Repurposed Bedstead

Quivering leaves of the Amanogawa cherry tree outside my window alerted me to the light rain that freshened my morning garden task as it dripped from the trees above the front garden, in which I completed the raking of green refuse covering the mounds of gravel on the path, bagging all up in two used compost bags.

All that remained were the finishing touches of levelling the mounds and shaving the edges, rather like a barber trimming the neck and eyebrows. I completed this after lunch. When the still fierce winds lessen I might get around to removing the few remaining leaves which just wouldn’t keep still. Alternatively I might simply allow them to dance on.

Meanwhile Jackie reminded herself of the first bedstead repurposed on the Weeping Birch Bed when she erected one to hold back a red carpet rose determined to cover the recently cleared footpath.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tasty fusilli pasta bake containing boiled eggs, bacon, and chicken; and succulent baked gammon, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Douro.

They Keep On Coming

The moon was out of bed this morning when Jackie took her camera into the garden, yet cloud cover soon rolled in. She crouched low to offer the Cobaea Scandens cup to the lingering orb. Fennel seeds, sweet pea pods, and mahonia completed the collection of silhouettes. The Assistant Photographer finished with pastel shades of verbena bonariensis against New Zealand flax.

This afternoon I cut the grass for which the expression ‘mowed the lawn’ would be a little pretentious. It seemed somewhat ambitious to hand-clip the edges so I will live to fight them another day.

The hanging basket in the top centre of the first picture contains a bright lime-green heuchera.

For a little light relief I transported Jackie’s clippings from her weeding and taking cuttings to the compost bin and bagged up some of the woody material.

Beside her the Dragon Bed’s Polish Spirit clematis and hanging baskets petunias display vibrant colour.

Bees, like this one in geranium Roxanne, went about their business undisturbed.

This variety of rudbeckia has prove quite prolific this year, whereas several others have failed.

Recents storms virtually stripped this pink climbing rose of its leaves, yet buds keep on coming,

as do those of Flower Power, Lady Emma Hamilton,

Absolutely Fabulous,

and Crown Princess Margareta, who encourages the coexistence of different generations.

The Weeping Birch Bed, like most of the others, still contains a variety of colourful blooms.

There aren’t many without a dahlia or two.

Preferring the ebb and flow and artistry of Test matches, I am not fan of T20 cricket, but, as I watched England’s innings against Australia on TV this afternoon I began to wonder whether my apathy might be a teeny bit prejudiced.

This evening we dined on Mr Chan’s excellent Hordle Chinese Take Away fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Caramel Creams

Jackie spent much of the day completing her work on the Weeping Birch Bed where she has also repainted the Heligan Path sign. A couple of days ago she could not reach her seat, let alone sit on it.

Later this afternoon we took a drive into the forest.

We followed a cyclist and her trailing, rather wobbly, skateboarding companion much of the length of Everton Road.

In fields alongside Braggers Lane we noticed a herd of mostly caramel cream coloured cattle accompanied by calves

trekking with some intent down from their hillside and up another slope. So dry was the terrain that dust clouds were kicked up.

I followed them to find them jostling for position around a water trough. The poor calf just had to wait its turn.

It must have been something energising in the water that caused the cows to engage in the normal springtime humping practice on the way back up the hill. One young bull tagged along with the two active cows when they reached their field, but showed no interest in participating.

This evening we dined on succulent bangers, creamy mash, crunchy carrots, tender green beans and spring greens with which Jackie drank Becks and I drank more of the Douro.