Poor hen

She’s been around in the garden, clearly not well. Today dead beneath an apple tree. The sun already hot as we waited for rain.

I fixed one machine and another broke. Federica shaped me a new carburettor to piston pipe. I collected onions before the storm broke. Juggled water in the hope the tanks would fill. Watched the rain radar like a fool. Less than we’d ‘been promised’ when it came. But a blessed relief. A brief refreshment.

Lovely purple beans. Delicate and perfect. The low morning sun breaking sweat on even this simple task.

The Agricola has autumn brassica plants. But the fierceness of the forecast stayed my hand. Bought 25m more of green piping. Priced by the kilo. To ease uphill pumping when we discovered the black flat pipe I’d bought previously was perforated. Both of us soaked getting the precious stuff from the well to the tank.

The poor pheasant was light to the touch. Not like the ones from Kent shoots from the Deal fishman - god rest his soul. I put her where a fox or wolf might benefit. The eternal grinding cycle.

Didn’t know Circlips were aka Jesus clips. As in: oh Jesus where’s it gone. I managed to get the new transmission cable on ok. Fiddly but satisfying to get it done. Trundled the onions out of the rain in the tracked transporter. A good haul. Marking time from lockdown to here.