It’s a satisfying time of year to be outdoors, clearing away a season’s-worth of overgrown undergrowth whilst it’s still mild enough to work unencumbered by eight layers of clothing. Also the colours, of course. Ah, the colours:-
Many times before, I’ve mentioned this village’s long cherry-growing heritage, and now the few remaining cherry orchards are in their autumn livery.
I’d been feeling guilty about ‘growing’ yarn vegetables in the garden of my big-crochet-house-project whilst failing to make any headway with my real allotment, especially as I know that my long-suffering allotment-mate sometimes reads here. The latest additions are some onions and lettuces that I worked in the pub on Knit Night. (Again, the rival knitting group was there, too. Again, they were far too friendly and nice for me to be able to come away with any amusing bloggable anecdotes of yarny rivalry. Grrr.):-
But now that the novel-writing MPhil is submitted, the twinnage are a’school, the yucky IVF drugs are out of my system, and I’ve got more energy thanks to running four times per week, (gosh this sentence is getting long – does anyone know when it might end?) I’m ready to tackle the allotment. And the garden. And even the damp, rickety portions of our house. The twinnage love coming up to the allotment. Sometimes they ‘help’ (I use that word very loosely) to dig, and sometimes they like to discover things, like the vibrant colours of the seeds in the last few runner beans that we left on the plants:-
They like it when we come across the occasional frog. And grasshopper. And red kites shrieking in the sky above our heads, hoping we’ll drop dead and become carrion, no doubt. And the amazing network of mouse tunnels under the carpet we’d used to cover the bare earth. Also, the pretty rosehips:-
It must be cool to be five, because everything’s still kinda new… although I hope that the twinnage never lose that sense of wonder, even when they’re ninety-five.
Anyway, some proper progress has been made. Vegetable beds have been dug over and weeded, with phacelia planted as a ‘green manure‘. (100% of the credit for that knowledge and idea goes to my allotment-mate.) Grass has been trimmed back to a level where TV crews are no longer interested in using it to make a documentary about exploring the last frontiers of the world’s natural wilderness. And onions and over-wintering broad beans have been planted. Dinner will be ready in a few months’ time, OK? Maybe have a snack whilst you wait.
I love the allotment, but it’s slightly intimidating when you see neighbouring plots cultivated to within an inch of their lives, with twenty different crops grown in regimented alphabetic order in perfect raised beds. I think the neighbourhood pests (slugs, rabbits, insects, children) take one look at those scarily perfect plots and come and munch our produce instead. Maybe I should take a couple of allotmenty photos for you next time?
Back home, I’m starting to properly tackle the garden at last. The Stoic Spouse has been keeping it trimmed and weeded, but really, it could be so much prettier out there. Look at the beautiful warty toad I accidentally disturbed whilst weeding! Sorry mate, hope you managed to get back to hibernating.
So most things are trundling along OK. Yes there’s the going to work and the laundry and all the things that have to be done, but also there’s time with the children, and baking, digging, planting, cooking, planning, running, and clearing out. And in the evenings, there’s a log fire, reading, knitting/crochet, and blogging. And if this paragraph sounds unbearably smug and twee, do please feel free to pop round and wallop me about the head with the wet haddock of reality. Also, do remind me of my cloying smugness when I’m next whinging about sitting in a traffic jam on the motorway nursing a head-cold and stressing about being late for some tedious appointment or other. Thank you.
Finally, just in case you’ve noticed that there’s not much knitting or crochet in this post, here’s proof that it’s possible to knit whilst bouncing on a trampoline at a local park with the twinnage. Sort of.
‘Til next time, adios and good knitting/hooking.