As one might have noticed, ’quietly moving away’ has become a second nature for me lately, my outlook apparently proving to be so otherworldly that I myself didn’t even expect to start this scribble this way, but somehow I did and therefore I can easily add that whenever there was a time to put ones head in the sand, this might be a reasonable moment to chose, ignoring the whole ostrich reference, because that is just a popular misconception, a myth originating in ancient Rome but so pervasive that it’s still used as a common metaphor for someone avoiding his or her problems. I’m not avoiding anything, but let’s just say it pays to look the other way.
Many of the conversations I have with Ivory these days, whether sparked by something alcoholic or not, evolve around the barrel of contradictions I chose as this year’s narrative, because it touches all levels of life at Les Pierres rather accurately, balancing the bad with the good and the gargantuanA Playful Pantomime Too Quick For A Camera, I say with a slight wink to our pumpkins who have never performed better, consistently turning a blind eye to the noteworthy absence of sunlight and warmth. Many of our tomatoes were lost to blight after an excellent start and this is unmistakably the first year not even one aubergine has grown on my plants, despite interim intervention by moving them into the greenhouse, yet the peas were an impressive succes, both in number and in taste.
The cold and wet summer we had so far has decidedly confused what in recent years I have come to perceive as its normal indomitable chaos, yet things have not looked greener and better organized under my meticulous and fastidious control, undoubtedly with room for improvement but without a regular compulsory need for it.
Provided I don’t really like to talk about my medical discomforts, the absence of orderly doctor visits that covid has enforced is clearly starting to take its penetrable toll on my bedevilled body. Nevertheless much of the planned and unplanned labour has been taking care off bravely, culminating in the delayed discovery of our probably still overly filled septic tank in a totally nonsensical but afterwards logical place, under our romantic crabapple tree.