Going With The Flow

At the allotment this evening I transplant the four little very healthy looking basil plants in the greenhouse  into bigger pots - using the copper trowel is supposed to stop the slugs and snails. It didn't work on the Russian Kale  though which has been decimated by something hungry.

This slightly prehistoric looking plant - might be flax - has seeded itself into the asparagus bed. Can't bring myself to pull it up. The bees love it.

One the birds didn't eat yet....

or these - but only a matter of time.

Masses of red currants trying to break out of their cages which the black birds have still found their way into. I don't mind them eating the red currants though - less for me to  pick - not my favourite anyway. Give me a blackcurrant any day....

Victoria plums in their prime before the wasps break and enter....

I remember I have three of these globe artichokes in the fridge that I picked the other day and we still haven't eaten them...will need to wash off the invasion of black fly in the base of their leaves first.

Loving this fountain of lettuces....

The tomatoes in the green house have nearly reached the roof - the smell of them always takes me back to my father's vegetable garden and his long rows  of them in the polytunnel  - the hot perfume of high summer.

It feels like the beginning of summer today - endless heat stretching the air to its limits.  After an economical shopping trip to Aldi we drive out to Bickley in the Exe Valley for the treat of lunch in a pub - lawns sloping down to the river. Every time we drive past we say we must go there  - and decide today is the day.

As soon as we enter the cool darkness of the pub Robin pulls a face and says he doesn't like it. I pick up a menu and take it outside on the terrace. I read him the options - it sounds like good basic pub fare. Most of the tables are full. The river splashes over a weir below. I can see he doesn't want to stay.

Shall we go somewhere else?

No.

Would you rather have lunch at home?

Yes I want to go home. I want to go to bed.

 So, leaving the rushing river, we get back in the hot car and drive home through the lanes fringed with white cow parsley waving to a blue sky.

  He says sorry.

I say it really isn't a problem  - better to go with what you feel. And I realise after a brief, initial 'Oh for  God's sake' moment I really don't mind. Not like I used to when I thought I could push the river in the direction it wasn't flowing.

 So while he sleeps I fill up two plates with lettuce and wild garlic, herbs from the garden, cucumber, celery, red peppers and tomatoes, a square of savoury carrot and oat flapjack I bought in the market yesterday, a sprinkle of pumpkin seeds and a slug of French dressing. 

I cover his plate, leave it on the counter  and carry mine out into the hot bright  garden where I eat it at the table to the sound of the neighbours having an argument - imagining I can hear a river roaring over a weir instead....going with the flow.