Here comes the chainsaw

The chainsaw is being serviced this weekend. Back to where it belongs tomorrow. There are the remains of two apple trees in my shed to cut into manageable chunks for chopping into firewood. I've had the pile of wood for eight months and done nothing about the chainsaw. Now that colder nights are drawing in, and we've had a couple down to 2C, having a decent fire in the living room becomes central to our comfort. The wife and I sit in our chairs and warm up gently. The dog lies with his nose in the fire until he cooks and then he moves back to wrap himself round our feet. It's a cunning move designed to trip us when we get up to make a cup of tea/coffee/etc.

There was nothing to show for last night's incredibly heavy rain this morning except for glistening paths. We escaped the strong winds down on the coast. But gentler breezes have blown heaps and heaps of multicoloured leaves up against our door [We don't have a back door!]. The trees are now leafless or - as some would have it - bare/naked. When I took the dog out this afternoon nearly all the trees in the field were almost completely bare except for the oaks. And, I think Darwin would like this one, the outfield of the cricket field is covered in thousands upon thousands of worm casts. I can't even begin to count them. They are changing the colour of the grass to brownish-green!





The dog was disappointed that there were no Greylag Geese grazing in the field. In past years the population has been about 60 - 70. This year conditions have obviously been particularly good for breeding as there are at least 120 grazing and arguing with one another. I love the sound their wings make when they take off as a group. It's like a thumb being run through a giant comb. A group of five came in formation over our heads heading towards the lake. They were honking as though telling each other to maintain formation. Perhaps the leader was talking to the control tower!

The Milk was in the udder last night

At the local farm shop I was rummaging in the freezer for some pork chops. In the end I found them: the label said they were Gloucester Old Spot. Or had been when the pig was alive. The only pork sold here comes from a Rare Breeds Pig Farm about a mile from the shop. The beef comes from half a mile away. In fact, the farmer often grazes five or six of his cows in a small field beside the village shop. Milk and cream comes from a farm half a mile from the shop. It is their boast that when you buy a bottle of their milk, the milk was in the cow that morning or, at the oldest, the previous evening. The lamb comes from a similarly close farm. Veg comes generally from local farms and allotment holders within a mile and a half. So I picked a dozen lovely looking apples out of a box. I asked where they came from. Henry, who runs the shop, was most apologetic. They came from three miles away! Beat that,Sainsbury's! Or Tesco's. Or, even, Morrison's.

Yesterday I slaved on my daughter's garden. She has a lovely 25 metre long, 5 metre wide space attached to a council house in Dagenham. Even though she spent a lot of time on my allotment when she was little, she has forgotten everything she ever knew about gardening. She also has a small daughter to cope with. Her husband has no idea about gardens. Unfortunately for him his mother has always done everything for him. So he has no idea about anything except computer games. On a previous visit we had looked at the garden. It was carefully designed by the former occupant, a very old woman, into four rooms connected by short lengths of connecting grass. The first is a lawn. We planted bulbs in it: snakes head fritillary, crocus, tulip and a 5kg bag of daffodils. About 200 in all. The seriously overgrown hedges need pretty serious attention. I got about a third of the way down the garden pruning the trees and bushes in the hedges. This widened the garden considerably and produced about a skip full of prunings. That can be the son-in-law's job. Getting rid of them before I arrive to continue my attack on the garden next month. At least my daughter has a clear idea about what she wants in the garden. We'll have to work on it room by room. I also have to cut down a lot of Buddleias which have got a bit out of control. Some of them are about 5 metres tall! Oh dear!