tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61520890609313493702024-02-02T23:31:23.802+05:30Uttarakhand and Ifrom the coast (well, almost), to the mountains(well, almost). An atheist in the Land of the Gods. Here's the storyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger449125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-52520133097769516862020-01-13T06:56:00.001+05:302020-01-13T06:56:20.687+05:30Travelling in Uttar Pradesh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And am nauseated by the hate here.<br />
Everywhere I go, I see some example of how the muslims in the state are being oppressed.Things are doubly difficult for me because I am working on a project that requires me to interview people engaged in religious rituals along the river. On one hand, whenever I visited these temples and the associated fairs, I would always bring home trinkets for mum. Walking through those markets and seeing all the things that gave her joy is hard. On top of that, I see how this religion that she valued is being turned into an instrument of hate.<br />
Yesterday, we walked along the river through a muslim neighbourhood. Just behind a mazhar, sharing a wall with it in fact, was a newly constructed temple to Ram. All around the area were posters claiming that India is a hindu nation. Anti-constitutional, illegal, but intimidating and encouraged by the present government.<br />
It is not just religion that is used to foster hate. It seems that even river conservation has, knowingly or unknowingly, gotten into the act. We stayed to watch a Gomti Aarti, a prayer to the river. As we watched, we realised that it was a new ritual initiated here as part of the Gomti cleaning campaign. I understand the effort to involve people through social rituals. But in this case, there was a twist to the ritual. As is usual, the puja ended in a crescendo of generic requests- let there be peace in the world, let everyone prosper, let all be happy, and interspersed in all that- let cow slaughter be stopped.<br />
At present, cow slaughter is a highly politically charged point in India, and used as an excuse to kill Muslims and Dalits.<br />
The Clean Gomti campaign, by only associating itself with a hindu ritual, especially when the ritual shocking ended with a call to end cow slaughter, is not something I want to align myself with. But today, I need to go over and interview those people about their expectations for the river. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-44825068518745782342019-08-24T10:15:00.000+05:302019-08-24T10:15:00.437+05:30Monsoon woes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's that time of the year, when we have either too much water or too little, and are not happy either way. In this case, we have had both. Too little water to make the spring flow again, but enough to turn my garden into a green mush. I suppose it does not matter much since I don't like to go out anyway because of the leeches, the mosquitoes, and the invisible biters. And oh yes, the snakes.<br />
Also, I have been feeling like a garden failure this year. The kitchen garden was not an absolute failure by any means, but it definitely was not what I had seen in my mind's eye this spring. Of the grand plans for the flower beds, quite a few things got done, but it does not look like what I had imagined. <br />
But today is sunny and it is wonderful how that helps the spirits. The fall veg season is almost upon us, and this time I will get it right. And my garden is quite good in parts, like the curate's egg. Here are some of those parts:<br />
1. Dahlias: The imperial dahlias still have a few months to bloom, but the others are doing nicely. Here's the magenta one<br />
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2. Jerusalem artichokes:<br />
Last winter, I was lunching at Mrs. L's house and I ate some crunchy tubers that startled me into an involuntary gasp of pleasure. "they are a weed" she groused "but do you want some?". I did indeed. And here they are. Pretty flowers now, a fine dinner for thanksgiving.<br />
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3. Pumpkins: We planted several, and so many came to naught. The acorn squash got eaten by rats, the delicata only put out female flowers which shriveled for lack of pollination. We ate the flowers, but that was hardly the squash stew we were looking forward to. The Potimarron however did well, giving us three lovely pumpkins before the monsoon which we are storing.<br />
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Now there are still several on the vine, but it is to be seen if they manage to ripen before rotting. I do hope so. The one we tasted was very fine indeed. <br />
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4. I have written about my <a href="https://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com/2019/04/spring-is-here.html">rose arch</a> before. Since I have been tying in the rose as it climbs higher and higher. Here it is now, with an additional bean vine:<br />
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5. Here is exhibit A for why I don't want to have a 'tidy' garden. This turned up by itself and I kept it because I was curious. I am so glad I did. It is lovely and has kindly placed itself between my rosemary and agapanthus resulting in a rather pretty medley of blues.<br />
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I think it is verbena. Am I correct?<br />
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6. And here is exhibit B for a 'wild garden'. The sunflowers are done with and looking rather bedraggled with the rain. I should take them of course. But then what would the finches do?<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-43869767968062731002019-06-29T10:25:00.001+05:302019-06-29T10:34:30.654+05:30Mom, your sunflower bloomed!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And this is the first of many. Thank you!<br />
1. This of course, leads the six things that I will be sharing this Saturday. Here she is, attracting one of our honeybees and a iridescent little thing.<br />
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This is 'Autumn Beauty', and another one is waiting in the wings. Is it not beautiful even when unfurled?<br />
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All these seeds were given by Mian's lovely mum, which explains the title and also my delight. <br />
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2. The lilies are blooming, with their most intoxicating scent. They are a little battered by the rain, but I cannot complain considering how lush the garden has become.<br />
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3. Most of it anyway. Remember this rose?<br />
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This is what it looks like now.<br />
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A vine weevil grub got to it, and I had to cut it back after ejecting the grub. (and feeding it to the chickens, which makes for sweet revenge)<br />
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4. But that gave me space to try planting a second lot of sweetpeas.<br />
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5. I had read somewhere that a weigela is a one-trick pony. A short flush of flowers and the show is over for the rest of the year. Not true. How can one discount the impact of these gorgeous berries- like limpid rubies?</div>
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6. I probably should have swept before taking this photo, but we are all friends here. I have encouraged the evening primrose to self-sow in the cracks of the steps leading down from the house. It's looking rather well, is it not? I am so happy with it. </div>
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Please do head on over to <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/">The Propagator</a>'s blog for more garden round-ups! </div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-79711100591081262922019-06-22T09:21:00.000+05:302019-06-22T09:21:31.000+05:30Don't look at the weeds!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Is there a trigger warning for weeds? There should be. Anyway, if you are the sort of gardener who begins to twitch when she sees a weed in a field, please do go on to the next post. This is linked to Six-on-Saturday, which means there will be lots of impeccable gardens on <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/">Mr. Propagator's blog</a>. This is not for you. If however, you consider a weed to be a flower that has sown itself, please do continue. <br />
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1. An oxalis field! Actually, no. I just thought I'd get the weediest photo out of the way first. What this is, is an onion bed edged with french beans. I don't consider oxalis too 'bad' a weed- It does not strangle or overwhelm the other plants, it makes a fine chutney, and the insects love the flowers. Nevertheless, I do keep this bed weeded because the onion seeds were given to me by my Mian's mum, and the onions are special for that reason. I will do this soon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5YaxnkfRzkW-lCJoK9ba9CzeHe1aUsb7OZP2_JBjg08mc-AOf1aeTWD-kLmosTc23htR89Plb1gdO0Fu0nVB9P8LsVOBB9uWeYfBdp9a8kKhHv3aMFecqT8mq53jISkeOw5U1N_u8uuJ/s1600/oxalis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5YaxnkfRzkW-lCJoK9ba9CzeHe1aUsb7OZP2_JBjg08mc-AOf1aeTWD-kLmosTc23htR89Plb1gdO0Fu0nVB9P8LsVOBB9uWeYfBdp9a8kKhHv3aMFecqT8mq53jISkeOw5U1N_u8uuJ/s400/oxalis.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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2. From an edging of french beans to a whole bed of them. These seeds were distributed by the horticultural department in our village. They apparently had a lot of these seeds and a distribution target. We gladly accepted a couple of handfuls. And they are good! We have a french-bean dinner every other day and are happy. <br />
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3. My poor curry-leaf plant. In the south, where I grew up, one only needed to stick a kadipatta twig into the ground for it to grow. In our frosty mountains, kadipatta needs much more coddling. Amma and I planted our Kadipatta at the same time about four years ago. Her plant in the Western Ghats is now as big as a truck. Mine..well, just look.<br />
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We celebrated this year because the runt had finally put out two branches.<br />
And then the rooster broke them. The plant is now patched up with some clay and sticking plaster. It has been a week now- let's hope the graft 'takes'.<br />
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4. Mian and I had gone to a dear friend's house for tea. On our way back, we stopped to chat with her gardener and I noticed some plants I had not seen before. "What's that?" I asked. "I don't know what they are called, the root is spicy" he replied, scratching a root and offering it to us to smell. Mian took one sniff and -in a lust-filled, throaty voice I had thought was private- whispered "Horseradish!". Manu-the gardener- took one look at Mian's face and silently uprooted a plant. "For you, Madam." I brought the plant home and planted it where it promptly got eaten by a porcupine. Now it is recovering in a twiggy cage and I have plans to take root cuttings this monsoon<br />
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5. And then there is the squash. I goofed while preparing the beds this year. I got a hole dug, filled it with chicken litter, and then covered the hole back up. The Delicata Squash I had planted (seeds given by Mian's mum!) seemed very unappreciative.<br />
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It is only after reading Weaver, John Ernest, and William Edward Bruner. "Root development of field crops." (1926) with its lovely root diagrams that I realised what I had done wrong. Apparently, the roots of squash and pumpkin do not go far into the soil at all, preferring to spread themselves along the top. Here is a picture from the book, available <a href="https://soilandhealth.org/wp-content/uploads/01aglibrary/010137veg.roots/010137toc.html">here</a>. <br />
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Humph. I do hope it works, because I want to do Mum's seeds justice..<br />
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6. Finally, the celery. We use celery a lot to flavour stocks and braises. Which is why we were happy to buy the french celery on a visit to Montpellier two years ago. The celery did well, overwintered, and self-seeded so that I now may actually have a 'perennial' celery patch! I noticed this scorch on the leaves though..does anyone know what it is?<br />
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Also, I do feel compelled to explain myself- while I am never an
immaculate gardener, my beds are usually not as bad as this. I sprained
my ankle nearly three weeks ago and have not been able to go out into
the garden till the last few days. And even now, I cannot squat or even
get on my knees to properly garden. So there. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-43444507595436764902019-06-09T15:49:00.002+05:302019-06-09T15:49:44.771+05:30Of friends and dusting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bless all young nieces who enthusiastically rescue their frazzled aunts.<br />
<br />My bookshelf had ceased to become a refuge and had become a source of tension to me. For nearly two years, it had become a dumping ground for books that were gifted, purchased at conferences and meetings, and worst of all the-books-that-we-SHOULD-read. Rather than address the issue, I tried to neglect it. There it sat, a dusty judgemental lump.<br />
<br />I could not do it myself and so approached D's daughter who had come home for the holidays. 'All the books you want to carry home are yours' I said, in hopes of offering a bribe. The bribe was not needed, 'It will be fun' she said.<br />
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And she made it fun. I loved being with her as she diligently (for five hours!) dusted, sorted, and arranged. Not part of the plan, but she took a rag and dishsoap to clean the covers of the more 'loved' books. She used cellotape to mend the torn books.<br />
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<br />Here's an example. My much-loved, much used copy of Thangam Phillip's book.<br />
Before:<br />
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and after:<br />
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<br />And at the end of it, I had a bookshelf that was clean, nice-smelling, logically arranged, and full of the books that Mian and I turn to frequently.<br />
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<br />I was overwhelmed with gratitude as she set off on her long walk home- down 'our' hill, up the other, and across the ridge in the face of an approaching storm. This is a child who gladly gave up a summer day to sit and work. That was not all. A sms from her father revealed that she had given up a trek that her friends had gone on to dust my bookshelves.<br />
<br />We are blessed. <br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-15021465005205735112019-05-25T10:00:00.000+05:302019-05-25T10:00:07.337+05:30Six notes of fragrance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Did I really let a week go by without a post? So much for my good intentions of a regular mid-week post.<br />
But today I have a rather delightful six. Since the patio is where we spend much of our time, I have been trying to make it fragrant. And this summer, I succeeded!<br />
And the best part is that all of them work in harmony together. The honeysuckle was the first, followed by the edward rose. And now we have a medley of spicy-floral-green flowers.<br />
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1. Take this exhibit for instance.<br />
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Twice have visitors walked by, stopped in delight and been confused by the scent. "It's not jasmine", they say. "It's different..I have never smelt anything like this before". That's because the top notes of the jasmine are underlain (quite literally here) by the clove-sugar base of the sweet william. The two together make a most lovely duo.<br />
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2. Not that the jasmine on its own is not enough. Last year, it just gave us a hint of what it can do, and this year my creeper really took off. The window you can see in the top left of the first photo is my kitchen, and as I do the dishes I smell the jasmine. It makes me so very happy. <br />
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3.After the flamboyance of the jasmine, this is understated. I need to really get close to the blooms to smell anything, but then I am rewarded. This has a scent that I have never really associated with a rose before- it is green, grassy, and makes me think of chopped herbs.<br />
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4. Which is why I am very glad I paired it with the Cheddar Pinks.
The pinks add their clove-sugar magic, and I would happily wear the
result. And it looks pretty, doesn’t it? I think the pinks of the
petals and the grey-greens of the leaves work so well with all the
honey tones of the wood and wall and soil.<br />
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5. And here is the old faithful. The last of the Edward Roses. For the first bloom anyway. With the rains, they usually gift me with another flush. A little traditional Ittar-of-roses to go with all the spice and greens that I have going on here.<br />
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6. Another faithful one. Sweet pea Cupani. Since I smelt this one, I have not been able to buy another. My cursor hovers over all those exciting deep crimsons and frilled edges, but I end up buying this. So haunting a fragrance, so lovely a <a href="https://thegardenstrust.blog/2015/09/26/the-sweet-pea-and-its-king/">story</a>.<br />
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So that's the Six-on-Saturday for this week. Do go on over to <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/">The Propagator's blog</a>, and read the six from his jealousy-inducing garden and that of many other enthusiasts from across the world!<br />
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</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-79858312260333295582019-05-18T08:39:00.001+05:302019-05-18T08:39:12.790+05:30A hurried six<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
With a busy day ahead, here is a shamefully rushed <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/category/six-on-saturday/">Six on Saturday</a>. Do head over to The Propagator's blog to read more!<br />
But here is my garden:<br />
1.The rose arch. It is blooming! The rose has not quite covered it yet, but I really like how it is shaping up. <br />
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And best of all, the rose provides shelter to our new poults. Such a pretty little bower!<br />
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2. The daylilies are blooming. I wanted to try cooking some of the buds this year, but don't have the heart to<br />
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3. Monsoon project: I once had a clover lawn, and then I got chickens. So now, this is what the area in front of our house looks like, and I am fed up with it. Now, I will weed and till. Come monsoon, I will plant out thyme- the chickens don't seem to like that.<br />
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4. Harvest- the veggie harvest hasn't started yet, but we are harvesting seeds from the over-wintered plants. So here are coriander and mustard seeds for yummy tadkas.<br />
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5. Fuchsia. For two years I had this plant, and the chickens kept eating it. Last autumn I transferred it to a pot and look at it now!<br />
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I don't like all fuchsias, but this is rather elegant<br />
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6. My hydrangeas are about to bloom. I like them at this stage, and I like them when they are dry in all those subdued colours. The big bright balloons of full bloom? Not so much<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-73612475429673024972019-05-15T10:18:00.000+05:302019-05-15T10:47:18.473+05:30The spurfowl I didn't protect<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
G came today morning full of the news that our neighbour D had told our other neighbour K that there was a wild hen sitting on nine eggs near the stream that runs at the bottom of the orchard.<br />
<br />
And matters would have stayed there if G had not gone to our spring to check on the water flow. He discovered that someone had been cutting grass on our land, and left a broody bird pitifully exposed.<br />
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He approached and she flew away, leaving nine eggs.<br />
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So clearly D had once more 'accidentally' strayed over to our orchard to cut grass. This is a regular source of mild irritation, but now I am incensed because he cut all around the nest, even after he must have seen the bird. I went to see the nest and saw a fairly fed-up Red Spurfowl.<br />
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Now she is very vulnerable. Leaving her as is means that she will be preyed upon by any one of a number of animals. Trying to protect her means that we scare her. Opting for the latter as the least of two bad choices, we piled some brush around the nest and left it.<br />
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Will keep fingers crossed now- nothing more I can do. At least this was with the excuse of harvesting grass for fodder. But I am so tired of the casual eco-vandalism that happens under the notion of 'tidying up'. We have lovely stands of wild roses in the area,which provide shelter and food for insects and birds. These are regularly chopped down because they 'look untidy'. Same with the berries. I try to safeguard the orchard, but there is nothing I can do about beyond it. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-82727597373051670572019-05-11T08:37:00.003+05:302019-05-11T08:37:56.722+05:30A mixed bag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is one of those times when I wonder why I garden. It's Saturday, when we present our the highlights of our week to <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/">Mr.Propagator</a>. But the white grub larvae ate my homework, honest! I have a long list of plants that I have managed to kill in every brutal way possible- and I am just talking of this week.<br />
But let's start with the good stuff.<br />
1. I spoke last year about how I mismanaged my sweetpeas. Thankfully, I saved just one pod's worth of seed and here they are:<br />
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2. My dianthus, grown from seed last year, have come into their own this summer:<br />
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3. But the azalea cuttings! I had planted 5, three got torn up by the chickens and then there were two. Those two I crisped this week by assuming the hailstorm we had was enough moisture to keep them going.<br />
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4. And this has been the year of the white grub. I don't know if the gloriously wet winter we had brought them out in full force. Or it could be that they work in a three-year cycle and I just did not notice last time. But every day I come across one or more wilting shrubs which is an indicator that the grub has eaten the root.Then we dig around the roots, feed the grubs to the chickens and water lots. This is often not enough, especially if the tap root has been damaged and then I cut the shrubs way back, which is heartbreaking in the case of things that we have nurtured for years and are just taking the stage. We've lost one pomegranate and one maple so far, the rest are poor shadows of themselves.<br />
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5.Persimmon flowers are not showy, though closeup they do have a structural beauty. The most stunning thing about them is the way they attract bees. I wish you could hear my trees- they hum all day and loud enough to be heard in the house. Is it just the number of bees, or do the leaves have some sort of resonating quality?<br />
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6. And we might have kiwis! Despite the battering from yesterday's hailstorm, I believe we have fruitset. Only problem is, rain is forecast for this week. We desperately need it to quench the forestfire smouldering in the valley, but please- no hail again.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-34900635870279080792019-05-09T13:47:00.002+05:302019-05-09T13:47:59.144+05:30Chicken tales<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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According to my
garden journal, in February 2018 I had 21 chickens (including four
roosters). Last month, I had six. Well, that’s sobering.</div>
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Of those, two I sold
and two I gave away. The others, well...pine martens, cats, eagles
and old age all took their toll. </div>
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Gramma, who was
slated to become christmas dinner 4 years ago, finally died of old
age. She had been ill all winter, but we thought she had perked up
again in the spring. That was just a artificial perkiness; she soon
recovered her droopy self and then died. Mian undertook to butcher
her out of scientific curiosity (she was probably the oldest hen in
the subcontinent) and told me “We are not going to let our chickens
get this old and ill again.” I won’t get into the details, but
there was far too much wrong with her. She got a funeral pyre, not
the stock pot. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIRsqX_q0v6Y7UU_8lQp89lK94lhsdFD0zOv3jpsApwMYXp0A2gBb0fz5NyWRmb0qWc3ZCRZ4MqbhCE4xP46RA_Mp2iAnkgO0YyYt0lLJAuTmhuIIgGIc6UfzE55IErT5onBygy6r6qKB/s1600/P1110038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIRsqX_q0v6Y7UU_8lQp89lK94lhsdFD0zOv3jpsApwMYXp0A2gBb0fz5NyWRmb0qWc3ZCRZ4MqbhCE4xP46RA_Mp2iAnkgO0YyYt0lLJAuTmhuIIgGIc6UfzE55IErT5onBygy6r6qKB/s400/P1110038.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gramma in the centre- note her slumped posture and 'off-colour' comb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But six chickens in
that large coop seemed rather lonely. </div>
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Thankfully, Red
hatched 5 chicks two weeks ago. Right now they are housed in a
separate room, but will join the main flock in maybe a month’s
time. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjIHQ_8qlAPZox62th8h7NQhjW482YSG3ipSfzEWV-WRmVDz6YhnbPdQjJH7v4hW9lVGSXkdbBk9PjNptIrZfy9ccUHj24GTH8Vq3wXvlC_IYUlWZHSrcvDmfitVeVaqC8H4xZS6VK455/s1600/watermelon+chicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjIHQ_8qlAPZox62th8h7NQhjW482YSG3ipSfzEWV-WRmVDz6YhnbPdQjJH7v4hW9lVGSXkdbBk9PjNptIrZfy9ccUHj24GTH8Vq3wXvlC_IYUlWZHSrcvDmfitVeVaqC8H4xZS6VK455/s400/watermelon+chicks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicks and Red enjoying watermelon</td></tr>
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And we caved in and
bought two pairs of chicks from a travelling vendor. Looking at them,
I was again struck by the difference between our freerange backyard
flock and a commercial flock. Our chickens are if not tame, then
atleast not fearful. They are not afraid of us and exhibit all sorts
of chickeny behaviour. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNpLlwsf5azp0d1F9frY4q1wCgNhd99ICQZzkhXwdmzkaIcCieyD1vJ2x527IpFA4q6S7Us_S6_ACOtnMSM5mEUmOeMvKf1cy4TEI7O6WWaBGiFsIhEd55lWMKIJ3ZqeJhhAlSNFDWAXs/s1600/poults+in+a+corner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNpLlwsf5azp0d1F9frY4q1wCgNhd99ICQZzkhXwdmzkaIcCieyD1vJ2x527IpFA4q6S7Us_S6_ACOtnMSM5mEUmOeMvKf1cy4TEI7O6WWaBGiFsIhEd55lWMKIJ3ZqeJhhAlSNFDWAXs/s400/poults+in+a+corner.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new poults. Four are ours, we are fostering the other four for a while</td></tr>
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The new poults are terrified of humans, do not
know how to scratch or bathe. Just today, one poult tried scratching
in her litter for the first time, and now they are all practising it.
But they are not healthy and active enough to compete with the
two-week chicks yet. Hopefully, they will perk up soon. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0XYuqqyPCDQehCOkygIgojcHrvnN8eIaaSdfCildUAuj9TGZJZvABxNRLOPOv_f48aClk8zS_K77Be88jeSiTMxvP-WimiEXVefApLq5rjZM_iK7pf5Qk9KZHZyR85mvUhyphenhyphenJVmOZgYu3/s1600/P1110265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0XYuqqyPCDQehCOkygIgojcHrvnN8eIaaSdfCildUAuj9TGZJZvABxNRLOPOv_f48aClk8zS_K77Be88jeSiTMxvP-WimiEXVefApLq5rjZM_iK7pf5Qk9KZHZyR85mvUhyphenhyphenJVmOZgYu3/s400/P1110265.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The poults when they arrived yesterday. The one in the front only has one wing. =(</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Grampa, you will be pleased to hear, is still going strong. We gave away the younger roosters so he is still reigning supreme and happy about it</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-30234174309567624382019-05-04T11:02:00.000+05:302019-05-04T11:02:03.781+05:30Foxglove madness!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Seedlings exhibit some variations, often pleasing" says my RHS guide to propagation of foxgloves. As usual, they are right.<br />
I started with two foxglove plants given by a friend. And now I have this<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxOajtCT1sPLkI4Z2wppTupW_LRb6RaCOZmYeeZ1_I9A4YRE_N65kFt8jxMWe7_gWfQbi4OmRqYmGk53naGNZLlqHJ-6Lvr41unJEa2zhyYK-iwlAgwxzIGfvEyOSqwDLbR4-qll5YZur/s1600/foxglove+path.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxOajtCT1sPLkI4Z2wppTupW_LRb6RaCOZmYeeZ1_I9A4YRE_N65kFt8jxMWe7_gWfQbi4OmRqYmGk53naGNZLlqHJ-6Lvr41unJEa2zhyYK-iwlAgwxzIGfvEyOSqwDLbR4-qll5YZur/s400/foxglove+path.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
But here are the variations, all pleasing, that I have.<br />
1. The light mauve with BIG dots:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi776JAmXz1cobOn9pJAR45A2vycyApgJUpC6jfcRfSeWo4T581lUoNrqX4T3synfsvOUbYGnCgl9TEbCdYJ1AGrNrdqzJdHfLt1nlOXT19dFgSknBUg_DGCPkcG5opjmqkgZ8aE0oXd5D1/s1600/foxglove+original+and+fave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi776JAmXz1cobOn9pJAR45A2vycyApgJUpC6jfcRfSeWo4T581lUoNrqX4T3synfsvOUbYGnCgl9TEbCdYJ1AGrNrdqzJdHfLt1nlOXT19dFgSknBUg_DGCPkcG5opjmqkgZ8aE0oXd5D1/s320/foxglove+original+and+fave.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Behind it is one of the originals.<br />
<br />
2. The little closely spaced dots.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXUVsL1ADL5FO8Ex3HmKAHgiFQZpz-_kT3Ikjq1aKSWEskvOZY1mb0aT6BGW5JrQsw6dKi8-xr9Twgfn4VwuS0u7hLNFSq7LguMBX2yfGBynsxWruZ5sRylgmu3Fue_AodRoGuCkVkOKi/s1600/tiny+dots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXUVsL1ADL5FO8Ex3HmKAHgiFQZpz-_kT3Ikjq1aKSWEskvOZY1mb0aT6BGW5JrQsw6dKi8-xr9Twgfn4VwuS0u7hLNFSq7LguMBX2yfGBynsxWruZ5sRylgmu3Fue_AodRoGuCkVkOKi/s320/tiny+dots.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
3. The one with a curious yellow-red shading at the back<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohuDWic8a9s83BnGstWIABtiTXm0vQRIDw4TrG1GPRy0mhFFF1Hm56AxNhiqumJLUB3MjAQP_7hARGJ1c3Ta4Sk9F7xnb6lIvT8kqdxGW6dRrpSh5HbKCFgJICesJsijQGuN38o-gaf-b/s1600/yellowshades.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohuDWic8a9s83BnGstWIABtiTXm0vQRIDw4TrG1GPRy0mhFFF1Hm56AxNhiqumJLUB3MjAQP_7hARGJ1c3Ta4Sk9F7xnb6lIvT8kqdxGW6dRrpSh5HbKCFgJICesJsijQGuN38o-gaf-b/s320/yellowshades.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
4. The incredible pure-white one! I do want to keep this..is there a method for vegetative propagation of foxgloves?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_iodz-k9tEL9kBp7F9rwDWKCMAG7hLLxAV_43EZWecwxeMbfowAhoU0z-MUfKYPoyv9l6MJBkaEPDYljehHjy-vSdHABqgEfMh4F2xy9lbPJtrR0Ep5_mZxSYiOwn4XKYzf_gQ2aH-St/s1600/whites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_iodz-k9tEL9kBp7F9rwDWKCMAG7hLLxAV_43EZWecwxeMbfowAhoU0z-MUfKYPoyv9l6MJBkaEPDYljehHjy-vSdHABqgEfMh4F2xy9lbPJtrR0Ep5_mZxSYiOwn4XKYzf_gQ2aH-St/s320/whites.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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5. The one with prominent splotches at the back<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnd2u70RnBvfj69LonE_vyFBXo_1VVdqm2hyphenhyphenV03C9ncfnQQnI88819nRwM50vW2WN-lIEqLllNynV3aHodb801LEiXXqDnnwiYoFK5PmQQNBztArwizA6wjFcgIvQ-5RETM_yH11K2INmG/s1600/P1110159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnd2u70RnBvfj69LonE_vyFBXo_1VVdqm2hyphenhyphenV03C9ncfnQQnI88819nRwM50vW2WN-lIEqLllNynV3aHodb801LEiXXqDnnwiYoFK5PmQQNBztArwizA6wjFcgIvQ-5RETM_yH11K2INmG/s320/P1110159.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
6. And this is cheating, but here is a cross-eyed dog. He was hunting a bumblebee<br />
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The 'six-on-saturday' meme is hosted by <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">The Propagator</a>. In his words, it's "Six things, in the garden, on a Saturday. Could be anything – a flower, a
pest, a success, a project, a plan, an abject failure – anything at
all!" So if you want to find out what's happening in other gardens, do go on over to his blog!<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-84854016942864840892019-05-03T13:42:00.002+05:302019-05-03T13:42:33.250+05:30It's all gone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was nearly an hour of terror. I knew the deafening pounding on the roof was 'just' a hailstorm. My lizard brain was not having any of it. The dogs were a panting, quivering mess and my own heart was pounding hard. On top of this primal fear and the worry that every crack I heard was the sound of our solar pipes breaking was the sorrow for our plants. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfFEbKTOHQW57ungYpZS4jZDS-HmM_vS6ZdJM6-mJq-pa1ox6TZhJfKk_NOwYJfQz8tww0paKIYpNkpbiPc0zWoQ1R1HDHmpjQI4KMmqxzuIE0_VXHF-pLG17WGwSTBcZfmgbakOkAhZP/s1600/roses.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfFEbKTOHQW57ungYpZS4jZDS-HmM_vS6ZdJM6-mJq-pa1ox6TZhJfKk_NOwYJfQz8tww0paKIYpNkpbiPc0zWoQ1R1HDHmpjQI4KMmqxzuIE0_VXHF-pLG17WGwSTBcZfmgbakOkAhZP/s400/roses.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />The morning justified my grieving. The rose petals had been stripped and lay in a thick blanket on the ground. The kiwi- our first 'real' harvest- had tattered leaves and several of the promise-laden blooms had been torn off. The vegetable seedlings were tattered, several lay prone and broken. I got a message from a friend who lives at the top of the hill, " I am crying, my veggies are so damaged from the hail." "Hang in there, they will come back if the tips are okay" I replied as I continued with my melancholy accounting. Maybe half of the other fruits- the plums, peaches, pears and apricots- had fallen, the others were still okay. Or so I thought. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEOSl2Rm2lPpGBl9sTKt-z_8pl-8vQU3gmhAYTmoSiqXOGQhHVIftG8qhdqAnaHaFf5TCRUBMW5g-DcTYoj5QRTA994XyFCfA-ua__RbhAgoJU6l0h7lhNytREXpTskmgkzuQabEhR07i/s1600/pear.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEOSl2Rm2lPpGBl9sTKt-z_8pl-8vQU3gmhAYTmoSiqXOGQhHVIftG8qhdqAnaHaFf5TCRUBMW5g-DcTYoj5QRTA994XyFCfA-ua__RbhAgoJU6l0h7lhNytREXpTskmgkzuQabEhR07i/s400/pear.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />We are having some work done, and when G came with the workmen, I was all ready with my quip. "Was that a hailstorm last night, or did China shell us?" G and Hem laughed, Ragbar Da was beyond a smile. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGs11CN2XAW1rWmdadEVdWHf5NeWEFmBP7ZOtIJmyGMsjyFk7LyrwpfSilQa9nIPY87H7z7rQ5UNfWDMplXbLyWFgyFZf7ybhgoQWOUV-yYVvfZ4NupYkZI7ndMEtxmPS56nq8HGdcmqTK/s1600/kiwi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGs11CN2XAW1rWmdadEVdWHf5NeWEFmBP7ZOtIJmyGMsjyFk7LyrwpfSilQa9nIPY87H7z7rQ5UNfWDMplXbLyWFgyFZf7ybhgoQWOUV-yYVvfZ4NupYkZI7ndMEtxmPS56nq8HGdcmqTK/s400/kiwi.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Ragbar Da is one of a fast disappearing breed of people in the mountains. He is a Renaissance man, an expert mason, tinsmith, weaver and horticulturist. He knows the ways of the plants and the animals, he knows to read the land and the rocks. He had never seen anything like this. A few years ago, Ragbar da had set out a new plum orchard. Being the man he is, he had done it excellently. Home-grafted trees, carefully set out and diligently tilled, manured and pruned. This year, they were going to repay him. Despite the hailstorm we had already endured, the plum trees bore about 400 cases of fruit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3rhiIdrSZaRqMEFzMH69V46_1z1f6vjK58Fnvkzq0JDWllwDtImhbijAQL4sCCesesQHsS-ulGkFqy3tgaYK-VHjkL4WOqVS3GxA-R9RraRgf89T_ndpK5gBWHszGOO1WAn8-SJI8Q8g/s1600/apricot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3rhiIdrSZaRqMEFzMH69V46_1z1f6vjK58Fnvkzq0JDWllwDtImhbijAQL4sCCesesQHsS-ulGkFqy3tgaYK-VHjkL4WOqVS3GxA-R9RraRgf89T_ndpK5gBWHszGOO1WAn8-SJI8Q8g/s400/apricot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Today, the fruits are gone. This is when I learnt that the fruit I had thought was okay because they were still on the trees were doomed. Apparently the hail bruises the fruit and it begins to rot at the point of impact. With time, the rot increases to the point where the fruit is unsaleable. 'Everything in Chatola and Sitla is gone', said Hem. "All we are going to harvest this year are mosquitoes and flies from the rotting fruit.'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPQdAagbLzFjfAodOeNbtaVBK22itTXeAdogurms1scMZBFi-H8CjAEyQY-RCLllXZ0EIeUY36yJyRp33Qgpch3bovMz7hUIAxGFDJ635qsT3d4mPiQ_He7I3H14DKZMULmdFX2E2j85O/s1600/zucchini.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPQdAagbLzFjfAodOeNbtaVBK22itTXeAdogurms1scMZBFi-H8CjAEyQY-RCLllXZ0EIeUY36yJyRp33Qgpch3bovMz7hUIAxGFDJ635qsT3d4mPiQ_He7I3H14DKZMULmdFX2E2j85O/s400/zucchini.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />There are a few people who have insured their fruit. For the vast majority, the premiums are high enough that gambling on the weather is worthwhile. With climate change, this is an increasingly loaded bet. And with farmers in the area almost entirely dependent on the fruit crop, they have indeed lost everything.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-49349601897172550592019-04-27T16:19:00.000+05:302019-04-27T16:19:01.734+05:30Flower time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is wonderful how things change quickly at this time of the year. Here is what my garden has been up to. It's Saturday, which means it is time for us all to gather at<a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/2019/04/27/six-on-saturday-27-04-2019/" target="_blank"> The Propagator's blog</a>, and present our Six things.<br />
As he says, "Six things, in the garden, on a Saturday. Could be anything – a flower, a
new plant, a job to do, a success, a failure, anything at all. Join in!"<br />
<br />
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1. We got chicks! We have five chicks, of a clutch of nine eggs. Here are two, posing rather adorably.<br />
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And here is one, heroically swallowing a bee. Look for the smugly dissipated expression at the end..<br />
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2. One most beautiful and most perfect peach rose, gently scented with tea and borne on purple stems.<br />
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3. Our first cheddar pink. These are easy enough to grow, but this first flower has been three years and two location shifts in the making- thanks to my chickens.<br />
Totally worth the wait. <br />
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4. I have always let my Edward rose grow as it likes, with the result that I had long bare limbs with roses at 8 feet high. Till I took Ms.Jekyll's advice. Tying the branches horizontally does ensure that they bloom all along the length. Take a look<br />
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5. More roses. I did not think the red and yellow will play nicely together. But they do! Please do ignore the pipes..we plan to disguise them with rope. Some day.<br />
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6. And finally, a 'weed' which I love and do my best to spread. The pink evening primrose<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-52217832763990876422019-04-13T18:37:00.000+05:302019-04-13T18:37:00.869+05:30Spring is here!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Finally. And with my garden waking up, my garden blogging has too.<br />
So here we go. It's Saturday, which means it is time for us all to gather at The Propagator's blog, and present our Six things.<br />
As he says, "Six things, in the garden, on a Saturday. Could be anything – a flower, a
new plant, a job to do, a success, a failure, anything at all. Join in!"<br />
<br />
1. Summer light. Long, warmish evenings with that magical low golden light. And my favourite corner in the garden with the iris patch, the bench under the pear tree, and the roses <br />
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2. Spiraea. Not something I am too fond of, but everyone in the village is. I think I have mentioned before how all the village paths are lined with it.<br />
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The flowers are called Aprilia here, for obvious reasons. It is not till I took a closer look at them that I began to like them. My discovering that the flowers are lightly scented might have something to do with my new tolerance for them. <br />
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3. A new rose arch. A gift to me from the Mian. He's a keeper, that one.<br />
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4. Lady Banks' Rose. Rosa Banksiae. Such a pretty little thing, with that luscious butter yellow colour! It took me three years, but she is finally blooming.<br />
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5. I may have mentioned last year that we had eight fruits on our kiwi plants. Of those, we got to eat three. But this year, it appears that we might get a wee bit more. One of our two female plants and the male plant are all over buds, the other female is trying.<br />
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6. Coriander. Mian does not like it. I do. And so of course, we have a field of it.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-16763583004439637942019-04-02T15:14:00.000+05:302019-04-02T15:14:06.123+05:30An easy swarm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I spoke about our <a href="https://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com/2017/03/in-which-mian-and-chicu-astound.html" target="_blank">heroic attempt</a> to capture a swarm last year.<br />
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This year, we thought we will be ready. I have been lusting after a top-bar hive. Rather than the hole-in-a-wall system that we have, the top-bar makes it easy to separate brood and honey cells and to access them with minimum disturbance. At present, to access the honey, we need to remove all the new combs, which is distressing and wasteful.<br />
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Life got in the way though, and we still have not gotten around to building one. The bees got tired of waiting and took matters into their own hands. Remember that old Langstroth hive I had 'borrowed' from A and cleaned last year? They all moved into that.<br />
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Mian and I were having coffee, and I noticed a lot of activity. The bees were swarming! It was a short move- just 10 feet away. And they were settled down in just a half hour.<br />
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And now for the top bar hive, which Mian still wants to build. As I now have on record.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-17902404568612180372019-03-29T10:40:00.000+05:302019-03-29T10:40:12.952+05:30The deluxe life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here she goes again, you think, boasting about her riches.<br />
But listen to this story and why I am so exultant.<br />
When I lived in Pune, and had just started cooking, 'foreign' vegetables were just coming into the market and priced to reflect their novelty. I didn't mind so much about asparagus and zucchini (yes, even zucchini was 'gourmet'!), but I did mind the parsley. At nearly 80 Rs for a couple of stems, parsley cost more than meat and so was never bought. A green-fingered friend did try to grow some for me, but the seeds never sprouted for him either.<br />
When I came to Chatola, I discovered that a local organisation was selling herb starts. I bought garlic chives and rosemary and sage and of course, parsley. They all thrived. The parsley especially self-seeded as if it wanted to make up for the disappointment of a decade ago. Today, I need to just stretch out a hand to get parsley, but I still feel recklessly indulgent when I make a parsley-heavy dish like tabbouleh.<br />
And today, G took me hunting for these.<br />
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Riches indeed. They have been lovingly cleaned and simmered in butter supplied by a neighbour.<br />
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Mian comes home soon. Dinner will be homemade pasta (made with our eggs) with morels, parsley and garlic- all from our garden.<br />
Wallowing in luxury, we are. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-14817045530709908752019-03-26T08:51:00.000+05:302019-03-26T08:51:03.104+05:30The feeding tree<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Life before chickens was simple. All I had to do was scatter grain on the ground, and the birds would visit. When the chickens arrived, they would not get a chance to eat the grain unmolested. And so I needed alternatives.<br />
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Our lovely apricot tree provided the solution. It is aging now, and dying in parts. THe trunk is almost completely hollow, and I began to put grain into the hollow of the larger branches, and also scatter a little along the craggy trunk.<br />
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It seems to have worked.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sparrows cluster to eat a roll of dough</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White-cheeked bulbuls wait for their turn</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A slaty tree-pie eating rice</td></tr>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-49877454596016834662019-03-21T13:49:00.003+05:302019-03-21T14:07:11.049+05:30The only real Vindaloo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The five stages of grief are a lie.<br />
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For me, grief is like the beach holidays that we would take when I was a child. Amma would sit on the beach while her daughters played in the water and watch us. The rule was that each time one of us got knocked down by a wave, we were to stand up. The idea was that Amma could know we were okay.<br />
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Of course, in practice that meant that I would get knocked down, flail wildly, manage to stand up spluttering, and get knocked over again by the even-bigger wave that had been rearing up behind me all this time.<br />
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I had thought that the nights of waking up because I was unable to inhale were past me. But then our wedding anniversary came up. I realised that Amma would not call me up to wish me that day or ever again. I bought a new pressure cooker and automatically reached for the phone to tell her and got punched one more time by the realization of loss.<br />
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Yesterday I decided to cook pork vindaloo for myself in that brand-new pressure cooker. Mian had been gone for a few days and I was tired of eating leftovers. I made it properly using Amma's handwritten recipe; when I opened the mixer jar in which I had ground the masala I burst into tears. That was the smell of most of the happy times of my childhood.We had a lot of fun times around pork vindaloo- a special treat for us.<br />
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But here is her recipe.<br />
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As far as we are concerned this is the only authentic pork vindaloo recipe. Make it and enjoy. If you don't eat pork, the masala paste is a great rub for any oily fish. If you are a vegetarian, I suppose you could try it on potatoes for a Goan version of patatas brava. But please, no chicken or 'mixed-veg'- that's just wrong.<br />
I follow the recipe as she wrote it in my copy of Thangam Phillip's book, with one exception. Mum would cook the pork before cutting it small. I cut it into inch-or-smaller cubes before cooking and then pressure cook everything together.<br />
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<b>Pork vindaloo</b><br />
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Cut 1 Kg pork into small pieces. You need some fat in the pork, and we also keep the skin on.<br />
Soak 15 kashmiri chillies in vinegar for two hours (or you can just use kashmiri chilli powder)<br />
Grind together- garlic cloves from one big head (or more) + 2 heaped tsp cumin+ 15 peppercorns + 5 green cardamoms + the soaked chillies + 3 nos of 2" long sticks of cinnamon + 10 cloves + 1/2 tsp turmeric + 1/4 cup of a dark vinegar (sugarcane or malt) + the pulp from a lemon-sized ball of tamarind (about 3 Tbs)<br />
Slice 5 onions and maybe two or three fat pieces of pork thinly. <br />
Heat a pressure cooker and 'dry fry' the thin slices of onion and pork fat. You don't need to add oil because the fat will render.<br />
When it begins to brown, add the pork, the ground masala, salt, two bay leaves (the Indian kind, the leaves of cassia cinnamon) and just enough water to barely cover (less if your meat is very tender).<br />
Let three or four whistles go, and then simmer for 20 minutes or so till tender.<br />
<br />
Eat with rice or soft white bread. And beer. It's <u>V.good</u>, as Amma wrote.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-57798060244888169362018-12-08T17:14:00.001+05:302018-12-08T17:14:12.916+05:30Winter warmth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's winter. The <i>entire </i>garden (not just the north slopes) are covered with a crackly layer of frost every morning, the bird bath has a layer of ice on it, and the chickens have morphed into little plant-destroying terrors. But here is the surprisingly warm round up of what's happening:<br />
1. Strawberry! The first fruit on our alpine strawberries. Hopefully, this spring will bring many more.<br />
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2. Cotoneaster. This is not in my garden. This is along a path the dogs and I walk often. I have tried taking cuttings indoors and outdoors, in winter and the monsoon, hardwood and softwood, and failed each time. This winter, I plan to sneak down and take a plant. A crime, I know. But look at it!<br />
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3. Tilling. The winter is the time when I resist local ecological knowledge. The thing to do here is have nicely tilled beds around fruit trees and in the kitchen garden. So every year, G hires minions to dig up the terraces. To me, it is a waste of topsoil and microorganisms to expose the soil to the frost. And so, after they are done tilling, I go around the garden like an evil gnome undoing all their stellar work and dumping leaves and sticks (to keep the leaves from blowing away) around the plants. Why do I not use compost instead? One, I do not have that much compost and two, the chickens will eat it all.<br />
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4. Wildlife refuge. I do not cut back my salvia and chrysanthemums all winter. They do look a mess, but I am rewarded when I walk out in the mornings and see the little thrushes that roost there. So the mess stays.<br />
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5. On the other end of the scale, this bare and sad dug up patch will be a new garden soon. It is in the square courtyard near Mian's bakery where the Kiwi trellis is. And I want a yellow and white garden here. The area is very shady and so the rose will be happier moved. There I will plant ferns and the lovely <span id="genus">Hedychium spicatum which grows wild here. But first comes the adding compost and the mulching.</span><br />
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<span id="genus"> 6. Mullein: My seed scattering experiments failed this summer. (Or maybe they didn't. Maybe I just need to wait till spring). But now I am eager to try taking root cuttings. Gardener's World, to which I have become a trifle addicted during these long winter evenings, assures me that nothing could be easier. Well, let's see.</span><br />
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<span id="genus">As always, <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/2018/12/08/six-on-saturday-08-12-2018/" target="_blank">Six-on-Saturday</a> is hosted by the very talented Propagator. Do head on over to his blog and check out the other gardens!</span><br />
<span id="genus"> </span> </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-8853529285514097702018-12-06T15:02:00.001+05:302018-12-06T15:02:37.171+05:30Honey, I strained the wax<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The last time Mian and I processed our honey, we did it the hard way by squeezing the combs through a ricer. Not only was it a very difficult and messy process, but we also lost a lot of honey.<br />
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This time, I asked G how people here managed it. "I have never done it", he replied. "But my father just boils it all together and then removes the wax."<br />
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Genius! And that is what I did.<br />
Here are our combs <br />
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And here they are being gently melted down using a double-boiler setup. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRDXZp-PIdfKhHT9yhAJBAYP35MFQ1SnGChnd7_ahk8yl1uYsbWdOj0_ee8zxsBMQuNCo6qsBiH147ZyHvRBqkANQt-1xsrC18oSjXHtr-3XHmviSiAq-Oqbwa5IPhxqLvLaxMGckvYWQ/s1600/heating+combs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRDXZp-PIdfKhHT9yhAJBAYP35MFQ1SnGChnd7_ahk8yl1uYsbWdOj0_ee8zxsBMQuNCo6qsBiH147ZyHvRBqkANQt-1xsrC18oSjXHtr-3XHmviSiAq-Oqbwa5IPhxqLvLaxMGckvYWQ/s400/heating+combs.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
Once it was all melted down, I put the bowl into the fridge overnight. In the morning, the wax and sludge had risen to the top, with fairly clean honey at the bottom.<br />
Here it is:<br />
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What was left was some very sticky wax with honey in it. I put that out, along with the bowl and spatula.<br />
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The bees seemed happy to reclaim atleast some of what had been stolen from them.Here are closeups<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-84285410185918093732018-11-26T08:09:00.002+05:302018-11-26T08:09:38.313+05:30Honey!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It started when G came and told us his hive had yielded 4kg of honey. So far, our <i>total </i>yield over the last few years has been 200 gms. We would check our bees, we decided.<br />
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I spent the morning sewing a veil onto my sun hat. The next day, G came over with some clay to seal up the hive again, we cut up a cotton towel to burn for smoke, and gathered our bee-broom and knife.<br />
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G opened the hive as Mian and I hovered anxiously by. The first feeling was disappointment, the comb in front of us was empty.<br />
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The second was concern. The back of the door was covered in what we thought was water but turned out to be some sort of transparent slime. Does anyone know what it is? I tasted it (not a good idea with an unknown substance, please don't do as I do) and it was tasteless. Will it harm the bees? Is it a mould?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sJHpZJpk0E54b9J54uTz9lFFYYIQX861RVeQz2WapI9thuqTzvnxrBA56rVGjfk7lI0mDd4XzUjEZgcPe0dMEyu1HOzM-udx_2oxfT8l1nDpNoyQJqZ_EAlbCIUfOcHHtQAfmhFbNADB/s1600/moisture+on+door+closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sJHpZJpk0E54b9J54uTz9lFFYYIQX861RVeQz2WapI9thuqTzvnxrBA56rVGjfk7lI0mDd4XzUjEZgcPe0dMEyu1HOzM-udx_2oxfT8l1nDpNoyQJqZ_EAlbCIUfOcHHtQAfmhFbNADB/s640/moisture+on+door+closeup.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
and then of course, it was decision time. To take the honey or not? G sliced off the first two empty combs as I held the smoker, a plate, and a torch. The remaining combs did have honey.<br />
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We took two, and had a debate whether to take another one or not. Not, we decided and left the bees with three combs to tide them over the winter (I also feed them jaggery once all the flowers are gone).<br />
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Once that was done, G sealed up the hive again while I trundled back and forth carrying the bees that were trapped in the window to the porch.<br />
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Once <i>that </i>was done, I went to begin straining the honey and was startled by a rhythmic movement in the bowl. Part of the combs were brood combs. Now that was awkward. And very upsetting.<br />
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Too late to undo that.<br />
<br />
Here is our harvest-<br />
The honey combs<br />
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And the unfortunate 'waste'<br />
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I will render the empty combs we removed down to beeswax and make some Christmas gifts, but the brood comb is too difficult (and yucky) to clarify properly. I will just throw those away, I am afraid.<br />
After I separated the brood comb from the honey comb, I began to clarify the honey. And that is another story. <br /><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-48403325821393483842018-11-24T13:44:00.002+05:302018-11-24T13:44:57.314+05:30A mixed bag on Saturday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Winter is supposed to be a time of rest. Instead, Mian and I find ourselves Red-Queening our way through the days, scrambling to not fall too far behind. We were travelling for the last two weeks and returned to find the persimmons clamouring for attention.And the 50Kg of Malta we had ordered arrived. So I am now back to the relentless peeling, pulping, boiling, bottling that means winter to me.<br />
But here is what is going on in my garden:<br />
1. Veggies: Miraculously, we are still eating quite a bit from our garden. True, radishes seem to make up a rather large part of our diet, but did you see anything as simultaneously summery and christmassy as these tomatoes?<br />
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2. Raat Rani: Or the night-flowering jasmine. I tried and killed two plants before this one survived in a frost-protected spot. The first blossom is out, and I am in love.<br />
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3. Dianthus 'sooty': The jasmine is a surprise, the dianthus is an old reliable. It never has too many flowers, but always manages to produce a scent-filled jewel or two throughout the winter<br />
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4. Aphids: Otherwise known as the bane of my existence. I presently have them on my strawberries and my star jasmine. I spray with a mixture of soap water and neem oil, but it is another Red Queen struggle. Does anyone have any other suggestions?<br />
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5. Decisions: Here is the view from our patio where we spend most of our afternoons. I am undecided what to do about the suckers around the persimmon. One option is to remove them, of course. Then I get an open view (but lose privacy) and the tree looks pretty. The other is to just thin them out to maybe a half dozen stems and then in a few years remove the tree so that I get a multi-stemmed short persimmon tree which will be easy to harvest. What do you think? And please excuse the poor beheaded plum on the left- that was before my time, and I don't have the heart to take it out entirely<br />
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6. Dianthus Imperialis: This is the fortnight of it's glory. And what glory it is! My oldest bunch is now five years old, and for the last three years, I have been planting a stem or two every year. All for this joy.<br />
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Please do go on over to <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/2018/11/24/six-on-saturday-24-11-2018/" target="_blank">The Propagator's blog</a> to visit other <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/tag/six-on-saturday/" target="_blank">Six-on-Saturdayers</a>!<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-90116826517842992402018-11-03T11:17:00.001+05:302018-11-03T11:17:14.745+05:30Six things I am grateful for<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't regret my mother's passing; she was in so much discomfort at the end that it would have been selfish to want her to stay longer. And she made it clear to her children, "Don't be angry if I leave now, I am very tired."<br />
I regret very much not telling her enough just how central a part of my life she was, and continues to be. Nearly all my woolens have been knitted by her. And of those, there are two that are the definition of winter. Winter begins when I pull them out of the bag in which they have been carefully stored and it ends when I wash them, sun them, and pack them away for the next seven months. And all through the cold months, they keep me feeling warm and loved.<br />
The first is a wheat-coloured cardigan, warm and well-fitting and in a lovely colour. My knitting friends have praised it for the accuracy of its neckline (my friends give very precise compliments) but she valued it so lightly that when Madhu chewed a hole in it, Amma repaired the sweater with purple thread. Nevertheless, I wear it all day. <br />
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And then there is the bedjacket. Knowing my love for old Hollywood, Amma made this for me from a 1930s pattern. It is lacy, fluffy and exactly the sort of thing Hedy Lamarr might have worn to bed (if she had a mother who knitted). It's only after taking the photos that I realised that the camera was in black and white mode, but I kept it that way- it seems fitting.<br />
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I always told her when I wore them; but I don't think she realised just how much all the things she gave me or taught me shaped my life. I wish I had spoken my appreciation more.<br />
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And that brings me to the garden. My garden is shaped by the many many gifts friends have given me. And I tell them often, but I have now realised that it is never often enough.<br />
So here we go<br />
<b>1. Ganesh: </b>At the four corners of our house are four honeysuckle creepers. And they give us more joy than we ever thought possible. All started from cuttings from Ganesh's house.<br />
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Besides this, he has given me cuttings of his hydrangeas, and his night jasmine.<br />
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<b>2. Lakshmiji:</b> When I first moved in, I praised her garden and lamented that I have a garden but nothing to fill it with. She gave me plastic shopping bags full of vinca, mexican sage, goldenrod, iris, and phlox. "These will take over your garden quickly", she said. "Don't complain when you get tired of them!" I have not reached that point yet.<br />
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<b>3. Deepa:</b> The first friend I made when I came here, and still the closest. It is she who gave me her lavender and her succulents, and a glorious salmon-pink rose.<br />
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<b>4. Ann: </b>When I grow up, I want to be her. And the many many plants she has given me remind me of that. Here are my star jasmine and my magnolia, just to name two.<br />
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<b>5. Michael: </b>When we visited him in Nagaland, Michael noticed me helping myself to the grape tomatoes that grew so abundantly in his village. The day we left, he gave me a strip of cloth on which he had saved some seeds. Four years later, the Naga tomatoes are going strong and have become the tomato of choice for several homes in our village. Here they are, ripening well into winter.<br />
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<b>6. Beth: </b>I cannot grow basil. I don't know what it is I do, but my seeds rarely germinate. The few times they do, they bolt immediately. Beth however is our resident winter gardening genius. Ever since she learnt of my basil woes she has been supplying me with a couple of plants every year. As you see, they are still chugging along.<br />
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<b> </b><br />
So many friends, so much love. Mian and I are fortunate. And I mean to tell my friends so. Much more often.<br />
<br />
Linking this to <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/tag/six-on-saturday/" target="_blank">Six-on-Saturday</a> on <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">The Propagator's blog</a>. Another source of wonderful friends, support, and appreciation. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-22794788120405310192018-10-15T21:23:00.000+05:302018-10-15T21:23:33.546+05:30Missing Amma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was a child, my job before every festival was to wash and clean our little puja shelf. I loved that task; it was just like playing with dolls, but with the added sense of being virtuous. Moving all the idols and paraphernalia out, washing them, washing the shelf, and placing everything back was fun!<br />
<br />
And then I went off to college and no longer came back in time for every festival. I grew to adulthood and questioned the concept of religion and rituals. Amma never said anything, but continued to do the rituals on her own.<br />
<br />
Today, after decades, I sat down to clean out all her gods, and wonder why I did not do such a simple task for her. There were reasons of course, and some even sound valid. I would come for a small number of days, and focus on the 'important' things- cleaning out the fridge, checking the groceries and medicines, cleaning the cupboards. In the last few years, she probably did not even trust me to treat her gods with the proper reverence. But it was such a small thing..<br />
<br />
Amma passed away yesterday. I am cleaning out her puja corner because in ten days, our relatives will come to do the 12th day rituals and I do not want anyone to comment on the state of things. I should have done it earlier for the better motivation of pleasing her. There are far too many such opportunities I missed.<br />
<br />
She was generous as usual even towards the end. Just two days before she passed away, she gave my sister and I the gift of a tender, love filled goodbye. As we sat on either side of her hospital bed, she talked to us.<br />
"Please don't mind if I leave now. I am tired and want to sleep."<br />
"Thank you for everything."<br />
"Give me a kiss"<br />
<br />
She made it very clear to us that we were completely loved and completely forgiven. That she was ready to go. That she was not afraid any more. After that night, she never really spoke again. That was our goodbye.<br />
<br />
I know that at the end, she was not disappointed or angry with us. She gave us that one last gift, more precious than all the other things she had given us. And yet, I am sitting here and crying wishing I had cleaned those idols, been more respectful towards the things that mattered to her.<br />
<br />
Here we are, our little family of three<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">original content from http://uttarakhandandi.blogspot.com</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6152089060931349370.post-4679418837344160612018-06-30T07:10:00.000+05:302018-06-30T07:17:52.788+05:30One rose, six deaths<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"I thought what an interesting case I
must be from a medical point of view, what an acquisition I
should be to a class! Students would have no need to
“walk the hospitals,” if they had me. I was a
hospital in myself. All they need do would be to walk round
me, and, after that, take their diploma."<br />
<br />
So said Jerome K. Jerome in 'Three Men in a Boat'.<br />
<br />
So says my Edward rose today.<br />
<br />
It's that time of the year, when finally <i>finally </i>my garden is waking up and thriving. And that includes the various fungi, bugs, and bacteria that also call the garden home. As always, none are worse hit than my venerable Edward rose bushes which manage to attract every disease, pest, and affliction around. Here is what is presently affecting just one of them, in alphabetical order.<br />
<br />
1. Aphids. I have been spraying with my soap solution, but they just laugh. Will now make a garlic-chile mixture, but that takes a week to mature.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuqykiGV0Ez7HADCYRv9IGvJpXuy38pfVa71-jVyQhM8ylPjr8KYt24af41p3sy52F_-hvYlxw360Ulk61mInwohzSpjpA3Yy4g6DtGqKf-cUJpbC_UCNOTK_CRtNDG3Iom5GsXLJdrhT/s1600/aphids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="973" data-original-width="1408" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuqykiGV0Ez7HADCYRv9IGvJpXuy38pfVa71-jVyQhM8ylPjr8KYt24af41p3sy52F_-hvYlxw360Ulk61mInwohzSpjpA3Yy4g6DtGqKf-cUJpbC_UCNOTK_CRtNDG3Iom5GsXLJdrhT/s400/aphids.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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2. Black spot. I spray with a bordeaux mixture every winter. Should I do it again? Does cinnamon powder work? Help! Right now, am just taking off the leaves and burning them (as much as possible, I don't get them all)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivt3QqkquHlH9BVvcVXPj57AoThkBuT1q4LfHjVrZby7_-MBoFysGHVPeXCFjJPutSiXOGWPeyuZsVGC7TrcBe8Z29X2r_LZDsh6Pt4mpcmJMzfRLHjsQG-kwnm0UVFo4uRM0flSqM0rBC/s1600/black+spot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivt3QqkquHlH9BVvcVXPj57AoThkBuT1q4LfHjVrZby7_-MBoFysGHVPeXCFjJPutSiXOGWPeyuZsVGC7TrcBe8Z29X2r_LZDsh6Pt4mpcmJMzfRLHjsQG-kwnm0UVFo4uRM0flSqM0rBC/s400/black+spot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the white stuff on the tips of the leaves? that's from the dust storm, hasn't been washed off yet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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3. Canker. I don't know what to do about this, other than cut off the stems and burn.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-LV6XG87CnGGAuC6hhtYAlVrbLYkuki9xLJhGqgAyfCuzswFMy9ac5YtAlapl7dW3K1DuFUEMLUoob9RuKGWS7srnv5avNlL8LAQmO9OKE_3diBE3xl8QbSCCvS8rJuhpos0o9t3iVXC2/s1600/canker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-LV6XG87CnGGAuC6hhtYAlVrbLYkuki9xLJhGqgAyfCuzswFMy9ac5YtAlapl7dW3K1DuFUEMLUoob9RuKGWS7srnv5avNlL8LAQmO9OKE_3diBE3xl8QbSCCvS8rJuhpos0o9t3iVXC2/s400/canker.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
4. Caterpillar.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqvJf8bOUmwuOt9PpEU6RpBjcRAfBMSSI3DSObirQlAsmQCMHduh6w5kTzk0BaT-1HDlm7RBsTfGfE6x5bosQ_1a-jCYkEbdFIa38oZC_EyYfYX8gLli4KtPywDNhnTmvv3RZGv4lU9CY/s1600/caterpillar+evidence+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqvJf8bOUmwuOt9PpEU6RpBjcRAfBMSSI3DSObirQlAsmQCMHduh6w5kTzk0BaT-1HDlm7RBsTfGfE6x5bosQ_1a-jCYkEbdFIa38oZC_EyYfYX8gLli4KtPywDNhnTmvv3RZGv4lU9CY/s400/caterpillar+evidence+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">caterpillar meal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He leaves me hostess gifts in exchange for the fine meals he's getting. But I have not found him yet. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUlG-1VBH0prWGQSxC-3cp_YNp_HBsU0XdGhOivwNlkKui8A_hyphenhyphenDSnRBFkvwLHnE3VQBB9W3NI1l44YogGnQOJxTW0HxIXER2hbpmbP9ttb7aI6OjfCGDMgWjXU0VAMEjthie9cbMIwz-/s1600/caterpillar+evidence+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUlG-1VBH0prWGQSxC-3cp_YNp_HBsU0XdGhOivwNlkKui8A_hyphenhyphenDSnRBFkvwLHnE3VQBB9W3NI1l44YogGnQOJxTW0HxIXER2hbpmbP9ttb7aI6OjfCGDMgWjXU0VAMEjthie9cbMIwz-/s400/caterpillar+evidence+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">caterpillar gift</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the photo above, do you see the smaller droppings on the leaves in the background? That's yet another being.<br />
5. Mildew<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Odit3QtFexdaa5thx948PmGTfKKxezmktPknjqUiCxNN1W9GGQ1b3up_tB-wtNDmhqy2-Yg3OvD97thDsE61cNpgQxTA7Lpv21CFf9GVznhVmGoPBI4Z8VFS-MXXNpbxMBQnalHZAhO4/s1600/mildew+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Odit3QtFexdaa5thx948PmGTfKKxezmktPknjqUiCxNN1W9GGQ1b3up_tB-wtNDmhqy2-Yg3OvD97thDsE61cNpgQxTA7Lpv21CFf9GVznhVmGoPBI4Z8VFS-MXXNpbxMBQnalHZAhO4/s400/mildew+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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6. Whosthisguy. I have no idea. Remember the little droppings in the caterpillar evidence shot? They are from this</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPY8TRtbQ0cDEug4tJ8HgHkf0whdP_cYscycs4MNfX1Bo9bjviiiC6IOi_yji_JVCL2Ld_gcX5seDhOYT2Tgr2EGZ2Z1EVs4e0QiwnKMGpxxhMxO29E73iRR2H11aSgGOe9PhVGbQwttx1/s1600/whatsit+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPY8TRtbQ0cDEug4tJ8HgHkf0whdP_cYscycs4MNfX1Bo9bjviiiC6IOi_yji_JVCL2Ld_gcX5seDhOYT2Tgr2EGZ2Z1EVs4e0QiwnKMGpxxhMxO29E73iRR2H11aSgGOe9PhVGbQwttx1/s400/whatsit+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRuAs6ROslzGc1nTyZmC0So8e92EJDpqjRp-1d_05nAdhvSi8ZsQEthIY4pL1OOOjgR6JRFi5B9sCJaZPZ59r79skSOGvM3MuSeVHmFGmYdd-Qs8L6exkIdhmH31LMQPVAw9tOFl3igmCt/s1600/whatsit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRuAs6ROslzGc1nTyZmC0So8e92EJDpqjRp-1d_05nAdhvSi8ZsQEthIY4pL1OOOjgR6JRFi5B9sCJaZPZ59r79skSOGvM3MuSeVHmFGmYdd-Qs8L6exkIdhmH31LMQPVAw9tOFl3igmCt/s400/whatsit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Does anyone recognise this? <br />
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And in the interest of Science, here's a comparison:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_4jlRKDAM68UGFxkD4aGqUdkuTpNsFWFrgiyhlqsXXIVNhKsnxm_ZsssKfyYfd9a1T0MfxGy6MSlVTNIHbescqQJ28W3Lkw_RtHHbz6V-XUjas4ecbgDkUHTCfaZNeVojfSd7OfqT62x/s1600/bite+patterns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1053" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_4jlRKDAM68UGFxkD4aGqUdkuTpNsFWFrgiyhlqsXXIVNhKsnxm_ZsssKfyYfd9a1T0MfxGy6MSlVTNIHbescqQJ28W3Lkw_RtHHbz6V-XUjas4ecbgDkUHTCfaZNeVojfSd7OfqT62x/s400/bite+patterns.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Why grow the Edward Rose at all? Why not just replace it with other cultivars that are just as fragrant, have better colours and are disease resistant? Why not, even, treat myself to '<a href="https://www.davidaustinroses.co.uk/claire-austin-climbing-rose" target="_blank">Claire Austin</a>' or '<a href="https://www.davidaustinroses.co.uk/jude-the-obscure" target="_blank">Jude the Obscure</a>' both of whom I have been lusting after? Because classic fragrance and childhood memories.<br />
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Do go on to <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/about-me/" target="_blank">The Propagator</a>'s blog for other <a href="https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/category/six-on-saturday/" target="_blank">Six on Saturday</a> posts. They are far less dismal- we even have flowers!</div>
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