Poppies

Garden's looking good. Loadsa poppies. Had a downpour the other day and a hailstorm. Battered the poppies to smithereens. But nae bother, new ones exploded into flower. When the sun's shining on them they look luminous red. A brilliant colour. Or is it vermillion? Interestingly, red in nature means danger, keep away, but I don't think poppies can harm. Or maybe they can through cocaine. Does cocaine come from poppies? Here I am, old as the hills, and I'm still not sure where cocaine comes from. Shall have to check. Anyways..., as I said, garden's looking good.

Field

Living out here deep in the misty backwoods we're surrounded by fields where deer roam freely and cattle and sheep munch on the succulent grass. This being cattle country, the local farmers are kept busy with making sure their land is in top condition for their herds of beasts. One becomes aware of the farmers' hard work while strolling about on dogwalks, especially up at Sprocket Hill, which is where one particular field has seen a lot of change over the last couple of years. After being ploughed, it was re-seeded, then the grass (or was it barley or wheat or something?) grew to a height of about three feet and, recently, it was cut and baled. Now the field is back to being just grassy, but it's growing again. Went up there a couple of evenings ago and the farmer's gang were busy doing more baling and wrapping with black plastic. Had a quick word with the farmer, asked if the plastic rolls were expensive. "Oui" he said, "très chère". Had a torrential downpour the next day so the plastic did its job in keeping the hay dry. I guess some other farmers unfortunately didn't get around to wrapping their bales so they now have to dry out before storing. Noticed a few hawks circling above, looking for fieldmice which are easier to spot when the grass has been cut. Saw a hare running across another field. Unfortunately, so did Hamish, so he went off in hot pursuit. No chance of catching the hare, but it kept him busy for ten minutes, then twenty, then half an hour. An hour and a half later Hamish re-appeared, hot, panting, and covered in ticks. Picked the few visible ones off him, but there were probably others hidden in his fur. Pulled a few others of these blood-sucking nasties off him over the following days. Went up there a bit later. Hamish immediately whizzed off in hunting mode again. Another ninety minute-wait for his reluctant return. Another search for ticks. Ah, the busy routine of life out here in the backwoods.

Nothing much

I regret to say, once again, that I haven't added to this blog for ages. This is probably due to being lazy, or unsure if anyone's interested in the nothing much that goes on up here in the backwoods. Anyways..., despite nothing much happening, apart from dogwalks, I thought I'd post a few sort of recent photos which, hopefully, will be more interesting than my boring scribings.