Black Elder

Evie and I had around an hour to use up before we collected Martha from school, so we went for a walk, our eventual destination being the nearest sweetie vending emporium. On the way, we walked past a very lovely shrub in a garden (pictured above) and I said,

I must get a picture of that on the way back because I'm sure Bert will know what it is.

On the return journey, I was camera ready. Evie held the Haribo and I got my pictures, one at a distance for the general shape of the bush and one close up for better identification. I hoped the people in the house weren't looking out and thinking me presumptuous. Job done, I put the camera away. Evie said,

Granny what's all that stuff? What happened to the house?

I looked at what she was looking at. Outside the front door was a pile of half-burnt and melted stuff. It looked like the type of thing people might stash in their roof space. I looked up. A vast hole in the roof, partially covered with a blue plastic sheet, tiles damaged or missing,

It was easy to find out what happened from the school lollipop man and his friends. An electrical fire in the roof space a few days ago. The people were away. The fire melted the plastic water tank and the house flooded. Scary. My own attic is full of just the sort of crap that those people had but there is no plastic water tank to put out the fire.

And...if it hadn't been for Evie I wouldn't even have noticed the fire damage. Talk about not seeing the wood for the trees.

The shrub? Bert identified it immediately - Sambucus nigra f. porphyrophylla. Who says Latin is a dead language? Not for horticulturists it isn't.

So what have I learned apart from the name of that covetable shrub?

1. To pay attention to my surroundings.

2. And get the attic cleared.

Your Drafty Foot

Holders of the title Most Beautiful Baby in the world, nos. 1, 4 and 5

That was the story I told Evie today on her mum's birthday for when Zoe was born I thought her the most beautiful baby in the world. Then when Katy came along she was the most beautiful baby... and so on and so on as Hannah, Martha, Evie, James and Emily duly made an appearance.

Evie got it. Every baby is the most beautiful baby in the world to the people that love it.

Happy birthday, Zoe. Hope you've had a lovely day. 

Sleeping With Dogs

This past week I've been doing one of those interactive thingies on Facebook where you tag other people in the often forlorn hope that they will do it too. Actually, I'm OK if people choose not to engage. But it's nice to be asked.

This one was all about beloved and favoured books. No wonder I engaged. My problem was there was so many to choose from!  And one of the conditions was that the post (a seven day thing) was to be minus comment or review.

But this is my blog and I can comment and review as much as I wish.

Day 1

This was my transition book. The first one I read that wasn't children's literature and I first read at around nine years of age in abridged form, part of my Uncle Desmond's Reader's Digest library. It only appealed because there were children in it, Abra, Caleb, Aaron. Their Chinese caretaker. All the Cathy part went right over my head. The only bit that stuck was the rotting lettuces when Adam went into the refrigeration business. I read it again in my teens and was struck at how powerful it was. I was still too young to understand Cathy. Read it again a few years ago, as did Bert. We talked about it for weeks.

Recently, our friend Billy came to visit and announced,

 "I've just read the best book I've ever read in my life. East of Eden. Have you  read it?"

Billy is a generation younger than us and sadly, Steinbeck is rather overlooked these days. I let him know that we'd most of the books and he was welcome to share.

Day 2

If Steinbeck was my late teens then Flann O'Brien aka Myles na Gopaleen was the boyo for my self-conscious early twenties. Not that that was a bad thing because self-conscious twenty-year-olds need heroes too. His writing made me laugh. Out loud. On buses. The Third Policeman was the third or fourth book of his that I read and I didn't read it on a bus. I read it in the wild garden beside our house (Joe's house now) in a very hot summer and I laughed out loud and nobody heard me and that was alright. I still don't understand what it was about and that's alright too.

Day 3

This one had been hanging about our shanty for ages. I recommended it to Bert a while back and he really enjoyed it but, it was when he started talking about it that, I realised I hadn't even read it myself. So I did and it was good and started me on an Atwood revisitation. I'm currently halfway through the Maddaddam trilogy and re-reading The Handmaid's Tale.

Day 4

Is that a fucking wasp on that book? It is. One of those wee bastards stung me the day before I took that picture and my hand swelled up like a bap. And stayed that way for two days. There was a time that a wasp could sting me and it would itch for a while and that was that. But now, two days of infirmity. Still, at least it wasn't a bee. Not worth getting the EpiPen out for a wasp. The throat doesn't close over for a wasp sting.

But. The book. That book is well-thumbed. It's a gem. It doesn't do much. Just lets me know what I should be sowing in the polytunnel and when I should be doing it. The other stuff, the technical stuff I cannot even be bothered reading about. I just ask Zoe. She knows.

One thing I have learned. If you don't want to eat it, don't grow it.

Day 5

I love old books. Probably lots of people, dozens have perused this copy of The Wind In The Willows but not me. I just picked it up in a second-hand bookshop somewhere, sometime and stuck it in my bookshelves only because I love possessing shabby old books. I read it first at my primary school on one of the rare occasions that our horrible teacher, Cassie O'Neill allowed us to choose books from our paltry bookshelves. I was entranced by it and never got the chance to finish reading it. I don't remember when I got back to it but I would still have been a young child. Probably my Uncle Vincent's collection. Like myself, Vincent had a connection with old and well-read books. Staying at Vincent and Marian's house in Rasharkin was the rarest of treats, myself and my sister, separate beds, linen sheets, and Vincent's bookshelves. It was almost like being English!

Day 6

I had a plan for Day 6. But when I woke up I entirely forgot it even though I had the book laid out and everything. Instead,

I photographed this one,

Bert and I were very taken with the film The Tin Drum which was shown on Channel 4 more than twenty years ago. Soon afterwards we both read the book. It was very powerful. Uncle Vincent once told me that if there was a choice a person should always see the film first, then read the book because the book would always be superior to the movie. He had a point but with The Tin Drum it was a close call.

The book I had meant to feature for Day 6 was Brian Sewell's Sleeping With Dogs which was poignant, lovely, heart-breaking and all about dogs. It's a loan from Zoe and I must remember to return it to her. 

This was my morning.

With my children's dogs. Maya, Gracie and Ziggy.

Too Few Poppies

https://www.flickr.com/photos/17223773@N00/sets/72157683091126321

One of the best things about Flickr is albums. I've been gathering photographs over the years and collating them into sets by year. The link above connects to last year. This year isn't finished yet. The photographs give me an opportunity to see what worked and what I missed.

Looking at last years pictures reminded me that 2018 did not have enough poppies in it. Even the polytunnel had fewer self-seeded poppies than the year before.

This will have to be remedied in 2019.

The Camino Voyage

Last night Bert, Zoe and I went to Belfast to see a film. To say that the three of us had a fair good idea of what it was all about would be an understatement.


The film was called The Camino Voyage and it was about four men from West Kerry who thought it would be a great adventure to follow in the steps of their Irish ancestors by going on the Camino pilgrimage in a naomhóg.







A picture of the four intrepid adventurers lifted from The Kerryman website. It was taken by my sister and they never gave her a bit of credit for it. However, I will. Thanks, Tricia - it's a wonderful shot. One of your best.


Now, as I said, I knew a great deal about the film before I watched it. I had heard about the proposed adventure before the documentary was thought of. I fretted along with the rest of our family as the rowers made the long crossing from Rosslare to the Welsh Coast. Did I forget to say that one of those Kerrymen was my brother-in-law, Brendan?


The journey was made over three years, each stage lasting around six weeks and beginning in May. The first stage took the crew as far as Brittany. The second year they rowed around the coast of France until they got to the Bay of Biscay, at which point they took to the canals and rivers to avoid those treacherous seas. And we were glad to hear it after what had nearly happened the previous year as that tiny boat was crossing the English Channel. I shan't tell you. See the film.

Just as the crew were preparing for the third and last stage of the voyage Brendan got a permanent job offer that was just right for him and he was very conflicted. But he took the advice of a fellow crew member and accepted the post. Brendan's place on the boat was taken by this guy. He brought a lot more to the journey than just his strong back and arms.


Anyway, enough spoilers. Over the three years, I followed the journey on Facebook, heard bits from my sisters, watched the promo, was delighted at the finish, enjoyed the photographs, went to the event at the Ulster Museum to hear the five crewmen talk about their adventures, heard what happened afterwards, sympathised with Tricia and Brendan snowed in for days trying to get to the Glasgow Film Festival in a blizzard, babysat our Joe's dog when he went to see Camino Voyage at the Galway Festival.


And yet, knowing as much as I already did the film was so fresh, so engaging, so beautifully photographed. Sometimes thrilling, often funny, always inspiring and in places very, very sad. Laughter and tears.



Our Brendan re-joined the crew for the last leg of the journey and was there in the cathedral at the end along with his wife and daughter. I felt so proud of them all.


The film should go on general release in October of this year. If it comes to a movie house near you go and see it. You won't regret it.

Sunflower Field

Our environmentalist friend Rachael called round yesterday and had a look around my garden. She was absolutely delighted with the number of pollinators we had. Said it was the most she'd seen anywhere this year. I am pleased with our Don't Mow, Let It Grow trial, not to mention the Don't Weed, Let It Seed campaign. We are rather lucky though as we have enough space around here to have a little bit of flowerbed and grass and still have loads of nettle patches, self-seeding herbs and general weeds to keep the insects happy and if the insects are happy the birds are happy and so it goes on.

While she was here Rachael told me about a farmer in Portglenone who has sowed an entire field in sunflowers with a wide strip of wildflowers surrounding it. He has cut paths through it and welcomed visitors. So, of course, we had to go and see it.

A venture like this is quite a departure for a Northern Irish farmer. As I said to Bert,

It's like something you'd see in Norfolk.

Today they were accepting donations for a local community project and we were happy to hand over a few quid. Sure what else would you be spending it on?

They hope to sell some of the blooms for cut flowers later in the month but Rachael informs me that the most of the sunflowers will feed the birds.

We visited later in the day and there were still a lot of pollinators around but earlier in the day there were masses of them doing their thing.

In this part of the field, the sunflowers were still coming on. Where they were in full flower they were as tall as Bert. He's six foot.

I felt quite inspired by it and hope that maybe we can do something to encourage wildflowers. Maybe we won't plant sunflowers but I am hoping to transform our unmown front garden by cutting and lifting in September and seeing what comes from the existing seedbed. Maybe we'll even persuade the Common Blue butterfly to breed in our garden and to enchant us as they did in Paddy's Field in childhood summers long, long ago.

Just A Quick One

Today Martha and I went to Ballymoney on the train. Not a lot of people know this but Ballymoney has the best sweet shop and the best thrift store in County Antrim. Martha spent a great deal of time in both establishments.

While we were thrifting and candy shopping Evie and Aunt Hannah were communing with nature at Waterfoot and Bert was watching Painted Lady butterflies in Springhill. I had already spotted a Small Copper this morning.

The butterfly population is really increasing around here. A few years back all we seemed to see were the Cabbage White types and the Speckled Woods and now we have great numbers of Peacocks and plenty of Red Admirals and Small Tortoiseshells, I'm already thinking of starting a managed weed garden. More ragwort is needed for a start. The next door farmer's crop is too many field lengths away. I wonder what the Common Blue needs? Where can I get bird's foot trefoil seeds. How do I make a heath?

Flying Today

Today I played Girl of the Limberlost but with a camera rather than a net and, happily, no moth or butterfly or moth died to pay for my college education.

The results were patchy. The only butterfly happy to stay still for a moment or two was the lovely Peacock Inachis io. According to my Collins Complete Irish Wildlife these are common in Ireland but not in the North. This information must be out of date as they were very plentiful in our garden today.

Peacock feeding on hyssop

A pair of Peacocks on marjoram

Peacock and Small Tortoiseshell Nymphalis articae on buddleia

Red Admiral on hydrangea

The whites confuse me some. I think this may be the Large White Pieris brassicae feeding on hyssop.

This one sunbathing on hydrangea is probably the Speckled Wood Pararge aegeria. We see them for most of the summer especially in the unmown part of the garden.

And this is why we like to leave a good part of our place wild and unshorn, for the immense pleasure of seeing butterflies, moths and other flying insects. I only wish there were more of them.

Postscript

After completing my post I popped over to Ganching's place to find that she has been posting pictures of flying creatures too. Jersey Tigers! I'm jealous.

A Visit to Seamus Heaney HomePlace

Martha, Evie and I went today to the Seamus Heaney HomePlace at Bellaghy. The girls enjoyed the Exhibition much more than I expected them to. They were especially taken with the interactive features.

In this part of the exhibition, visitors can watch and listen to a variety of people including actors, musicians, writers, Presidents, neighbours and local schoolchildren speak of their connection to Heaney and read from his work. In the photograph above my grandchildren are listening to President Bill Clinton speak of his friendship with Seamus Heaney. The section of poetry that President Clinton chose to read was from The Cure at Troy: A Version of Sophocles' Philoctetes.

History says, Don’t hope On this side of the grave,’
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up
And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea- change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles.
And cures and healing wells.

That gave me such hope in these trying and difficult times as did the pleasure that Martha and Evie took from today's experience.

Evie must have listened to at least ten poems on the interactive listening devices. She said her favourite poem was the one about the kite. (A Kite For Michael And Christopher) At six years of age, I don't think she can have an understanding of the complexity of the poem but listening to Heaney's beautiful voice I'm sure she recognised some of the compassion and beauty that the poem contains. The last verse is one of my own favourite pieces, the line 'You were born fit for it' I find especially reassuring.

Before the kite plunges down into the wood
and this line goes useless
take in your two hands, boys, and feel
the strumming, rooted, long-tailed pull of grief.
You were born fit for it.
Stand in here in front of me
and take the strain.

As always, Martha the artist took great pleasure in the children's creative zone.

And Evie, when she tried on this hat in the dressing up corner...

...immediately put me under arrest.

A Busy Week

It's been a busy week. Monday was a family meal day with a lot of worry leading up to it. Zoe had only heard about the Pig Invasion, she hadn't seen it and I was fretting that she'd be completely gutted about the damage done. But she took the pragmatic view and I was greatly relieved.

Tuesday was a funeral service. It was an unusual one as the person whose funeral it was had died 10 weeks previously in Australia. Her husband brought her ashes back to Ireland for funeral and burial. It was a really lovely service. Afterwards, I went on a shopping expedition and bumped into a cousin. We went for coffee (and tea) and caught up with each other. Heard a very interesting piece of gossip about our Westminster representative who is currently in the news for all the wrong reasons. I feel a bye-election coming on which he'll probably win if he has the brass neck to stand and he will.

Wednesday I was not looking forward to as we were going to do some financial planning and had someone coming round to discuss it with us. But that wasn't as awful as I'd expected. Time for a bit of gardening and then off to Portballintrae to see Swisser. We had been asked for supper but had declined and she'd made it anyway so that was two suppers. I did not take the main course (a healthy vegetable dish) but did not refuse wine.

Thursday - the girls. We had an exciting trip to Portglenone then they had an exciting jaunt on the quad with Bert then it was the exciting trampoline for the rest of the day.

Yesterday I went to Belfast with Jazzer (whose sister's funeral was Tuesday) for another jaunt. The train was packed but it was an interesting trip as I got talking with some of the musicians from The McLain Family Band, a bluegrass band from Kentucky who'd been playing two nights in Ballymena and were on their way to Dublin.

In Belfast, we shopped a lot although I just bought Birkenstocks.  Between shops, we had coffee and a snack in the Linenhall Library, a drink in Maddens, dinner in The Apartment and another drink in the Europa Hotel. The train home wasn't as busy but I ran into a Facebook friend and we chatted all the way to Antrim.

From Antrim to Ballymena I got out my book, The Way I Live Now by Meg Rosoff, and came across a passage so shockingly harsh that I gasped. Closed the book and finished it later in the privacy of my own home. that evening. Very good read though not to everyone's taste I imagine.

That evening I watched the Netflix reboot of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy and enjoyed it a great deal. Found myself grinning throughout. Hadley Freeman, my favourite columnist in the Guardian Weekend magazine, had raved about it and I get that. Not to everyone's taste, I imagine. For instance, Bert said he wouldn't like it as he doesn't like reality shows. This week he has sat through The Hateful Eight and Natural Born Killers. Not for me. I watched the tiniest bit of The Hateful Eight but the minute...

BEWARE

!!!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!!!

...Samuel L. Jackson got his bollocks shot off, I was out of there.

The pigs have been in Piggy Jail all week but we're making it up to them with extra rations. They had carrot cake today and liked it very much. It's not allowed to give them food that has been in a kitchen but we had it in the fridge in Bert's room which definitely isn't a kitchen and the only other thing that is kept in there is alcohol. Which the pigs also like.

Today it rained and it blew and I worked in the tunnel clearing weeds from where we harvested onions and garlic. Outside the bay tree blew over and the sunflowers were bent but not broken. When it all died down I put stronger stakes on all the tallest plants.

One more thing.

Today was our mother's birthday. She would have been 92 years old. I always thought she'd make it to her nineties but she didn't. And although I don't believe in an afterlife I wish I did because then I'd know she'd be looking out for a special person that she never got to meet but if she had, she'd have loved her very much.

Tomorrow is a day of rest.

Rusty and the Broad Beans

Free to good home, one crabbit kune kune pig. he took advantage of a thirty-minute window, squeezed his fat ass down a ditch and up through a hole in the hedge and into the polytunnel. He wasn't spotted until he was standing on the new lawn pondering crashing through my borders. We had a visitor, Richard who remarked,

Is piggy supposed to be in the garden?

Oh, Christ!

I said, and...

I bet he's been in the polytunnel!

And while Richard and Bert tried to drive him off the garden I rushed to check on the vegetables in the tunnel.

It was my sobbing that interrupted their efforts and they left Rusty to see what had happened. The broad beans, all three beds were destroyed, the sweetcorn ploughed through and the beetroot plugs I'd carefully planted this morning were all trodden into the ground.

While Richard comforted me (Bert was useless) and helped me repair the damage to the sweetcorn, Bert went back to deal with the unruly pig only to find him in our actual home interfering with and overturning all the dog bowls. Eventually, he managed to get the rotten pig into his pen but it wasn't easy.

It was so disheartening. All the work that Zoe and I put into growing vegetables and that fucker can ruin it all in a matter of minutes. Getting pet pigs is probably one of the biggest mistakes we've ever made. They're only cute for about five minutes.

I'm all for fencing the vegetable area but Bert is not one bit supportive of that idea. He is very opposed to fencing for some reason which is why the pigs can come and go as they please in the first place!

I spent ages last week repairing the damage to the beans from the first pig attack and manage to save about half of them. A waste of time.

So, yet again, does anyone want a pig? Still free but also ugly, unmanageable and probably doesn't even taste very nice.

Happy Birthday, Choo-Choo!

My lovely grandson celebrated his third birthday today. Lots of presents and cards and his Daddy made him this cake. Young James is very, very keen on trains.

Meanwhile, in Springhill and beyond....

The garlic has all been lifted although little else achieved in the polytunnel today, apart from watering. Gathered a few strawberries, there were only a few! I think we should replace the plants. Raspberries are better but not as good as last year. They are yielding about a kilo a day.

Mother Nature doing well with the bilberries. We went for a walk in the Glens this evening and the bushes were laden. We ate our fill and walked on.

No floors mopped today!

Tomorrow I plan to have a lot of fun. Bert and I are taking Martha and Evie to Barrys in Portrush to go on all the rides. We're hoping Hannah can join us after she finishes work as we oldies are scared of going on the big dipper.

Harvesting Garlic and Planting Irises

The Propped Up Sidalcea

Today I harvested around one-third of the garlic. Zoe got her crop out before she went on holiday and today Bert drew my attention to it still growing scapes! I cut them all off as Bert said they would be depleting the bulbs. God! No-one told me how complicated horticulture could be. 

The scapes on the drying garlic

No seeds were sown but I did pot up some self-sown aquilegia, ash and sycamore seedlings that were growing in the garlic patch and I finished repairing the damage to the broad bean beds that suffered the kune kune attack. I'd say we lost half of the crop. I picked raspberries too. Early fruit yields have been very disappointing this year. The Beast From The East* must have got them at a crucial point.

Hair also on hold as I'd forgotten Tuesday is closing day at my salon. I shan't go tomorrow either as there are other places I want to be. The stranum isn't looking too awful since I stopped shampooing it. That's right, no soap has touched my locks for more than a fortnight now. Just plain, hot water in the shower every day.

The gravestone thing has been sorted out but not without an embarrassing faux pas. How was I to know that there are several monumental sculptors operating in the county, all from the same family and not really on speakers with each other?

Another thing. Bert took his walk along the back lane last night and came back all excited as he'd had a close encounter with a young and very huffy badger. I was jealous. Bert and Hannah are always meeting up with foxes and badgers on the back lane (they never have cameras) and I never see a thing. Bert was heading off for Gypsy Jazz with Les tonight and he said,

You should go out the back lane around half-nine tonight. The big field is bound to have foxes hunting frogs after the silage cut today. 

So I did. I brought my camera and not one fox did I see, nor even a frog. Just this lot.

Roy

Roy and the other two

The cat who goes for walks

...and Hubert's calves

You know what I didn't do today? Mop floors.

*The Beast From The East - what we on these islands call the cold wave that hit us late February-early March this year, but could also refer to the reptilian Vlad featured in the news this week. Whilst one world leader looked and spoke a shambles, Putin appeared to all the world a poisonous cobra ready to strike us all down. These are interesting, far too interesting times. 

One more thing, I was reading Glendinning's book on Leonard Woolf and this struck me.

Heartening.

The Collapsed Sidalcea

The collapsed sidalcea this morning

Last night I set myself six tasks and today managed to tackle five of them. I sent James a birthday card. I was cutting it very fine as his birthday is in two days time so I used Moonpig. 

I didn't cut back the collapsed sidalcea. Instead, Bert and I gathered them all up and staked them. Too late, but better than never. They will probably fall again. Hey-ho... still a completed task.

I sowed rainbow beetroot. The red sort, the yellow sort and the white sort. I planted kohl rabi and cauliflower plugs and a well-grown chilli that was in a pot. Also planted a four-foot sunflower in the garden. Started digging the garlic and other tidying-up tasks in the polytunnel. There is still a lot of clearing to do there.

Here I am updating the blog so that gets a tick.

I did not wash any floors. 

However, we finally got round to contacting a monumental sculptor about adding Pearlie to the family gravestone. It is her anniversary on Friday. Four years now since she died. That one has been on the to-do list for months. 

Tomorrow I should like to

Finish harvesting the garlic

Sow more seeds

Arrange to have my hair cut

Contact the monumental sculptor again as my email keeps getting bounced back

Take a picture of the propped up sidalcea

Maybe mop some floors?

Then The Rain Came

A picture from ten weeks ago. No lawn, and flower beds almost empty. The yellow tulips in the tubs were about the only thing in bloom. Bert is wearing his crocs and looks happy. Marty has on his favourite redneck teeshirt. Jess has a ball in her mouth. This photograph was quite spontaneous.

A picture from three days ago. We have a lawn and the borders are bursting. Marty has on his favourite redneck teeshirt, Bert is wearing his crocs and Jess has a stick in her mouth. This photograph was carefully staged and is the best of a poor bunch. Bert hates being told what to do which is why he looks unhappy.

The sidalcea just behind Bert is badly placed. Two plants, too close together and far too boisterous for the front of the border. They are beautiful healthy plants though and I intend to shift them at the end of the season. I might even gift one to another gardener. Another thing I should do is stake them early on. In the heatwave, they stood tall and proud with no support necessary - until the rain came.

We had three extra dogs last night and I was awakened by barking at around four in the morning. Strange noise coming from outside which must have disturbed them. Steady, medium-heavy welcome rain, much needed. I let the dogs out. It looked strange to see the yard all glistening wet after such a long dry spell. It was still raining this morning. The garden will be enjoying this, I thought and went out to look. The sidalcea had completely collapsed.

Ah well - no mind. I shall cut it back and maybe it will flower again. The Chelsea Crop.

There is something else I'm going to try to see if it enhances my life and that is - sharing a section of my To Do list.

To Do, Monday 16th July.

Send my only grandson a birthday card. He is going to be three on Wednesday.

Cut back the sidalcea,

Sow some beetroot.

Plant vegetable plugs.

Mop the floors. Seven dogs and rainy days are hard on them.

Update my blog.