The good life

Ah, tis the morning after.   It’s gloriously sunny again so you can imagine I’ll be planting like mad for another day.   And you would be correct.

I didn’t finish off the news from yesterday as I was so consumed with asparagus matters.   I will have hours and hours of seed planting ahead of me, plus pricking out of the seeds already germinated. But it doesn’t feel right when the sun is blazing. I had a quick tidy of the potting shed first off, looking at what can go into the ground and what needed a good watering before they stay in the calabert for ten days.  

But it does give me a chance to commune with Artur. He appreciates my beautiful gardening technique. Well, he couldn’t care less actually. But he does look as though he is about to step on a tray of cabbage seedlings.

Actually I had a wonderful dose of Arturdom yesterday. I went over to my neighbours for a treat last night.   They wanted to thank me for the asparagus bed; and we celebrated with oysters and great champagne.   Fabulous.   Jean Daniel had driven down to La Voulte on the Rhone and has a great fishmonger there.   So we scoffed in style.

And it makes you realise just how great it is to have good neighbours.   In an isolated farm community they are indispensible.   Naturally it wasn’t all lofty conversations and discourse. No, we gossiped about locals, spent ages talking about the thieving pine marten we share, rats, Ulysse’s exploits with the young mares in the district. He now can run away to three separate farms in the district.   And just caught up on life.

I wended my way back along the dirt road between our houses in the dark with a torch and a spring in my step after a great night out.   Oh, yes, and Artur sat on my lap and purred and purred. Heaven.

And just so you know this isn’t all delicate pots and pampered cats. I did turn over the compost heap today.   That brings you back to earth.