Sisyphus and the chestnut trees
Chestnut season. The best nuts have already been picked. (Last weekend by the husband of the secretary to the mayor in our village.)
But there is plenty to go round. And most of them seem to have fallen on the ground in between the barn and the potting shed.
Poor Artur; I have no idea how he picks his way among the chestnut burrs that litter the path. I suspect he just doesn’t leave his latest snooze pot.
But I was full of beans. In between rain squalls I raced out and tried my best to pick as many fallen burrs, and even grabbed half a bucket for us.
It is an absurd task. Thousands of nuts and burrs fall each season and I never manage to pick them all up. I will be raking these critters out of the beds and paths for months and months.
But that’s gardening. All fun.