 Robin photo by Izzy Muses. You are free to use this image, just credit izzymuses.com. Battle was declared this afternoon when this brave robin who clearly owns my garden took exception to my sudden interest in weeding and cleaning up. He stood up tall, puffed out his feathers, and tried to stare me out! But, being a brave woman, I persisted in my labours so he settled for keeping a close eye on me as I worked and was rarely more than a couple of feet away. In fact, when I retreated into the house for a rest, he moved right down to the patio and even took a look in through the back door. I had the distinct impression that he thought if I was going to stray into his territory, he might as well stray into mine. The good news is that peace is restored. My work is done and the garden belongs once more to King Robin.
The thing I love about being on holiday in summer in Ireland is having the time to connect with the rhythm of the day. Everyone else is moaning about the Irish weather but frankly they’re wrong. Almost every morning I am woken early as the sun comes up over the sea. Light streams in through the uncurtained bedroom window and the birds are singing on the roof. Maybe by 10 am the sun will be hidden behind the clouds, but no matter. Even when there’s a mist hanging in the air it feels fresh and soothing on the face if you take the trouble to go out and walk and enjoy it. It’s cheaper than a spa treatment and I suspect may be just as effective. By noon, there are more signs of life. Teenagers have emerged from their beds and little groups assemble on the beach, in the park, on the streets. Pensioners are shopping. Businesses are going about their business. The day stretches ahead still filled with promise. By late afternoon the mood turns mellow, town quietens, the birds begin to come back from wherever they’ve spent the day. By 5 pm they’re bathing in my back garden – a quick dip before dinner and heading back to the roost. The blue tits hop in and submerge. The blackbird is flamboyant splashing water high in the air. The pigeons are fast and furtive. Magpies scare the rest away. Eventually things quieten down again – the light begins to fade, solar lamps in the garden come on one by one as the shadows fall. I listen to the radio or read until the sky is set alight by the slowly setting sun. The cloudier the evening, the more spectacular sunset is likely to be. It doesn’t get completely dark here at this time of year. There’s a faint light in the northern skies well past midnight. Bedtime and the promise of seeing it all again in the morning. I love the Irish summer and the rhythm of the day.
 Hens Ever since the bankers broke Ireland, people are talking about self sufficiency. Now that we can no longer afford to shop, we must resort to growing our own. Allotments are all the rage. Apartment dwellers are growing potatoes in bags on their balconies. And the truly well off are enjoying organic free range eggs courtesy of their home raised chickens.
Will Izzy follow suit? Will I heck, my dears. I most certainly will not. For a start, I’m scared of birds and hens to me are just bigger, scarier birds than your common or garden variety.
When I was a child, my grandmother kept pullets – noisy creatures that seemed menacing and rather dirty to me. Nothing filled me with dread more than being sent to the hen house for eggs. Nothing, except perhaps feeding the hens, which involved putting your hands into a basin of damp, squidgy meal while being pursued by a flock of cackling. wing flapping, peckers. Ugh.
No matter how bad things get, I’ll be purchasing my eggs in the supermarket and these chickens won’t be coming home to roost anywhere near me.
Charlie Dimmock, you’re my hero!
 I foolishly mentioned that I liked a particular gardening publication recently and was told that was probably because I fit the demographic.
Does that mean that the onset of menopause is turning me into a cardigan and wellies wearing gardener? You know, it just might since I do, after all, own a very respectable pair of menopause wellies.
But, heck. Why not? After all, Charlie Dimmock has been my heroine for many’s the long day. No one can quite put together a garden like she can and I share her passion for water features. Charlie’s on my mind this week because I just heard that she is to be the new face of Gardening Direct. The more I think about that, the more inspired I am to get out into the garden and do a bit of pre-Spring clean. In fact, after a month of snow and freezing weather, I sensed the merest tremor of excitement when I caught sight of my camellia last weekend and thought that it can’t be too much longer until it bursts into bloom. Already the blowsy poppies have put up a respectable showing of foliage and the daffodil bulbs are pushing up new growth. Bring it on, I say and I’ll be keeping an eye out for Ms Dimmock in the garden centres.
 © Tatianatatiana | Dreamstime.com Well, not exactly. But one girl and hoe considered going to Tesco this afternoon. Considered. And thought better of it for fear they might think I had shop lifted the hoe. The idea was that I could use it as a kind of walking aid for a bit of traction in the hard packed ice that is EVERYWHERE in Ireland this weekend. I need not have paid so much heed to my own reservations, however, because people have been falling down all day as they trek up and down the hill here – from toddlers to grannies, they’re mostly landing flat on their bottoms, picking themselves up and carrying on.
One happy family had followed through on my garden implement idea so Dad strolled along with his garden spade while Mom followed with the rake (no pun intended). Dad had the better end of the deal, the spade provided good grip and seemed light and easy to handle. Hats off to him. Mom was not so lucky, the rake seemed difficult to handle, was ineffective when it came to gripping the ice and appeared more of a hindrance than a help from what I could see. Their three kids were implementless and there was no sign of granny – doubtless she had scooted on ahead on the ride-on mower.
So, snow tip #2, if you’re going to resort to garden implements as walking aids, stick with the spade and leave the rake at home.
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