The maze

Elevenses. Well, 20 minutes until elevenses, but I’m starving. I’ve come in for a cup of tea and some toast and a revive.   Lots has happened.   First of all I am without the joys of the internet and the telephone until Wednesday.

A huge storm blew up when we were down in Valence on sunday afternoon. And it was so unpredicted that I didn’t unplug before I left.   No power (luckily that wasnt out for too long) but I’ve cooked the livebox modem. And the phones.   So it’s old quill and ink for a bit while I wait.

And then last night it was firecracker night. Yet more thunder and lightning storms that raged for hour. Why do we call it rage?  It sounded more like the lower atmoshphere having a party.   Luckily there was nothing to fry inside. but lying in bed trying to read with a torch isn’t that much fun. Especially when the said torch is a wind up that fades ever so slowly as you reach the end of the page.

Still, another half inch of rain to add to Sunday’s half.   I’ve never seen the garden so verdant.   I can’t strim as was my plan. The grass is too wet. But I can plant.

And that is what I have been doing. I planted out 96 french marigold plants (all grown from seed) between the rows of leeks that swoosh down each part of the potager.   And it was a most challenging task. This year I have gone for maximum ground coverage with green manures (red clover) and just a huge volume of plants.

So cramming more in is a challenge. Pause there. I just looked out the kitchen window while the kettle boiled and a huge hare just hopped launguidly past. What is this mountain coming to?
He didn’t even look fearful.   Just hopped on up towards the car parking area. I must remember to secure the nets tightly around the crops today. Broad daylight!

It will be the wild boar and deer next. The boar are very active on our lower terraces right now. Here’s hoping they don’t upgrade their diet to fruit and veg.

The hardest planting out was in the bean and pea quadrant. Goodness it’s lush in there. And I think I spent more time weeding as I did planting.

And I think for the very first time I will need to stake my broad beans. I chortle when I see that done on British TV programmes. My plants barely make it to knee high in this drier climate.   But this year they are going to flop once the pods start to swell. Do there’s something else to finish this morning.

And the potato quadrant. I can’t for the life of me even see the leeks in there as part of the display.   The green manure is higher than the potatoes and I can hardly find the sweet potato plant that went in last week. It’s a maze of green and without the map, you would get lost.

Oh well. Once the early Charlottes and Belle de Fontenays are up I might have a bit more room. And I have dozens more calendula Favourite Reds to go.

And then it was on to a good deed afternoon: translation of a website for a neighbour. I am the village translator. We all have alotted tasks in this very communist of villages. It’s something I admire. We all have to give back or help out.   And I am spared a lot of tasks.   Just gardening and signs or documents into English.   On Sunday it was the annual walking festival over at St Michel.   The poor hundreds must have been soaked in the sudden downpour. But at least they turned out.

Anyway, when someone in the village needs a transalation I am called upon.   Today it was a website for a gite which is fully wheelchair accessible. So that’s a good cause as such things are rare.   And then an ad for Arab Shagya horses that needed editing and turning in to proper English. My halo is shining.

And just to keep that halo shining brightly I nipped up to Jean Daniel’s garden and weeded his asparagus bed.   He was over at the village giving children rides on his horses.   It was an easy early evening job.   The light over the mountains was fantastic, and the weeds come up so easily after all the rain. Best of all it was what I call  an Artur Assist. He came trotting up to see what I was doing and very helpfully stood on the asparagus fronds purring and head butting while I weeded. He is impossible to scold. He just looks at you adoringly and you give in.

I took him up to his house after dinner (herded like sheep along the rough track to their house) where we celebrated the day with a bottle of champagne. (Daniele was heading back to Aix the next day so I wouldn’t see her for a week). French rural life. You can’t beat it.   And Artur entertained us by perching on a rocking horse and dropping off to sleep.

ps total tally for the French marigolds, 148.