I am quite sad actually. It has been quite an unexpectedly climactic day as well. I was sent out in the morning to pick Hawthorne for herbal preparations, I had to weigh into some nettles but I was down in the wilder bit of the garden and it was lovely. The trees are large and covered with white blossoms.
It turns out I am rather violently allergic to these blossoms — or it could have been the plumes of pollen I saw floating in the air from the grasses.
They have kept me company all day.
Mrs. Grieve in her A Modern Herbal writes that ‘Many country villagers believe that Hawthorn flowers still bear the smell of the Great Plague of London.’ Maybe I’m allergic to the plague. But it has been terrible all day and I feel done in.
Still, they were lovely blossoms. Some of the trees were covered with lichens:
I also found an aerial snail.
After that I was excited to use my first traditional English hoe — they are quite awesome slicing through the earth to cut baby weeds off from their roots. I love all the traditional old hand tools here, they are amazing and perfect for the job.
Still dripping and sneezing with my little microscopic pollen friends, I spent the time after lunch picking lettuce and making up salad bags.
Still fairly miserable I got a last good shot of Neave and Foxy, I shall miss her. Mostly. She does a little too much licking for my peace of mind. In addition to my failure to withstand pollen, I also have an inherited failure to tolerate licking and smacking noises very well. It’s a thing, or so I learned on facebook. But I mostly withstood it, she is a lovely dog and it is my own failing.
And still the hayfever continues, despite medicine and a shower and prayers and a light exorcism.
I am now going to try the pub for a farewell dinner.
My last day.