Bird Seed

The parakeets have discovered our sunflowers.  It was only a matter of time before they landed on the heavy nodding heads and bent their necks to peck out the seeds.  A parakeet's bill is well suited to shredding sunflower seeds.  First peck the whole seed out of the flowerhead and then extract the kernel from the case, letting the empty husks fall to the ground.  This is the closest I have come to these greedy green birds.  They normally scream overhead through the trees but do not roost on the plot.  Now they feast here and leave a litter of petals and broken bits beneath them.

Meanwhile I am harvesting the stuff we have grown for ourselves: beans and the thinnings of cabbage which is starting to heart up, late in the season, and Bramley cooking apples. 

It has been a hard year, but there is enough for us and plenty for the birds of the air.

The dignity of labour

It's a wet afternoon as my husband sets out in the face of a soaking to tidy and trim up the village.  Sometimes you just have to lever yourself off the sofa and face the task in hand.
  
I was reminded of a job we did earlier in the summer (At the edges) .  As I worked on the front lawn I got an interesting response from the passers by.  Staffies (the dog of choice of our neighbourhood) strained past me and stopped to sniff.  German Shepherds lugged their owners along opposite.  Mothers with buggies made for the shops.  Teenagers in hoods, intent on their music stared straight ahead into cyberspace.  Some pensioners stopped for a natter inches from my head.  (I am happy to say I have forgotten the details).  As far as most were concerned, I was invisible. 

Working at ground level you notice window-cleaners; men with satellite disks to instal; builders and decorators; electricians; people putting in loft extensions; and the postie, picking up his heavy sack from the depositary on the corner, ready to walk the length of the avenue.  Service industries.  Ponder that a while.

Preserves at the point

My jam making was haphazard until my husband bought a special thermometer from a trendy kitchen shop.  Before that it was the 'congealed drip off the spoon' method, or the 'cold saucer treatment'.  I grew tired of conducting these empirical experiments and the damson preserve turned out as a sweet gloopy sauce for flavouring vanilla ice cream or natural yoghurt.

Last night, we reached the vital point of 220 degrees F (105 degrees C) and this morning the jam had set.  The precision of this amazes me.  As you ascend the scale there is one temperature for jam and another for nougat; one for soft toffee, one for hard toffee and the high one for humbugs (according to my trusty Farmhouse Kitchen cookbook).  Right temperature, right result.  All it requires is the proper equipment and patience.

I don't always have much patience in the trials of life.  But I take comfort from this.  There is a point at which it all sets.  Shorter or longer than fifteen minutes in this case.     

At the edges

This month is a new start for me, as I formally started gardening in partnership with my husband.  It's my pleasure to do this.  Yesterday was an example ...

We visit a small block of flats with lawned gardens that can only afford both of us at certain intervals.  I had been longing to tackle the edges.  Here is what I discovered.

The council had weedkilled all along the border with the pavement and some had spilled over into the grass.  It's a pity when what was meant to kill weeds also kills lawn. 

The ornamental pavers that looked so solid had not been set in.  So I tidied around them as best I could.  It's a pity when there isn't time to lay the proper foundations.

I then took the half-moon, a tool beloved by my late father, and edged up all along the front.  I took out sections of straying clover, long grass, and sometimes wild violets (inevitable).  I found anthills where the winged ants were still in the nest.  I cut so that when my husband takes the mower his job will look clean and professional. 

Now all can see that this is lawn and this is edge, where I tidy the dust and the soil I have shaken from the trimmings before dropping them in the brown bin.  This is our livelihood and this is our neighbourhood.  We are putting back the edges.

Showy Sunflowers

We did it!  Our 'random' sunflowers won first prize in the 'flowers grown from seed' category.  These twin cotyledon seedlings scattered in the compost, struggling up unannounced among last year's potatoes, snacked on by snails and slugs, have grown so tall.  They are a gift.  Whenever I go down to the plot I see them high above everything else except the beans, bumblebees at their centres.

Borlottis also won second prize in the 'any other veg.' class.  Busy bees visit them too.  Blessed September, filled with fruit and vegetables.  We give thanks.