Must have had at least a dozen attempts at capturing this example of insectile wiggliness. Don’t know why we call them ‘bumblebees’ though — they don’t seem to bumble to me, they are very systematic. Just this much time at each flower. Which is why, once I finally got the rhythm of it, I got the shot.
Going on the number of plumlings that currently festoon the tree, I predict that come around late July, the whole thing is going to fall over. Should it stay standing, even 2023’s glut (forty-four pounds of fruit) may be surpassed.
Hello, it’s day 4,999. I’d better not forget to get the camera out at some point tomorrow.
These are the steps leading down past our allotment, which is on the right, behind the hedge. This porcelain figurine took up residence there a few months ago, thanks to persons unknown, and now seems quite at home. I’m saying it’s Beatrix Potter’s Mrs. Tiggywinkle, but C says: “that’s not a hedgehog, it’s a cat. Or a bear.” Well, whatever: none of these species wear clothes and carry around watering cans, but that’s anthropormorphism for you I suppose.
These various beetroot all came out of the ground within a couple of feet of each other. I’m sure they were all from the same pack of seeds…. I like the diversity of colour, also that this shot does imply they had all been in the ground ten minutes before it was taken: which was, more or less, the case. I think some pickling is in order.
The plums are eaten and gone, but there is still some free food to be found in the garden. The apples are not very big and a little tart but they will do fine in a crumble. I suppose I could have moved the prominent leaf before capturing this one but hey, it’s all part of the natural vibe.
Disturbed while I was weeding the garden, this little fella deigned to pose for its close-ups, but its purposefully outstretched front leg suggests it is definitely seeking to move on and continue its own day.
Agricultural records (i.e. this blog) of the loganberry plants on our allotment date back to 2018. Lately they have started making regular appearances in July. They are welcome on the plot: they do produce edible, nice fruit and require almost no time and attention whatsoever in order to do this. The latter characteristic is a definite plus.
I forget exactly how much our plum tree produced last year but it was at least 20kg (or more than 44 pounds): its all-time record for a single harvest. It won’t do this again in 2024, simply because it never does have two glut years in a row. But the blossom’s out, at least.
My ability to summon a robin now does not even need to involve any digging. Just go and sit down in the garden for five minutes and he turns up anyway, just to check things out. With largely frozen soil at the moment, though, I guess he’s probably hungry. This may well be the same bird as depicted here or here: the photos are all taken in the same place (our allotment) and robins are territorial beasts.
On opening the lid of the allotment’s compost barrel this afternoon a whole nest of earthworms was revealed, some four feet up. These two decided they would take the opportunity to return to ground level. The one on the right had a clear head start but the other was catching up. If I was a gambling man…. but instead, I like their translucency. And at least the sun was shining for a little while today, the first sight of it for a few days.
Being 42 