Despite the lack of encouraging conditions, some of the foliage is giving it a go. It can’t be easy under the monsoon, probably our equivalent of crawling out from under the duvet at 6.30am in February. Hence the ragged look of this bloom.
After last year’s glut, our plums are going to have one of their years off, this is obvious already. But there are dozens of these little babies on the branches of the apple tree. Come back to us in September for the harvest.
These seeds are ready to fly; the next windy day, they’ll be gone. You have to admire the simple efficiency of the pattern. The seeds remain individual and can all escape, but no space is wasted, no more could be fitted on. Like so many other things in nature, the perfect match of form and function.
This tulip is open and ready for business. Come and get it with those hairy stamens right now baby. Or so to speak.
My unexciting week continues, but at least I got up to the allotment, where this earthworm seemed surprised at suddenly finding itself atop a slope of plastic, namely, the compost barrel. And, you know, it managed to climb up it, over the edge, and drop back into the rotting food bounty below. Which, on smooth plastic, is not bad going for what is essentially a piece of ligament.
I know I’m anthropomorphosising, but please tell me you see this bumblebee’s grumpy little face… long nose, protuberant jaw, etc. It’s like, “I know it was a nice sunny day today, but bloody hell is it early in the year to get up.” However… respect the pollinators, that’s what we have to do….
Having eulogised the plums and blackberries already this year — and for good reason — let us also add the glorious amount, and richness, of 2018’s apples as well — not to mention a second good crop of rhubarb. In this aspect, no one can complain about the year.
Plums. We are drowning in them. Possibly not as many as the all-time Bumper Plum Year that was 2015, but after a final harvest this morning, the now-empty tree has given up at least 30 lbs this year (14 kg). Want plums? We have them.
I had another picture all lined up today, one of the continued construction Apocalypse in Manchester. But then in the allotment this evening this robin fluttered over, posed itself attractively and virtually demanded that I did its close-ups and become the second robin in a fortnight to feature on here. He’s certainly a plumper specimen than the ragged one in Morecambe. But how frustrated it might be if it could see the results. That crucial feather out of place…. like the open fly on the wedding photo? Well, maybe not quite so dramatic.
With no running water on our allotment we depend for irrigation there either on rain or on lugging up liquid from the house. The buckets are waiting… but the rain has not come. So the bottles go up the hill, again and again.
Being 42 