The insect was after the nectar. The flower wants its pollen moving on. I wanted the blackberries, the seeds of which will in turn be distributed. We all get something out of the transaction.
A bit more sunlight today — hardly high summer though. Heatwaves are just something other people are having. The buddleia seem happy, however, and there were plenty of butterflies around in the garden this afternoon.
Our nine days in Scotland come to an end. A fine trip, although a lot of driving — all by me — including today’s six-hour stint from Dundee back to West Yorkshire. Over the last two years this has become a familiar journey, and we know where to stop for tea, lunch, the toilet, etc: and also photo opportunities, as I can’t shoot whilst driving. Broughton, a little village nestling in the Scottish Borders, has become one of those spots. There’s a great little tea room just to the left of this shot. This house has a pleasing look to it but yes, the straight line on the left (coming off a telegraph pole I presume) does bother me.
More plants, but there are a lot of them around at this time of year, particularly after the healthy mixture of sun and rain which has characterised the last three weeks or so. You were getting something from house or garden today in any case, as I never left the vicinity. But work is nearly done.
Third post in a week to be taken in the garden, but it’s still sunny and there’s not much else going on that offers a change of scene. This tennis ball has been sat pretty much in the same position for weeks now, and both Clare and I have acknowledged that neither of us have the slightest idea where it came from. It offers an opportunity for a still life, nevertheless.
Hmmm, a Saturday with no football (yes, OK, I’m aware that there was something going on in London along those lines, but you know what I mean). And the sun was shining. And there was work to do in the garden. All these things made a relaxing afternoon picnic, with wine, just the right thing to do. (Those are my feet, yes. Clare is unseen to the left — I didn’t drink the whole bottle myself, you know.)
Another one of those recurrent, annual subjects. Our plum tree definitely has years off — and 2022 was one — but this year there’s going to be a decent crop. Previously I have referred to these as plumlets but for some reason ‘plumlings’ came to mind this time round, which I feel is definitive.
How many of these peas will eventually sprout edible small green products remains to be seen: getting them started by the living room window is always the easy bit, each year. But we try.
I have developed some druidic powers. I can, fairly reliably, summon a robin. It’s quite easy actually — simply go up to the garden, dig over part of it, and wait five minutes. One will usually appear to check over the bounty that has been revealed. This one was quite unperturbed by the presence of both myself and Clare, and has a look on his face that suggests he thinks we should be doing more digging — I reckon robins are evolving to use humans as manual labour, in fact. Perhaps they will be our overlords in a few dozen millennia,
On 6th October last year I was hauling myself up Yewbarrow in the Lake District and about to go to Canada for a week, but no similar adventures are taking place at the moment: this is the sixth shot out of seven to be taken in Hebden Bridge and the fourth in a row indoors. But at least the garden is producing. The monster fruits to the right may or may not be a function of these being pictured in a silver bowl.
Being 42 