Will they, wont they?

I’m travelling back to France today after a sneaky trip to London. And each time I am on the train hurtling south, I always think of two things. Has the cat expired from old age while I was away?

And will the mulberry on the lower terraces still be alive?

Artur trundles on, but I do fear for him as he has used up all the lives possible and is ancient as can be. Gorgeous and feisty, but elderly.

So too the mulberry. You can’t see it from here, but the trunk is cleaved in two and it leans at such a rakish angle, clinging to the hillside.  A lightning strike in its youth perhaps? Or just doing what mulberries do.

I have planted another one on the property – to the left of the hedge on the bit of land that separates us from our neighbour’s electric fence. I won’t post you a picture, as Teo, who grew this magnificent tree, and gave it to me for my 50th birthday, will fall off his chair in shock.

Ulysse, the cheeky horse next door, chomped it. It has been pollarded in a manner I would never have planned. Bad boy. But that will teach me for planting a large tree in a position where he could reach. He loves juicy branches of trees. So until the junior one recovers this set back, I’ll have to hope the mighty hundreds year old one below the house clings on another year.