Category Archives: The Ranch Hands

I beg your pardon…

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One of those "me and lyrics" things.  Major Lynn Anderson earworm going on when I go through these pictures.  Which makes me miss my grandpa who watched her and other similar singers on variety tv specials from his scratchy tweed recliner throughout the 70s and 80s.  Probably before and after as well, but those were the decades I was sitting on the floor against the chair alongside him, memorizing lyrics such as these.  All of which only actually relates to the rose garden at Anglesley Abbey in my mind's eye.  Just sharing the rabbit trail.   <g>

We had our carpets cleaned earlier this month and had to be out for the day – after removing every moveable thing from every floor.   We rewarded ourselves with a day at the Abbey grounds, much happier to be out smelling the roses and rolling down the lawns than home steaming rugs.  

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This, in a nutshell, is what we look like when we travel.  Right there.  Cracks me up. 

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the golden hour

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It is getting easier and easier to enjoy sunsets all together since they are happening earlier and earlier.  Two minutes earlier each day, our landlord explained to me.  The tractors are hauling out potatoes and onions and they are baling straw in the grain fields.  We have been ordering school books and my gaze is increasingly fixed upon autumn. This coming week will be transition, an easing in to the new school year.   I am not ready to let go of summer just yet.

 

 

 

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The chapel windows took my breath away when we were walking the other night. The sun was setting on the other side and the place appeared ablaze. 

bearing fruit

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Those tomatoes.  I mentioned them a bit disdainfully not long ago.  They had gotten the best I could offer them – new large pots, rich compost, and marigolds to ward off insects. We watered but took care not to flood them. When we noticed the path of the sun had changed we moved the pots across the garden.  Long leggy vines shot out of the pots, defying all attempts to brace and train.  Frankly it became an embarassingly gangly mess, but there were tiny green tomatoes clinging to those unruly limbs so it seemed wrong to abandon the effort, hopeless as it had started to appear.

 

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I just wandered by the back garden, noting the weeds creeping among the perennials. There is much work to be done that rather snuck up on me. But while assessing those weeds I noticed something else.  The tomatoes have begun to ripen. The first thing that became apparent was that they were most definitely not the sort I was expecting. The starter plants had come with labels describing the varieties we had chosen and I had kept those tucked into the pots to reference.  What was growing were not beefsteaks in the least, not even a Roma. Turns out we have several different varieties of cherry tomatoes, some oblong, some round, all unbelievably sweet.

Not the harvest we expected.  Certainly not as neat and tidy a process as I envisioned. 

 

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And yet, we are bearing sweet fruit. 

making a splash

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These pictures are a little misleading. It has rarely been warm enough to swim this summer and now summer is nearly over.  It did get over 70 last week however which equals 'warm enough to swim' for some people.  I, personally, am not one of those people. : )  I was happy enough to get some pictures of my boys and their friends from a nice dry vantage point. 

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If you look closely enough you can see one teeny red tomato in that pot.  I have the brownest thumb ever.  Ever. 

Vegetable growing – not in my skill set. 

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Growing great kids – that bit is working out much better. 

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gone fishing

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It feels a little that way. Days have been full of special friends who are helping us squeeze the last bits of fun from this summer and pictures are piling up while we are out and about. Soon enough the days will shorten and there will be plenty of hours in the house though. 

These are from an afternoon we spent walking with Abbie Rose by the marina in Ely.  Two of the men we passed were ribbing each other:

 "Know what's the best bait for that fish?"

"What?"

"Whatever's not on your hook, it seems!"

We sat at the cafe seen just beyond the second boat while I drank tea and Abbie had a lemonade.  Lest that sounds too idyllic I will add that we spent a good deal of our tea time swatting wasps from our drinks.  Are they bad in your part of the world right now as well?  We successfully dodged them on this outing but I am sporting a large welt from sting at the park.

 

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