Winter and...Fall

The Farmhouse may be a half-decent representation of paradise (see here), but when it comes to winter, it misses out on one basic ingredient. 

Snow.

This winter we had one sprinkling and that was it. 

Rubbish.

To compensate for this gross travesty, we usually up and leg it to the Pyrénées for a couple of months. It is true that even there the snow is somewhat unreliable, but this year it was perfect. The conditions amazing, the snow generously applied throughout. What could go wrong?

On the first day of skiing every year I forget something. Last year I took the wrong boots, the year before I forgot the rum! Never again. This year I took the wrong bloody skis. Much shorter than my usual ones. Result? I skied better than ever. Then I had my poles nicked. Result? I skied better than ever. If things continue like this, I’m gonna try using a cricket bat to play snooker.

Well, I can see you thinking that, as far as bad things go, this does not rate too lowly. There we were, best snow ever. Best skiing ever. 

Then we met Mike

In retrospect, maybe stopping at the bar was not a good idea...

Annick and I were up in the Pyrénées, in our ‘hovel in the hills’, for a romantic weekend, just the two of us. 

It started well. We really had hit a high spot in skiing. Everything seemed possible. 

Everything wasn’t possible.

It was on day two that we hooked up with ‘Mike the Speed King’. We went down slopes that we had never before attempted. Achieved speeds previously implausible. You may possibly have spotted the error of our ways by now...

It was a vertical wall what did it. A black run mistakenly marked red (according to Annick). Mike flew over edge and down the precipice. I flew(ish) over the edge and down the precipice. Annick flew over the edge, saw where she was, (insert cartoon of the Roadrunner here) and fell. 

Badly.

Her knee twisted. Her leg was broken. 

We had to get her down. This involved getting the rescue guys out. They found the wrong woman. 

“This is not the right woman” I cried. 

“How many women have you got?” They responded. 

“Only the three.”

Well, our romantic weekend suddenly became less romantic as jokes about ‘not getting her leg over’ became commonplace. 

<sigh>

Despite this dampener on proceedings, we did continue to have our usual gamut of guests. Luke came over 

along with his ever lovely elvish sidekick, Marta.

But fate is all. 

On the first day of skiing Marta fell on her - you guessed it - knee. This left just Luke and myself in peak physical condition. 

Marta was not happy.

Lisa also came over, along with a giant hoard of friends and offspring. We decided not to tempt Lady Fate and stayed at the farmhouse to play.

Along with the Parisien bunch (Domitille et al) I also had two visitors from my dim and distant past. First Geoff, an old schoolmate and regular visitor, and then Duffy, one of my mates from university. I hadn’t seen him for 42 years! Those years just up and melted away.

Well, as broken knees and fractured egos heal, we look forward to all the ups and downs that Spring will bring.

I’ll leave the farewells to Geoff.

Cheers!

Paradise Found. Down on the Farm: Part 9.

It’s been a year since the last update on our new forever home, 2½ years since renovation began. Well, we’ve finally reached a milestone. All the building work has finished... 

...and the final plants have been added to the terraforming project known as our garden.

Nearly three thousand shrubs (including 800 roses) have been planted. Time to sit back and watch them grow.

Fat chance of that. 

Maintaining the hectare of garden plus a hectare of woodland may absorb a little time. 

Weeding should be made easier with the acres of plastic liner we’ve used. The ground cover should (hopefully) eventually hide all of it. 

Vines will cover the veranda...

...Wysteria is to be trained over the swing seat...

....Jasmine will cover the flower tunnel...

...and camouflage the Hobbit hole...

The whole garden (known locally as the Garden of ‘Eede) takes nearly half an hour to walk around, more if you use the benches for the non-walking bits. Each corner has its own quirky character, from Narnia to Middle Earth. 

There’s a pond for plants...

...a pond for fish...

...a Lotus pond...

...another for ducks, chickens and swans...

...and yet another for humans.

There’s a corner for kids...

...a corner for adults...

....and a corner for those lost between the two...

This is no longer our little corner of paradise. 

This is paradise.

Cheers!

Botswana’s Two Top Predators.

Botswana is full of cats. Hungry cats.

Cats have reached the top of the predator league, the ultimate killing machines, with the leopard being the most powerful, and the lion being king. 

Nature is immense in its beauty, and vast in its suffering.  

There are few places on Earth where we can see true nature in all its splendor and bloody pain. 

Botswana is one such place.

Each species has its niche in life and its certain death. Each attribute or function of an animal has evolved along with, and been shaped by, other species. This has led to “endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful”. And bizarre. And deadly. Some, by selected chance, have ended up as predators, but any stable system can only support few such killing machines, the rest have had to make do by using varied and sometimes crazy methods to escape being today’s lunch.

Birds, for example, had to adapt, they took to the skies, and some of those, bizarrely, came back to earth to depend on size and land speed to evade death.

Most mammals ended up as a food source, some of these also went down the gigantism route

Others went for height...

...but predators evolved too. 

Speed, power, agression, brute force. All this can be seen in the two top big cats found in Botswana. 

Although the lion is the king of beasts, the leopard has evolved to be the strongest in relation to body mass. It can haul kills such as impala into trees, to escape those that would wish to steal its prize.

And it can climb those trees to kill.

Its large mass shaking tree and prey alike. Evolving alongside such powerhouses means that those who do not evolve escape abilities, die. Most monkeys do escape. 

But not this one

The brute force of the leopard is only surpassed by the noble lion. Being king of all beasts however does not come easy. The master of the pack must fight to gain his place, and he must fight to keep it. All great leaders eventually are displaced, often by their own offspring. Used to being served fresh meat daily by their harem, they then have to fend for themselves. Not having perfected their hunting skills, they often fall back on scavenging

This beast was one of two unrelated lions who hunted together, unsuccessfully. They were thin and haggered, but a ghost of their previous splendour.

The young lions know nothing of this. They play, they climb, they grow together.

The strongest hope to become the leaders.

In Botswana, you will see lions. You will get close to lions. You will see their power and their majesty. 

As Terry Pratchett said, «In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this ». You can see it in their eyes. Utter disdain. 

Photos of Kids

Look out, those of you with a sensitive nature. Here come some photos of Grandchildren...

Well, waddya know? my youngest has had her second child.

Her name? Kaïly. 

Not too keen on having her photo taken yet.

Her birth was somewhat on the rapid side, as well as three weeks early. Lisa happened to be over in France at the same time, with her own little bundle of joy, Sienna.

Not forgetting Kaïly’s big sister Lyzëa of course...

They were obviously excited at having a new clan member.

Three beautiful girls. Cute.

Just wait a few years...