Yesterday one of my friends came round and weeded my front garden. I felt I should help, after all it is MY front garden, so we chatted away happily while she weeded and I pulled out the same plants she pulled out. It came to my attention that the leaves of my little lemon tree are turning yellow. So I watered it. And tonight I watered it again, and the camellia tree in the back garden. Then I weeded around the camellia tree. See, I knew it would be the thin end of the wedge. Before you know it I’ll be watering the giant fig tree that is taking over the garden…wait, I did water that. Maybe I’m turning into a gardener. Still, danger will be averted in just under a fortnight’s time when I go overseas and the garden becomes someone else’s problem for three months. I really do like the sound of that.
There is still evidence that we (Chloe and I) have a nocturnal visitor, if not a resident, in the form of a hedgehog. Either that, or she took lessons from the brief visit and has learned to clean her plates better than she ever has before. Another thing I noticed when I was masquerading as a gardener was that there are no birds. I put some stale bread out a couple of days ago and it is still there. Previously it would have lasted an hour at the most, but there are no little birds in the trees or even larger birds stealing the figs. Is it because of the dry? There hasn’t been any rain for ages, the soil is dust and the grass is brown. Have they all flown away to somewhere wetter?
Speaking of figs, I do a pick every day and average around twenty-five. This morning another friend came and picked up around sixty, Monday, Tuesday and today’s crop. She makes fig and ginger jam. They are plump and ripe and delicious so the drought hasn’t affected them.
With a little bit of luck I’ll have royalties in my bank account tomorrow and it will be a day of doing things, cat to the vet, settle with the travel agent, do a rather large grocery shop as part of stocking the house and see the bank about ‘money things.’ Friday I need to see my GP and get a script to take to the chemist who is going to put my pills into little, self-contained plastic bubbles on a roll, one bubble for every dose. Very handy when you’re travelling, no packets or bottles and the important, officious people at the airport can see what they are. At last there will be steps taken along the path that will lead to the airport on April 15th and a flight to San Francisco. After so much preparation and research I’ll set off with my compass and my dice and see where they lead me. ‘Up the garden path’ is not on the agenda.