Welcoming the rain

Sending you a picture of one of our trees in full seed production, unfortunately none of which are edable! But the seeds look nice when they lift away from the tree: they look like yellow snowflakes.

And what joy it was to hear the rain pattering on the caravan roof late last night. "Thank goodness", we both said in unison, "we can do more digging once the soil is wet".

And so it is that we are continuing to change from indoor UK-townie types, to outdoors, we-need-the-rain-so-things-can-grow people.

You see, once upon a time we would felt piddled off with wet weather. For Lester, it was either a wet cycle ride to work, or a very wet walk, or chancing going in the car which was a mini and didn't like wet weather at all, tending to stop if the puddles became too deep. Plus the on-going stress of whether to have the headlights on, or the windscreen wipers, or the heater because it fogged up inside like a sauna. He could never have all three switched at the same time, because then that perverse mini would go on strike and stop. For me, it was wet dog walks, bringing a very wet spaniel home and having to dry him off before he shook himself all over the carpet.

Now all has changed. The mini is still in the UK, minus us of course, Lester doesn't have to cycle the bike and only has a couple of yards to walk to get to work. The same for me. And we don't have to do wet dogs, because now Boolie doesn't like going out in the rain at all, whereas before, in the UK, he was always out of the door like a bullet every time it was opened, no matter what the state of the weather was. Not so here. Because he is outside all the time, he now likes to be inside during inclement weather. He will actually stand at the door and have a think about whether it is a good idea, or not, to go out.

And so the rain kept falling, all night did it fall. And when I woke up this morning, it was still raining, and with great relief I snuggled back down in my caravan bed, knowing that the rain was looking after our produce and that we could stand down from the task of watering it. I now find the rain a blessing rather than an irritation. It is, after all, part of the natural cycle of life. If it doesn't rain, nothing will grow.

I may need to be reminded of that when we hit the first of the summer storms in a couple of months time!

During a break in the weather, Lester headed off to the compost heap, and was brought to a standstill by the sight of a red deer standing under our oak tree eyeballing him. Another one came out of the woods and did the same. It would seem that they know us because they didn't scamper off with fright. I think they have been watching us. A part of us is troubled by this imminent threat to our food table. Another part of us is smiling at the thought of having deer so close by.

And arriving on Friday was the first of our roof-wood. Two huge beams, which were put in the same day by our stirling roofers.





The wood is now soaked. By the rain it has become soaked. The ground is now soaked. By the rain has it become soaked.

But we are looking good, because according to Meteo France, tomorrow we will have sun and clouds, which means we can get outside and do another couple of feet of digging. So..... although we got soaked today, it was all for a good cause. Because we might get to catch up with Denise over at Malarkey Manor's exhuberant growth rate for her produce. At the moment our tomato plants number five and they are a centimetre tall. The wild flower seeds are coming up, but are only showing two tiny leaves. The potatoes are doing well, numbering 50 plus, the kiwis are sprouting, and everything else is thinking about whether to wake up or not.

However, we do not have to water tomorrow, and we can go do a bit of digging because the rain, bless it, fell on us. Hopefully, some of our seeds will get going so we can get something planted in the open ground. And hopefully the deer will decide to be charitable and realise that perhaps they ought to eat other things, like the plentiful grass, or the ripening fields of oil seed rape.

Sending blessings out to you all, and hoping you have a good week....

PS. I haven't forgotten about telling you about the rotovator!

I didn't sleep very well last night...

Now I am supposed to be filling you in about the latest development with the rotovator. However, on a trip to the porta-potti, upon edging myself down on the low, open receptacle making sure I was aiming my posterior spot on ( there are no margins of error with a porta-potti. You are either on it, or off it and falling onto the floor), meanwhile trying to make the plastic lid stay up so it doesn't interefere with my landing, flashing into my head came this blog title.

Now this has happened to me before: for instance,a few days ago it was 'Pas Francais. Espagnol!' And the funny thing is, that they arrive in my head at exactly the same moment, which is like thus: Urge To Go To The Loo arrives. Hurry to the bedroom caravan hoping Lester hasn't locked the door. Things can get a bit desperate if I have to go hunt him down, and get the key off him to unlock the door. So, into caravan. Through washroom door. Into smaller space now. Bearing in mind that we are still in thermals and wearing layers, although not so many, it takes a while to get to the underwear. Time is pressing on. I am meanwhile turning myself round so I can position everything in readiness. To do this, I hold on the door frame of the washroom with my right hand, while the other hand tries to keep the lid of the porta potti up, and any item of clothing out of the way.

And Boing! THAT is when the ideas spring into my mind. Of all the moments when it would be best that they didn't, that is the moment they do! Why is that? Because it is such an awkward moment, there is no room to sit and write while performing the necessary ablutions, all I can do is ponder as to why I get inspiration at that particular moment. Yesterday, I distinctly got an idea about The Psychic Toolbox, which is my second book. It had been grumbling along, nearly done I thought, but then into my mind popped an idea about how to organise the early chapters which suddenly made the book come alive. I had, quite frankly, been getting bored with it and this would probably have reflected in the way in which someone read it.

And momentous life changes and decisions have also been sprung into my head when on the loo; proper loos, with proper toilet seats so I can lean my head against the wall and have a think, or write down my thoughts on the handily placed writing pad. (It is difficult to write on loo roll by the way, so don't try it. The loo paper goes all scrunchy and you can't read what you have written, this I found out after having been inspired to spill out a load of words early on morning, but used the loo roll because no writing pad was to hand. Also no pen, so used a lipstick. Not a good idea all round. The lipstick seemed to get everywhere, I couldn't read what I had written anyway because the paper went scrunchy and I would have been better off enjoying the physical moment of being on the loo rather than trying to write reams of words which were never going to be understood when I tried to read them later on!).

Ok, so I am receiving of inspiring thoughts on the loo. So WHY didn't I sleep very well last night?
Well, it had been a good day. Plenty of interesting things to do, and the sun shone until 8.30 which meant we were outside until 9. Then into the office to do some writing, then a bit of You-Tubing, then shut-down PC, time for bed.
"Have a look at this" says Happy Chappy Lester. "You will find this interesting....."
"Oh but Lester, it is nearly 11 and we need to get to bed." I say, trying to head towards the door.
"Just have a look at this before you go. It's about composting toilets."
My heart sinks. This one of his self sufficiency projects: having a compost toilet. Now I don't mind one outside, in the woods. And I don't mind wandering off down to the woods when I need to avail myself of the composting toilet facilities. But I have a problem with having one in the house. Apparently we could have a box downstairs, (a 'thunder box' is a term which is often used for these things) then use the loo upstairs. Down the chute into the box everything would go, there to sit for months, if not years, until it had composted down. The thing is, I DON'T want it in the house. Outside, yes. Inside, no. So my compromise is to have a composting toilet outside, down in the woods so no-one knows it is there, which we would use when it is sunny and warm, and then when the weather is otherwise, we would use the indoor toilet from which everything would go into the fosse septique, and disappear from view and my mind. Like what happens in the UK, with the normal sewerage system. You go. You flush. You shut the lid. Done. No worries. Off your contribution goes, into the sewerage system, without so much as a thought on your part as to where it is going to fetch up. That is not so here. What we recycle goes onto our land. Into the woods at the moment.

But Lester has been rigorously You-Tubing for compost toilets. And he had come up with " the best idea yet": Worm compost-toilet. What you have is a tub of worms in compost, into which one deposits ones doings, then the worms do the breaking down process, and hey presto, after a few months, wondrous compost to spread about the garden, as could be seen on the You-Tube video.

And the reason I didn't sleep very well last night was because the discussion about the viability of a worm compost toilet system carried on for ages afterwards, so that when I tried to finally go to sleep quite some time afterwards, all I could see was a pot of worms into which I was looing. It really does not work for me at all. I could do worm composting as Denise over at Much Malarkey Manor is doing. No problem with that.

But sitting on a tub of worms is absolutely not do-able. Lester said that they wouldn't get out because they would be busy eating things. Lester said that they don't bite, or want to eat me, because they just don't do such things. Lester said that we would be off-grid with the toilet, which we are anyway because there is no sewerage system here so he lost that argument. Lester said that John Seymour (we are fans of this wonderful man) would have had one. Lester said that I was being silly and squeamish. Lester said "ouch" when I rolled over to go to sleep and inadvertantly kneed him in a sensitive place. (Not meant, I assure you!)

And if you ever visited, how could I say to you, "There is the toilet. You have to put sawdust in when you have been. And don't mind the worms, they're friendly!"

Hairwash day

And so it came to pass that it became the time of the Great Hair Wash. Not for all the many long months had this task been done. Inclement weather, loss of hairdryer (packed somewhere but know not where), and general lack of interest had put off this grand event.

But hang on a minute. That's not true about lack of interest. I WAS interested, only events kept conspiring against me. Like, boiling up several kettles of hot water was just not do-able when it came to hairwash time. It took too long. And anyway, I had read somewhere that if left long enough then one's hair would self clean. Well I did, and it didn't. But it looked OK, because I have had it up in a bun. But on catching sight of myself the other day, I was brought up short by the 'granniesh' look I seemed to have acquired. Now I know I AM a granny. But that does not mean to say I want to necessarily look like one. But then I don't want to do a 'mutton dressed as lamb' look either. Neither do I want to plaster myself in lipstick and filling.

So I have come to the conclusion, that Bohemian is good. Sort of ruffled. This was discussed before our move to France with Denise over at Much Marlarkey Manor, who also thought she could do Bohemian if I remember rightly. So what I do is, put hair in bun, but then ruffle it all up again so it looks like it hasn't been combed. Then I pull down some hair out of the bun again, so a little bit of it hangs either side of my face. When I get round to it I am going to make some dangly earings, which I think will look quite granny-bohemian. For the moment, my compromise towards this look is a scarf left floating rakishly round my neck.

It is an infernal nuisance really, as it dangles in all the food I cook and eat, and is involved in all my activities one way or another. Ah, but when I throw it round my neck, so it becomes artfully draped by default rather than be design, I feel me. You can see it hanging to one side of me in the photo.

The wetness of me is due to me trying to take a photo of me whilst applying shampoo and holding the shower head which kept spurting water all over the place. I seemed to be out of practice with shower heads. It has been a while.

So the day of the hairwash came. We now have a shower, which I haven't had the bottle to use yet but Lester uses frequently, and it was his inspiration that led to the Grand Event of the Hair Wash. When I was bewailing the fact that I couldn't wash my hair, he said 'I'll go heat the boiler up for the shower. You can use that'. It has only taken me three months to realise a solution to my hair wash problem. Sometimes I think I am a bit thick.

But yippeee! Hair done. All nice and clean. Sun was shining so it dried quickly, and I feel clean-granny-bohemian rather than camping-granny-bohemian, the flannel still working well for the washing of other places. All I need to do now is go sort out my ear-ring making equipment, and I shall be able to do Holay, Holay, Holay with our Spanish roofers. As you can see, I have not quite adjusted to them not being of the nationality that I thought they were.

I'll speak about the rotovator tomorrow.