And so the evening procedes. My thoughts are: 'There are certainly a variety of adventurous experiences to be had here in France, I want to go to bed, I don't think I will ever be clean again, etc' as the acres of tarp are pulled over my head.

And then the moon came out. Huge. Yellow. Surrounded by a froth of creamy-yellow haze. I saw it when I finally got out from underneath the tarp. It was magic.

I would have probably missed seeing it if I was still living my old life. I would have been indoors. TV,PC, whatever.

So I am off to have a flannel job with soap and a bowl of water, which is heated up by a kettle.

And I saw the hugest of moons get up for its ride across the night sky.

Hubs and me stood and watched it for some time. It made the day a good day. And the kitchen caravan will stay dry until this tarp decides to decease itself probably with the assistance of a playful wind. Hopefully not before next spring. Plus we saved ourselves 250 euros, which is the cost of a new tarp.

Things I have learnt today: That nature has a way of lifting one's spirits if one cares to take time to observe what nature has to offer.

Minor winds, sick tarps, holes blocked

So this is how I started the day: 10pm.

In lovely sunshine Hubs and me went round all the squashes-type plants and harvested all the provender. Melons, courgettes, and other thingummy's which I haven't the faintest clue about.

Last year a huge mixed box of squashes and similar were donated to us. HG / Hubs kept the seeds but not separately. All were bundled together in an envelope, some of which were duly planted by Under Gardener (UG) aka moi.

The original seeds were obviously F1 hybrids because none of this years crop match their parents. That is why I have not harvested them. Quite simply, I don't know what they are or what to do with them.

But today, HG was in a raring-to-get-self-sufficiency mode, so off he went with UG in tow with the wheelbarrow.

A few hours laster, and this is how I fetch up at the end of the day!

Looking more than somewhat frazzled. And wet.

In between:

HG out mowing the 'garden'. Field actually. Hard ground. Could hear lawn mower clanging on stones and things. Thought to myself, 'That lawn mower is going to come out on strike in a moment.' Sure enough, it did.

Not to worry. Cup of tea. Bit of cake. Lawn mower decided to play the game, and start up again. HG off on his lawn mowing patrol. Round the perimeter of the back field he went. Everything looking good.

Lunch a bit late. Siesta delayed. Visit from someone who lives in Paris. On hols here. Met her last year on her annual visit to this region. This year: she is not so good. Wanted to offload all her troubles. Tried to listen. I did, I really, really did. But in truth all I could think about was the advancing hour, and that if I didn't get into the kitchen caravan and start cooking lunch sometime soon, that I wouldn't be able to because it was going to be too hot. Made a mental note not to offer cups of tea and cake to visitors who arrive after 11pm in the morning. Feeding them makes them want to linger. If they linger I swelter because lunch is delayed. Plus we are used to eating between 12 and 1 now, so hunger pangs start to grab at us.

Siesta done. Sun cooking everything outside. So into The Hut and onto our PC's for the afternoon. Me to work on Dreamweaver again, and Lester to do Lestery-weekend things.

He disappears. I disregard his absence for a while. Then suspect he has been up to something or other.

A while later: through The Hut door he comes, looking mortified.
"What have you been up to?" I ask of him, knowing full well something has happened because he is not a happy-chappy.
What had transpired was this: Upon washing two nectarine seeds in preparation for adding them to his ongoing project of growing trees from seeds, one had got lost. Well, not 'lost' as such. Just misplaced. Down the plug-hole actually. The plug-hole of the sink in the house, which is a huge hole and has often had us wondering what sort of sink warrants such a huge hole. And despite numerous investigations, no outlet for the plug hole can be found. I mean, where does it empty out?

But what Lester has found out is: that it is deep. That one can poke a stick a half metre long down it, so it must drain somewhere. Unfortunately the seed could not be retrieved. The seed which was now inside the draining hole which had fallen into the plug hole of the sink, and which has now acted as a plug hole to the draining hole.

Which means that the sink is blocked.

Not to worry. Since the seed is made of organic material someday in the future it will either rot and disintegrate, or sprout and grow up through the plug hole in the sink and make us a nectarine tree. It will take quite a long time to either one of those things. We may or may not have a roof on by then. Two years Lester said, that's how long it takes to sprout a seed hidden inside a hard shell.

Meanwhile, it means the sink has lost its capacity to be a proper sink, but is instead a go-slow sink which means that it drizzles it's water slowly away. Ah well. I will let you know if we are to have nectarines from our own tree growing out of our sink, inside the dining room of our house, which may or may not have a roof on by the time the tree gives us some fruit.

And then a gust of wind sprang up out of no-where.
We have been lax.
The tarps on the kitchen caravan have been slowly dying from the baking they receive each day from the sun.
The tarp protects the caravan and awning from the weather.
Inside the awning are our precious boxes: Books and clothes. Everything else is under the tarps outside.
I look at the tarp on the kitchen caravan and see the wind pull a gap in it.
I rush to get the brown sticky tape, the same sticky tape that held the tarps onto the gazebo all the winter long. It is packing tape. For boxes.
I grab another old tarp, pulling it behind me as I race the wind across the courtyard, berating myself for not organising a new tarp for the caravan. After all, this one had been giving a warning that it was nearing the end of its life.
Lester hears me. Comes out.

And fetches up on the roof of the caravan, trying to fix the tarp to the roof.

It didn't work. As fast as we tried to get the replacement on, which was smaller than needed, so the gusts of wind tore apart the original tarp even more. We got windswept and wet.



So we went inside and had a drink from a bottle I had been inspired to buy yesterday. Sometimes, just sometimes, needs must.

Actually, it wasn't much of a storm really. Just enough to make us want to retire from the presence of tarps, having wrestled with them for over a year.

Things I have learnt today: That keeping busy on other projects can keep one's mind off the concerns of the moment which one can find no solution for.
That saying the Hope word really does work. The house stayed intactus and no walls fell down. Neither did the chimney pot, which for some reason has managed to stay complete despite howling storms, the old roof being taken off, and the new roof being prepared for.
That visitors who feel the need to offload all their sorrows need to be discouraged from doing so for the moment. Without fail, they all have roofs but seem to be minus the ability to hear anything to do with the Hope word.
That one should really listen when one has thoughts about certain things needing to be doing. Putting off these thoughts will only make things harder in the long term. But not to worry. Those thoughts will be listened to eventually, because there will come a point when they have to be acted on. The fact that I acted on my thoughts about the tarp on the caravan just at the point when the wind had decided to come play with it, is neither here nor there!
That the storm brought some rain which did the garden good.