Went up late afternoon after a morning on computer – checking emails, being a virtual worker, trying to fix problems and what-not. Remote working is strangely stressful but mustn’t grumble – we got an email from the big chief who said there would be no job lay-offs during coronavirus. And the super-dude will be on 80% “furlough” deal with his bosses. So we’re ok for the time being. Phewf!
Today’s coronavirus death totals: up to near enough … UK = 1,789 Spain = 8,189; Italy = 12,428; USA = 3,415. Is it ghoulish to keep count? By why not? Everyone else is. And later the numbers might change….
Here’s a rift in the timeline: the photo to the left is of lungwort, in flower – early March. It’s a photo from the back patch/ woods, taken maybe two or three weeks ago. Dusty pink to pale blue flowers. The buzz of bees. White speckled foliage, lush and verdant among the mud and muck of late spring. And all of a sudden in a flash he got it: the value of these late-summer bedraggled green and white speckled soldiers comes clear: an early oasis of flower blossom for the bees.
Big huge seemingly lazy bumblebees stumble in and out of these little trumpets of colour that brighten the muck of a wet spring. Seemingly lazy, as in these bumblebees look lazy but are really just stumbling around, dazed by the blaze of spring, the shock of it all, the shock of life, and stagger from moment to moment, clinging to life.
But yes, there you have it. An otherwise unloved garden plant redeemed by bees! Plants he’s said in previous days should be dug out and replaced… when he said he couldn’t see the point of them – they were so dusty and flopped and worn out looking by mid- to late-summer. And all that’s true. But in early spring, there’s really nothing like ’em!
And thinking of bees… that’s another reason to always have little pots & saucers to catch rainwater, as these parched little wild beings need to whet their whistles and succour themselves with cool drops of water in order to survive.
And not just early emergent bees – dishes of rain water are used by traveller birds, as well by lady birds and other beetles and invertebrates.
Water, water, water…. The recipe of life, its secret, surely, is water. So elemental. So basic. You can’t garden without it. Or do anything else. It’s simple: life depends on water.
So: there’s no reason why not! Give the bees a break! Leave dishes of water… Put pots and little saucers all around your gardens. It’s the good thing to do. And make sure your garden includes virtual wildflowers like lungwort – always, forever! So say I. For what it’s worth. And so it goes. Ahem.
Ho-hum. Life during the apocalypse at the allotment was quite peaceful. All in all there were lots of people puttering about on the allotments, including R, the nice couple at the bottom… The bottom of us had someone there (Jenny?) for the first time in a long time. Mark was there too.
The magnificent Malink discussed with R the ins ‘n outs of the issues with the water tank. (Back to the essential theme of water.)
He was admirably focused. Kept returning to the issue. Made good points: why dig up & then rebury a line if you don’t know where the problem is? And so on. All very sensible.
In short – there’s no water. Never is. Tank’s empty morning and evening – and all the time in between too. And so the super-dude kept at it, with significant focus and persistent attention. No letting up: there has to be a solution. And there’s an easy way (and a more difficult way) to go about it. So how ’bout it then?
And so it goes. Progress. Slowly. One step at a time.
Drip. Drip. Drip.