An invitation...

The work, whether a joyous dance or dour struggle is never ending. It goes with the life.
This October marks the beginning of my sixtieth year. The good sense is piling up around us, as much as we need to carry us forward with a reserve of promise for the future ensuring the sharing of our good fortune will be most pleasant. I feel there is cause for celebration. If you are passing this way, don't hesitate to stop a while . We don't expect a crowd. Not so much a party as a Thanksgiving.For those who brave a strangers hospitality a warm welcome is guaranteed. Jam on it too, most likely.
Stacking firewood is the order of today.Last years pile lasted well, a years worth of stove wood still remains. The "tidy pile" left out in the weather last year is now ready for storing undercover. For the most part we are burning knotty old oak, the tree was diseased from fungal decay becoming a liability in the hedgerow. Nothing is wasted.
The garden is looking a little tired. It has been a good season. There is plenty in store for the coming year and more to come. The cabbage, kale the leeks and swede are the best we have had in the last four years. There is still the maincrop carrots to lift. Parsnips, beetroot and a succession of salad. . We haven't been short of beans in several years. The onions look likely to keep well. We put a punnet or two of our first raspberries into the freezer for later. Our first modest crop of redcurrants were also frozen , promising some delicious desserts over the coming months.
Anne-So has just been picking her way through a small bunch of black grapes, a gift from Marie Therese. Our first figs have been collected , some were bursting on the young tree . There aren't many left on the table. There is a few yet to come from the tree. You had better hurry if that's your fancy. We will gather more chestnuts from some old local trees. We have been invited to help ourselves from a neighbours walnut tree.
There will undoubtably be more tales here of mud and stone and back breaking labours of love. Later. The wood wont stack itself, I'm off out to do a bit.