Marginally disappointed today that, with it being National Take Your Parents To The Playground Day neither of my offspring turned up to attend to the matter. ‘Come on, Mum. We’re off to the playground! Have a wee before we go. I’ve got a picnic in the car.’ If they had, I would have enjoyed a go on the swings and the seesaw, but would have steered clear of the slide because my instinct when travelling down a slide at speed is to shove my elbows outwards into order to slow down the chaotic descent, thus causing damage to aforesaid elbows by scraping them. Fear of falling, you see. When I was a child, my family would often frequent the funfair at Dymchurch and it was there that I skinned my elbows red raw going down the helter skelter, and they stung for days afterwards, completely spoiling my holiday. Anyway, that was a funfair and we are talking playgrounds here. Swings, seesaws and a sandpit - that’d suit me just fine. Next year, maybe…
Lovely day in the garden yesterday, my grown up playground, as the weather was perfect for being outside. Bit of weeding, bit of sweeping up the cottony blossom from the goat willow tree, bit of communing with the bunnies, bit of sitting in a bean bag, drinking tea and gazing across the countryside. I had spent the morning attending an AGM on Zoom which was dull at the outset, but brightened up considerably once the discussion moved away from the boring stuff of plans, budgets and elections, and on to angels. Sitting under the willow as a very gentle breeze helped it shed its cottony fluff was a bit like being snowed on by angels, I thought. Only a few bits landed in my mug of tea.
The wisteria is, once again, putting on a grand show…
Just lovely! It brings me great joy, the way it stretches out across the courtyard and frames the windows at the back of the cottage. It smells divine, too, when the sun warms it up and the air is still.
The yellow Welsh poppies have begun their annual pop up. Here are some in the lemon balm and the pots of mint…
They grow wherever they like, all over the place. I did not sow them - they have self-seeded and spread here and there. I leave them to it. Their bloom time is so short that they deserve their brief moment of floral glory. And there, look! The first rose bud of 2022!
This is a climbing rose which covers the side of the laundry. It will flower repeatedly until late October assisted by diligent dead heading from me. The flowers are large, blowsy, and yellow. Not what I would choose in a rose but it is a determined plant which presides well over its space, and the bees like it.
And the swallows continue to bomb in and out of the laundry with reckless abandon. They now have a structure which is more nest shaped although they still have a way to go before egg laying commences.
See? It’s gradually working its way onto the beam itself. From my kitchen door I can see them go in, trailing bits of mud spattered grass after them, and then stab stab stabbing it into the structure. There is generally quite a bit of music and chatting going on during this process, but they’ve yet to knock on the kitchen door and ask for a couple of brews of builders’ tea with two sugars and a chocolate digestive, if you’ve got one going spare.
After a week of holiday, I’m back to work tomorrow. I’d rather stay home and play.
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KJ