The Stupidest Robin's Latest Batch

 

(See below) The babies are growing bigger and stronger the poor geranium is getting smaller and weaker. I should think they are about ready to fly though they seem in no hurry. They probably enjoy their regular shower and fertiliser bath gel.  I can't wait to reclaim my property so I wish they'd get a move on. I just wonder what inappropriate place their mother is going to pick next time.

Polite Piggies

 

A recent Wall Street Journal article - possibly it was a slow news day - remarked that many American parents had noticed that their children were learning good manners from watching Peppa Pig, which is a British cartoon of course.  The toddlers were also cultivating charming British accents and saying things like "biscuit" and "petrol station" and "Father Christmas." Well good for them. Every little helps. And the parents were apparently delighted.

   I couldn't help thinking of my own childhood and the very different attitude of British parents to accents and vocabulary picked up from American cartoons. Delighted would not be the word I would use. Now I just wonder why that is. 

The Stupidest Robin in Cattaraugus County

 Strikes again! If it wasn't enough last year to build her nest on top of the motion detector lights on the garage door and bring up two families amid flashing lights and grinding door-opening machinery, she has this year chosen the hanging basket.

You can just see her little beady eye centre of picture between two dead leaves. I didn't want to get too close. I only recently spotted her, not understanding why there always seemed to be a disgruntled flapping take-off whenever I walked past. Presumably she doesn't mind getting watered and fertilised on a regular basis.

Of course it may not be the same robin but I like to think it is. There can't be two of them that stupid.

Time to Cheer Up

 OK, let's not talk about the football.

  Let's focus on the positive. Such as, there has been so much rain in the past couple of weeks that I might never need to water the garden again. You have to slosh around in your wellies, or, better still, swimsuit and snorkel. The mushrooms are gargantuan, to the delight of the slugs..

...and it might, just might, tempt them away from the flowers. Well one lives in hope.  

The clematis Jackmanii on the garden shed is little short of magnificent.

And the more delicate and discreet pink one on the lamppost is actually deigning to flower.this year.  My clever plant recognition app on which I am wasting many happy hours, tells me it's called "Buckley".

The coneflowers still look more-or-less pristine, unassailed as yet by Japanese beetles though I managed to catch a few of the brutes. So far they seem to prefer the wildflowers, aka weeds, that have sneaked into the flower bed, which leads to a dilemma. Do I keep the weeds in place as a decoy? If life were only that simple.

Of course there's always trouble around the corner.

But the best garden news of all is that we seem to have defeated the Gypsy Moth caterpillars. After the  horrible infestation  a few years ago, when all our oak trees were stripped bare,  I was pessimistic but determined. I would go out every morning with hubby's giant fly swat and wallop them as they crawled their way up the trunk. I think we may have got them early enough. Pity the England penalty takers didn't use similar determination. (OK no talk about football).

  Meanwhile on 4th July, with our joyous first post-Covid family gathering of 13 people and 1 dog, I dutifully provided a patriotic red-white-and blue trifle. The red stripes didn't quite work.

Then, I announced, before that, we're having the Brits' revenge in the shape of bangers and mash from the British shop in Buffalo. (What a salvation that was!) 

Funny that no one complained.

Come on England!