The days are packed with small events. A huge old apple tree gave up the struggle of having the Rambling Rector rose climbing all over her and during a winter gale, came crashing down. Mother wasn’t too sad at its demise, as it flowers for such a short time, we think roses when not in flower can be rather untidy and ugly. The Rambling Rector is a very old variety, its origin and parentage unknown. Large clusters of semi-double flowers, creamy, fading to white, with long vicious thorns. It is, according to Peter Beals, popular in England because of its name; adding many an old shed would become less of an eye-sore if supporting the Rambling Rector.
Late last summer, Wesley, who hates anything which gets in the way of his mower, especially rambling roses, which he feel should be kept strictly under control and out of the way of the weekly mowing. When he came in for elevenses with blood and scratches over his head, Dearest, much alarmed, asked what had happened, to which he replied “it were that bleeding vicar what got me!”
At long last, Wesley, who has been suffering with his hip, came to the top of the list and had his operation last Friday and was sent home on Monday. Oh for the days long past, when you stayed in hospital until you were well and truly mended!
Sally, Rose and Dearest are working through the garden collecting stray leaves and detritus left from winter; there is always something that needs attention.
This week has been bitterly cold with a slight dusting of snow. Spring I hope is only a heart-beat away.
The rhythm of life is a jigsaw, a pattern of timeless moments.