A village event

Twas a big day in the life of the village. We have three huge trees in the main square (two of them protected as historic monuments) but the third was a poplar. Planted to commemorate the end of the war in 1945.

And my how it has grown. And outgrown its space.

It also sat right over an underground spring, which helped its soaring ambitions.   But the roots were invasive, the house to the right was getting damaged and a meeting was called to discuss.

Despite some objections from the still living resistance fighters in the village who actually planted the sapling, they were convinced it has to go.

And for a sunny Tuesday in January, there was quite a throng.   Photographers from the local paper, the Mayor and Deputy out directing traffic. Marvellous entertainment.

I dragged myself away and went back to the real life chores of a winter farm.

Compost.   Ah yes, you did wonder who long it would take before I insisted on posting a picture of a compost heap. Well, here it is.

This is a huge heap behind the potting shed and I haven’t dug the good stuff for two years.   Lovely rich compost. Just perfect for all the newly planted trees.

I played about like a kid in a sand pit for ages and poured a bucket of compost on all the new hornbeams and roses and apples and shrubs.

So that’s another job ticked off the list.

I then measured out the new walnut bed in preparation for some rather ambitious plans about planting.   And then couldn’t put off the raspberry bed any longer.

I don’t even dare take a photograph it’s such a mess.   So instead I send you a picture of my little helper.  He didn’t help much as he wanted me to stop weeding and sit still so he could step onto my lap (muddy paws) and purr like a sewing machine for a bit. He loves the attention.

And frankly, any excuse not to have to put one’s hands in a crowded raspberry bed and haul out weeds and get snagged on the spiky branches was welcome.