Fracture Friday

Forgetting the parable of the tortoise and the hare I slammed my fingers in the big iron sliding door of the tractor shed as I rushed to get several jobs done before lunch.  About 20 minutes of primal wailing followed and a trip to Witney minor injuries unit, where it was revealed that I have broken the top of the ring finger on my right hand.  Typing this is a lot slower than usual as are many farm jobs.

Truth and reconciliation for victim and perpetrator!



The word 'fracture' has an onomatopoeic quality to my ear, something rather crunchy about it, though perhaps it summons more the cracking of a creme brulee than bone and blood!

Above an elder cutting that expired in the mini-drought.

The Easter weekend was indecently hot and I spent much of it like the hunchback in Jean De Florette straining my ears and eyes for signs of rain. Recently there has been more of a temperate chill in the air but still no waterworks.

Although we farmer/gardener types grumble about lack of rain, I suspect it is a happy sort of grumble as the rewards of nurturing our plants are much of what draws us to this work.  If our crops did not need us to care for them by watering, weeding etc, our relationship would be more distant.  We would not be called to know them in the way that we are.

The blackcurrants are already moving from flower to fruit and would be happy of some water to swell them.  So far I have concentrated on keeping the smaller cuttings alive but I may soon turn my attention to the larger plants.  In bush years the one above is in early adolescence.

Foul Play!  A teething hare or rabbit the most likely culprit.

The dandelions are as rampant as ever and most have now moved into their fertile clock phase.  Meanwhile the field's weed du jour is buttercup.

The dry weather meant that last year's raspberry canes, which I cut down at the beginning of the year and then rather embarrassingly failed to set ablaze in front of one of the wwoofers last month, went up like a flame thrower with only a single piece of lit paper stuffed into their heart.

 

Turned to a circle of ash in moments, quite a vanishing act!