Flies In The Ointment

When we arrived at Shoestring Cottage and got out of the car I could hear the sound of running water, most perplexing as we are in a drought situation now.  After some investigation we discovered that a water pipe under the cottage was leaking, which meant we had to turn off the water overnight until things could be remedied.    Mr Shoestring began to look harassed as he struggled to put the water situation to rights but eventually it was fixed to his satisfaction and the water could be turned on again.  Alas and alack he had an even worse setback to deal with.  He found that when he poured the concrete for the new pond there were a couple of places where it hadn’t completely filled the boxing, and consequently there were a couple of sizable holes in his masterpiece!  After some research (and a further increase in vocabulary) he decided that there was a product which would remedy the situation.  Only time will tell, here’s hoping that will be the case. 

 This is something like what I had in mind for the pond - languid fish swimming leisurely through the murky depths.  But it may be that they are struggling to stay within the confines of the pond and not shoot out through the large holes!

I don’t know if it was the desire to impose his will on something after these setbacks, but Mr Shoestring did something next which was very startling.  He took his chainsaw and made a couple of sizeable holes in the walls of the front porch.  Having done this he came to find me and show them to me proudly much like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat – ta da!  

Here is the original hole in the front porch, seen from inside.

To begin with I was uncertain what remark would be appropriate but when he explained that he was going to put the stained glass windows in these new window frames in no time flat I was slightly mollified.  This teeny tiny detail hasn’t been accomplished as yet but all in good time, all in good time.   

 Seen from the outside and with the scriber and surrounds finished, things don't look quite so bad.

The birds had continued with their plan to destroy the garden, but the fight has quite gone out of me now and I just tossed my head and laughed a hollow defeated kind of laugh at their depredations.  (I wasn’t going to let them see how badly affected I was by their latest onslaught and who knows how many of them were watching me inspect the latest results of their destructive behaviour.)

 At the bottom centre you can see one of the dessicated seedlings my avian friends have plucked from the earth with their cruel beaks.  The path is covered with debris and the two survivors are very fortunate - perhaps they will be not so lucky next time. 

So all in all it wasn’t one of our best weekends, but a very interesting one all the same. 

On Sunday night we were lucky enough to be invited to a kind of competition, which involved the curing of bacon and judging which of four different methods had created the most succulent and palatable rashers.  It was a difficult task but somebody had to attempt it and I think I can truthfully say that all of us present gave of our best and were equal to the task.  When it was voting time there was no clear winner, though two entrants came out as roughly equal favourites.  The bacon makers have clear ideas now as to how to go about creating the perfect rasher and they will have no shortage of helpers when next they go head to head after creating their new improved recipes.  Bacon is rather salty though and we did need some liquid refreshments to help us with the task.  

The first of the zinnias and asters are out now - and very obliging they are too, they seem impervious to dry conditions and scorching sun.  

The Big Pour - And All The Little Paws

 Mr Shoestring was in a state of high anticipation on Friday night; he badly wanted to get to Shoestring Cottage and commence "the big pour" on his water feature.  All day he toiled in the heat on Saturday and was delighted with the result.  After the big pour Mr Shoestring sat back and admired the fruits of his labour

 

but much to his horror, the next morning he discovered that as well as the big pour there were also a lot of little paws - all over the base of his magnificent creation!  It didn't look like a gentle stroll, it seemed as if Basil or Frances (or possibly both of them and a whole group of feline friends) had taken up tap dancing.   

I suspect Florence, she may look innocent but she is concealing something

In between all this industrious creativity there was time for socialising as well.  Monsieur La Poste and Madame La Poste called in for a coffee.  (Monsiuer La Poste expressed his firm opinion that as deco devotees we should incorporate a representation of Freda Stark in our water feature.)  Then The Canucks arrived with all the fixings for delicious sangria, which we enjoyed in the shade under the old plum tree.  Mr Canuck was firmly of the opinion that a seal with a ball on its nose would be just the thing for us.

Sangria - nectar of the gods

That night my fellow goddess Mrs Peaceable came for dinner, and we enjoyed some bubbles (it was definitely the weekend for a pour).

She offered no advice as to the best statuary, but she did offer a piece of her water lily and the possibility of some fish from a kindly benefactor she knows!  Heaven.

While Mr Shoestring was beavering away outdoors on Monday I did my best to make progress on art deco costumes, but somehow the urge had left me.  I felt it was imperative that I should plant the cosmos seeds Madame La Poste had kindly brought me - after all, "fresh is best" with seed.

Mrs Peaceable had told me that she was going to start making her Christmas presents for next year immediately, and be prepared in good time.  What a good idea!  I thought I could make a start with one or two small things to begin with, so made a sachet stuffed with lavender, lemon verbena and rose geranium.

Also I had unearthed some old embroidered linen bags.  Very interesting!  Beautiful embroidery and so thoughtful that people would go to all this trouble.  I find satin stitch well nigh impossible and if I could stitch something like these I would be very proud - unbearably gloaty in fact.

But how strange to give someone a linen container for their pyjamas or linen and feel the need to name it.  I suppose it would prevent the all time gift horror situation.  "Thank you so much, I have always wanted one of these - what is it?"  Or did the embroiderers really worry that the recipient might stuff it full of kitchen utensils or shoes perhaps?  Odd, very odd.

So no more progress was made on art deco costumes this weekend but a very good time was had by all, and I shall post a recipe for sangria, that most delicious and fortifying of summertime drinks.

And speaking of delicious drinks, we had some El Transistor with Mrs Peaceable.  It was a very tasty Spanish white wine,  but the label was something I wish I could remove from the bottle and keep as a souvenir, what a lovely piece of artwork.  Can you see the transistor in the upper left hand corner?

I hope you have had a chance to relax and study a few dandelions this weekend - or the equivalent in contemplation, wherever you may be.

Birds - The Gardener's Mortal Enemies?

When Mr Shoestring had all that trouble with birds attacking the side mirrors on his car and leaving nasty deposits all over it, I tried to be sympathetic but in reality I was very indulgent to the birds.  After all I thought, they are the friends of the gardener and so enjoyable to watch as they go about their business.  Now I am not so sure.  Having spent all that time and effort on raising my own seedlings, nurturing and watering, transplanting and cosseting through the baby stages of their lives, I was horrified to discover that they had been ripped from the earth by the bird population.  At first I was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt and tried to convince myself that it might have been the work of the cats.  However having made a serious study of the situation (not to mention replanting my precious seedlings several times in the space of an hour), I have to admit that it is the birds who are responsible for the carnage and destruction.  When I planted out the commelina seedlings I was hoping that they would not become an invasive menace as predicted by some garden commentators.  Now I shall just be thankful to see any of them reach maturity and flower so that I can witness the blossoms.  All that talk about birds being helpful in the garden is just a load of old rope and malarkey, they don’t seem to eat any slugs or snails, only the worms I am trying to encourage.  And as for the mess they can make of a flower bed in a short space of time, it has to be seen to be believed.  Earth, compost and seedlings randomly strewn all over the place, far and wide!  The last straw is when they come close by as you are feverishly trying to replant seedlings before it is too late.  They watch you with their horrid beady eyes in a very knowing fashion, as if to say, “Yes that’s right, you replant them – I shall be back again as soon as your back is turned and pull them out of the earth, just you wait.”  The honeymoon is over, drastic measures are called for.  Maybe some kind of frame over the soil, so that they can’t get their nasty pointy beaks close enough to do any damage.

We have a long weekend coming up and my avian adversaries will be surprised to find their peaceful existence disturbed by Mr Shoestring with his concrete mixer and me with my arsenal of bird scaring devices.  Let battle commence!