Sitting Still #1

I recently finished Simon Barnes’ book The Year of Sitting Dangerously: My Garden Safari. 

I like the idea. Sit in one place and watch the seasons go by. See what you spot. 

It has to be said that Simon’s “Garden” looks out over Norfolk marshes, he has a canoe AND a kayak, he has nice binoculars and things in the distance to look at with them.  That’s a world of difference from a suburban garden or an urban balcony.

Still, as I said before it’s an interesting idea. 

So here’s my garden observation from the French windows today as I struggle to deal with post-Covid fatigue and foggy brain. 

August 15th

The sky is baby blue with thick billowing clouds of cotton wool. Nothing but a plane is passing across and the garden is silent. 

All that is flying is a frantic fly. I wonder if it will make a mistake and accidentally hurl itself into the large web occupied by the orb weaver, with its lovely stripy legs, that has been keeping me company all day. Not yet, as it hurls itself into the living room, no doubt flying aimlessly until it joins the other heat-exhausted dead flies behind the sofa. 

The colours of the flowers are of late summer, aside from the deep green of the hedge with it heavily scented white flowers which will, in a few hours fill the night air with a smell that perhaps will attract moths. Neon reds and pinks of petunias and scarlet geraniums in their troughs on the windowsills; some dianthus and pale yellow primrose like flowers that I forget the name of.  A small white flaps past but doesn’t stay.

Across the mossy concrete fresh snail trails gleam. They are, no doubt, sheltering in the heap of old plant pots by the water butt. 

The sun is still lighting up the hazel tree with its crop of hazelnuts, so far defeating our efforts to harvest and eat them before a squirrel finds them. You ripen them in the dark, apparently, then hit them with something hard like a hammer to get at the nut inside. G showed me how it is done using a big stone, passing me a pale hazelnut to try. It tasted right even if it wasn’t brown. 

A light wind is stirring everything and the weather forecast promises a cooler day tomorrow. My spider companion is being buffeted by the breeze but it hanging on. Somehow the movement reveals the intricate web that had appeared invisible and then drama! The web has broken but it doesn’t fall. Repairs begin but as the wind gets up, this seems like a good time to simply cling on and wait. Two threads seem to be all that are holding for now. The flies slip past. 

The spider  begins again. Slowly at first, working its way to the anchor points in the hedge and, unfortunately, on the inside of the door, now it is weaving up and down to recreate the destroyed web. In an hour or two the door will close and I’ll be the one who destroys all this work. Now I’m just enjoying the craftsmanship. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a sudden movement and there is a second spider, much larger, squatting in the hedge. A hover fly tries to come in and I gently redirect it, hoping that it will not land in the big spider web it’s edging towards.