A Mower for all Seasons

The kitchen smelt of garlic, beef, and beer. The Assistant was going retro. She had her old dilapidated copy of Delia Smith’s original complete TV Series and she was cooking one of the Photographers favourite casseroles. It was so simple, no posh ingredients, therefore it was a bit cheaper and they were saving up for their annual trip. As she cooked, she pondered over the wonderful time they were having on the Moor. On Saturday the two had found time off from gardening to visit the Little Town and what a delight that had been.

The two had got up, one had to confess, a little later than usual, but they determined that this should really be a relaxed day after a hard week’s work. They had been stacking logs and strimming and truth to tell, while exercise is good for you, there is a limit! The walking boots were laced and the little shopping bags were pressed into use. They set off up the hill, through the field gate and across the Moor to town. The fields on the way were a delight, the trees a delightful green, and the way was dotted with wildlife and buzzards on their morning breakfast hunt. It was still early enough for no cars to pass them as they reached the road and traversed the bridge across the tumbling river. They walked up the big hill and emerged in the Little Town in need of their own breakfast. The Photographer left his camera in the Assistant’s charge as he went to fetch the Saturday papers, a treat for the weekend. The Assistant ordered their breakfast at Blacks, where a fresh pot of coffee was on the go, and Katherine was so quick with their ham rolls, that the Photographer found one all ready on his arrival back.

As regular readers will know, sitting outside Blacks watching the traffic, can lead to information gathered as to what was on, as well as meetings with friends and acquaintances. The first to arrive was the Daughter’s neighbour. He is a wonderfully affable man with the tidiest of gardens. He had left his handsome collie dog elsewhere and was looking slightly lost. He had held a little party for the Daughter when she arrived in her street and since then had been very kind and solicitous to his new neighbours. His main recent claim to fame in the little town was an incident from when the road was resurfaced while he was walking his dog. He had stood looking very puzzled at his house, which was on the other side of the road, wondering what he was going to do to gain entry to his house across the steaming tar, when a burly workman strode over and picked him up and then returned for his dog. Both were deposited on their own door step. The Little Town was quite upset at the disturbance of a new road surface, which not many people seemed to know about in advance. The Photographer and Assistant had been in a cafe with friends, when the machines passed by. The occupants of the cafe had kept the doors closed as the huge machines went up and down. The Assistant felt very smug at wearing her walking boots rather than some smart and treasured sandals on that day. The Little Town is so used to being left to its own devices, that anything from outside like this always throws the inhabitants into confusion. Today, however, back at the cafe, the neighbour had gardening on his mind. He managed quite subtly, to announce that he had given his hedge its autumn trim.The two took note and passed pleasantries. This was actually a hint that the other side of the hedge should also be trimmed and this would be passed on to the Daughter, who currently, was never home much before seven in the evening and was even then usually helping in some capacity or other at the swimming pool and walking the dog. The Photographer made a mental note and the hint was passed on. If it came to it, he would go round and make a huge amount of noise in order to show willing! The street would be satisfied and that would be that!

The next person to visit them was a member of their church, who seemed exhausted by her efforts and genially passed the time of day while she recovered on a chair. It seemed that her lawn was not looking good for her guests and the retired priest who cut it was having great difficulty. It seemed that gardening worries were the order of the day in the Little Town, which can be delightfully introspective, rather than the imminent Korean nuclear threat. Indeed many residents do not listen to the news, most of it being about places far from the Moor. On the other hand, if you haven’t watched the regional news, which is called Spotlight, and taken in David’s weather forecast, you really have no idea what is going to happen tomorrow! At this time of the year Spotlight has plenty of news stories, almost daily, of tourists involved with either the Mountain Rescue Team or the Coastal Rescue Service, which this week involved a rescuer falling off his harness, but still managing a successful rescue!

Next to arrive outside Blacks, just as the Photographer had at last tucked into the remains of his bread roll was a fellow motorcycle enthusiast, who had had the honour of having a whole page published in a motorcycle magazine. He very sweetly produced a photocopy of this page, which he had been carrying around in a “see through” plastic folder. There was much humming and hahing before the enthusiast moved on. The Photographer seized the moment and downed his bread roll. The two then made a thoughtful purchase of Stilton and two of Chris’s wonderful pastries for tea.

 

Dartmoor Diary Aug 2017-26

Wonderful old fashioned mowing. Listen carefully and you can hear the rythmic click clack and smell the new mown grass

They escaped along the road to the Saturday coffee morning, which was held every week, in the old hall, mainly in aid of local activities. The Assistant was immediately seized with wonder. It was God given. Here it was. For two years now, she had wanted an old fashioned push mower for the back garden. All the models available new were hugely expensive so the lawn had been strimmed for the past year. This was it. It was a Husqvarna, the same as The Photographer’s big tractor mower. It was tough and involved no petrol, or other environmental pollution and it gave you exercise. It reminded her of pushing her Dad’s lawn mower while he slept after night duty. Eric, that well known recycler, effected a very quick sale and the £25 machine was carried around to the Daughter’s, where she was delighted to offer to bring it around later in her car. The Daughter was now being visited. Tea was enjoyed by the clan and the Daughter was presented with a strawberry tart for her trouble. The Daughter, who severely disliked bothering her now elderly parents, now asked her father what was to be done about the town’s new issue with recycling. She could not now recycle garden waste unless she paid £40 for some large green bags, which she had no room to store, and, anyway, this was almost the cost of her weekly organic food delivery. She would not for the world, give up an organic delivery as her health had improved markedly since she had been eating this way. She had a great deal of pride. This had to be handled carefully. There ensued a fatherly and understanding conversation. It seemed that there had been at least three tries at going to Okehampton to get a £15 recycling bin from the Council with no success. The Photographer was thoughtful. He had not taken the family “gas guzzler”,which he kept for trips to Exeter and for holidays, out for some time. He must offer. After all, he had the time to hang about when the council offices were open, unlike people who go to work, and so it was, on a weekday, that the recycling bin was delivered to the Daughters lounge while she was working. What a good job it was that father had collected the bin. It was simply huge and the car, large as it was, could barely manage it, so goodness knows what the rest of the Little Town will do. The bin is too large for most cars and far more people who live in the Little Town than the general population choose to have no car at all! The Daughter was thrilled and after mowing her lawn and with the bin on hand, she celebrated. Her garden is quite large, but it is effectively on the Moor, as it faces one of the largest and most beautiful hills. Frost and wind bite there more often than one would think. So, on a working night, having managed to grab some free time, she set off up her garden in a coat, sat, at last, on a garden chair and drank a well deserved gin and tonic!

 

Dartmoor Diary Aug 2017-7

Vibrant new Green bags for Garden “Waste” collections (The photographer doesn’t understand. Why would you pay to take away all those wonderful plant nutrients and organic matter when you can compost it yourself?)

Back on the Saturday walk, it was now 3:30 pm and a morning with breakfast had become time for tea, so the two left the Daughter to get down to a working girl’s tasks, and headed for home.

Dartmoor Diary Aug 2017-1

Identity Crisis Is it a horse that thinks it’s a Zebra or vice versa? (You had goats picture last month, so it’s a horse this month!)

The Photographer spared time to talk to the goats, on the way up the hill, as he contemplated a slice of the Assistant’s Dundee cake and a piece of Stilton with a cup of tea when they arrived home. Four o’clock. Just in time for tea. What a lovely day they had had.

Dartmoor Diary Aug 2017-34

Mower Bragging Now we are a 2 Husqvarna family

The Photographer’s snapshots can be seen on Flickr (follow link) or the serious stuff is on Artfinder (follow link)

Any similarity between characters in this blog and real people, products or events is entirely co-incidental

Any similarity between “The Little Town” and Chagford is entirely deliberate, Click on this link to find out more. Visit Chagford

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2 comments
  1. John painter said:

    What a wonderful picture or life on the moor

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