Back Again

I've been there and back, but I'm up and running again and once more in the groove. August may have been a wicked month for Edna O'Brien, but for me it's a tricky month, a sticky month. Too many anniversaries that can't be celebrated. I've been busy, but it's not been to Sasha's liking. The main problem has been that she discovered how to get out of the garden, lured by the, to her, intoxicating small of the silage that was spread on the field after the peas were removed. She would eat it until she burst, given half a chance, so I've had to stop letting her out in the garden to play and run around. I'm having the whole place fenced on Thursday, both to keep her in and the deer out, but until then she's had to be kept indoors while I work out there, or be tied up. It doesn't matter how many toys and chews I give here, she wants to be free and I know just how she feels. So we've walked more to compensate, across the acres of pale, bright stubble left behind by the giant combines. It's still beautiful out there, though the farmers are quick to plough once they've harvested, and it's too soon for brown earth as far as I'm concerned.

While I walked the barren miles of Orford Ness on Thursday with Ruth and Chloe, and Nigel and Sue, Sasha spent the day at Happidays, the doggie adventure play centre. She had a ball, and there were photos of her on their Facebook page afterwards, running with other dogs, triumphant at the top of a slide, staring smugly into the camera. My little baby! It was a great success, and she'll go back again, often if she gets her way. Lisl, the delicate blue whippet from puppy training wants to meet her there so they can play together. Oh Lisl, I'm afraid she might eat you!

Look how long I am

Ruth has spent the weekend here, and we painted two sides of the garage a lovely Suffolk black. It's much smarter now, and I'll finish the other two (hidden) sides as and when. We chatted to Old John, he whose garden one of our favourite footpaths runs through. He's lived around here for all of his 85 years, and he and Joan his wife are the smiliest, happiest people you could meet. He's full of reminiscences which I could listen to all day, but she tells him to stop rabbitting. Instead she makes us laugh with her self-deprecating anecdotes, the self-confessed "mad woman of the village". And I thought that was me. They are letting me have a load of white phlox when they clear a bed, and as we discussed the plants in their garden we couldn't remember the name of one. As  we walked off down the lane, back home for a late supper, she ran after us at top speed. "Cosmos", she shouted. "It's called cosmos!". And she threw up her hands in comic despair.

Ruth and Sasha vying for length

It's been quite autumnal these last few days. The temperature is much lower, and there's that unmistakeable quality to the air, a slight chill and scent of blackberries. It can't be the end of summer yet though. I haven't even started my garden!