B is for Butterflies and Bees...and Bunnies!!

When I started work on my bee garden (which also attracts butterflies) I didn't think it would attract other creatures also beginning with 'b'.

But we have a new house guest in the Much Malarkey Manor bee garden - a bunny!

A few days ago, we had the feeling we were being watched. You know, when you can feel eyes boring into you, but you can't quite tell why or where from. (My previous experience of this has been waking at 3 o'clock in the morning with one of the cats sitting on my chest, staring at me from a distance of two inches. This can make you jump and your heart pound for upwards of half an hour after it happens.)

We'd go out the front door and feel that SOMETHING WAS THERE, LURKING IN THE HEDGE. Or we'd open the curtains in the morning, only to catch a glimpse of SOMETHING DISAPPEARING INTO THE HEDGE.

And then, when Heather came home last Thursday, she said upon her arrival, 'Did you know there is a rabbit in the front garden.

Of course, when I looked, it had gone. Thoughts of Jimmy Stewart and Harvey flitted through my mind. I thought, poor Heather, all that intense university education for the last three years has clearly affected her brain.

But then I saw it too! It was sitting in the middle of the lawn and then it turned and ran into the hedge.

The hedge stands on the border between us and our semi-detached neighbour. At first we thought it was the neighbour's hedge as he was always out the front trimming it back with his large and loud electric hedge trimmer. Of course, he could never quite reach over the top far enough so there would be an edge on our side that remained tatty looking after the careful topiary ministrations on his side. So I would sigh and troll outside with our wholly inadequate-because-they-are-rusty-and-blunt garden shears and hack away at the remaining tufty bits until all was level again. And because I am not as tall as the man next door, and couldn't be bothered to shuffle my way along the hedge with my rusty shears atop a step ladder, the hedge, over the years has taken on a slightly slanted appearance.

Then I realised the hedge was actually OUR hedge. It was on our side of the border.

This put a whole new slant on the whole hedge trimming malarkey i.e whilst the neighbour continues to trim the side that abuts his property, I have let our side grow wild and free! His side is about 4 and a half foot tall; our side is almost 7 foot in places. I am happy to let him keep hedge cutting his side of our hedge. I am relieved I can let our side of our hedge grow rampant. I sing tra-la-la-la-la-la-la in my head when my mum comments on 'the state of the hedge, I'll bring my shears along and give it a trim for you, shall I?'

And I think this rampantness and wild verdure is what has attracted the bunny.

For the last two days, the bunny has been getting bold. It has been sitting in the middle of the bee garden eating grass and dandelions. This is good because it saves Andy having to struggle across the grass with our wholly inadequate -because-it-was-never-any-good-and-the-blades-keep-disappearing strimmer.

And sometimes the bunny just sunbathes. Like it was this morning.

I don't know why the bunny has suddenly arrived. I don't know how long it will stay. But bunny watching in the evening, with our own Much Malarkey Bunny, is very entertaining. (I just hope the next step of 'b'animals in the bee garden won't be a bear! Or a bison...)

Feather coat, no knickers, butterflies and the cucumber airer

Mrs Poo is having a moult. I've been expecting the three newer chickens to go through this process for a while now, as they passed their first birthday a while ago. Ironically, Mrs Slocombe has been growing feathers instead of losing them, but given she was a bit sparse with feathers due to her feather eating habit, I suppose one can only applaud her determination to buck the moulting trend. Mrs Pumphrey has lost 6 or possible 7 feathers and is sprouting a rather nice new set of trousers. (White feather trousers are in this Autumn - remember, you heard it here first).

But poor Mrs Poo. She was looking a bit hunchy yesterday. Now I know she can go hunchy when it rains a lot but this was extra specially hunchy with a side order of hunch and hunch sprinkles, so I popped into the South Wing to give her a medical check in my capacity as non-veterinary qualified yet ever so caring member of the chicken keeping team.

Nostrils clear, eyes bright, bottom clean, legs smooth. So far, so good. I thought, I'll check for parasites. What with all the rain recently, dust bathing has been a sparse activity. And when I lifted her feathers, well! There's her problem. It was like she was wearing an over coat with no clothes on underneath!

I'd already read that hens can drop a huge amount of feathers in a very short space of time when they have their moult. Not experienced it before, though. But then my chicken moult reference barometer has been limited to Mrs Miggins and the dear departed Mrs Bennett who, when they first moulted, shed a few feathers from their necks and managed to cover up the thinning with a nice floaty scarf each.

No wonder Mrs Poo was hunched. She was probably cold. Beneath her top feathers she was pretty much bald. A few new pin feathers were starting to sprout so I am hoping she'll feel better soon.

I wondered where all her old feathers could be. No sign of them in the run or the pod.

Behind me, Mrs Feather Plucker Slocombe licked her lips and smiled.

Now, because we are environmentally friendly, we do not have a tumble drier. Actually, we did have a tumble drier. It was very old when we inherited it and it struggled on bravely through three or four winters before its door fell off. And because I didn't have time to sit in front of it, keeping it closed with my foot to make it work and because the feeling of hot air breezing up my skirt was quite unpleasant, we got rid of it and reverted to the trusty clothes airer.

Until the clothes airer started to disintegrate as well.

Since we've become eco-warriors, I am loathe to throw anything away (aside from tumble driers with knackered doors). So the clothes airer is now positioned in the greenhouse and is providing a nice climbing frame for the cucumbers. We have three cucumbers growing at the moment. Not big enough to make a sandwich yet, but I am keen for them to dangle this year, rather than trail across the ground.

And whilst I was in the greenhouse this morning watering the cucumber, I rescued two butterflies. They were a bit of a bugger to catch but I managed to get them both and fling them into the sky outside.

'Well,' said Clive, as he and Maureen flew away. 'We shan't be going there again for our holidays.'
'I quite agree,' said Maureen. 'We hadn't even unpacked our bags.'
'And given that the Eden Project has so much publicity, I thought it was highly over-rated, don't you?' said Clive.
'Undoubtedly,' said Maureen. 'Call one cucumber plant an Amazonian biosphere experience? I think not. I'm writing to the Guardian as soon as we get home.'
'Which way is home?' said Clive.
'I don't know,' said Maureen. 'You're reading the map.'

And finally, here are some pictures of our patio. Tomatoes, peppers, lettuce and many flowers ready to be planted into the borders.

The Bee Friendly Garden and the Mystery of the Extra Egg

Firstly, because I've just been to see the chickens with their daily apple ration (it's good for their teeth) I need to share with you that they appear to have lain 5 eggs between them today. Yes, five. Four hens = five eggs. Not quite sure how that works. When I put them to bed last night at 6 p.m, there were no eggs in the nest box. This morning when I took them tea and crumpets at 6.30 there were two eggs, and now, at lunchtime, to my surprise I've collected three more. So in less than 18 hours they've made 5 eggs!! Looking at the colours of the shells I think Mrs Pumphrey may be today's cor blimey champion chicken. Or possibly Mrs Slocombe. Phew! Or maybe there has been a visit from a stray hen. Or a phantom hen. Perhaps Mrs Bennett has returned and popped out one from beyond the grave. A ghost egg. There's a story in there somewhere....

Anyway, bees and flowers. We've got the hens, we've got the allotment and the next logical step is keeping bees. Andy has persuaded me that the neighbours won't like us any more if we get pigs. The pigs, he says, will have to wait until we get our small holding/farm/field. So it's back to bees.

We had an idea (Plan A) to dig up both front and back gardens chez nous and put down some more veg beds. But the more I think about this idea, the more dubious I feel about the practicalities. For one, all the local cats will think toilet heaven has arrived. And I don't trust the local kids not to hop over the wall and indulge in a spot of mindless vandalism (I wouldn't mind if they pinched a few carrots in order to eat them, but what are the chances of that being their motive??). Plus, the front garden is north-west facing so doesn't get a huge amount of warmth and sunlight. So I'm working on Plan Bee.

Plan Bee is to make a bee friendly garden. This is important because we need bees and bees are struggling at the moment and need all the help they can get. After much lobbying by the bee-keeping community, the Government have at last agreed to increase funding into research into bee diseases but until progress can be made into what caused so many swarms to be wiped out last year, we all need to do what we can to encourage bees into our gardens and ensure they continue to thrive to pollinate our fruit and veg.

So, I'm removing all the old shrubs from the front garden that we inherited from the previous owner and I'm going to replace them with plants that will benefit bees. Pretty plants, plants with glorious scents that make you bury your nose in their petals and take a deep sniff and 'WATCH OUT FOR THE BEE!'

I did make a start on the border last autumn, when a morning of light pruning turned into a whole day of Indiana Jones-type undergrowth decimation. But I need to get to grips with the old rose bushes that are way past their best and the roots of shrubs that, judging by the bit of experimental tugging I tried, have their roots encased in concrete. And I'll leave the magnolia bush that Andy bought me as a gift a couple of years ago(and it is a bush, Andy, NOT a tree. It won't get any bigger than it is. I know you're disappointed about this, but if you want a tree, you have to read the label and buy a tree and not a bush!), and the shrub under which is buried Tybalt's sister, Lilith, who died last year. But everything else is going.

My son, Chris, who works in a garden centre and knows a bit about gardening, popped in to visit this morning. I said, 'How would you go about getting rid of all those rose bushes and shrub roots?' I thought, cunningly, 'If I'm lucky, he'll say, 'It's okay Mum, I'll pop round next week on my week off and dig them out for you.' Unfortunately, taking a subtle hint is not one of his strong points so all I got was a detailed lecture on what chemicals to use and when to use them. Ah well, at least Heather will get a laugh when she reads this and marvels at my naiive optimism!

I'm also wondering if we can squeeze a polytunnel in the back garden. I run the idea by Mrs Miggins.
'Oooh yes,' she says. 'It'd be like having the Eden Project on our doorstep.'
'If you fill it with sand and a paddling pool, it'll be like Saint Tropez,' adds Mrs Slocombe and, as I look at her more closely, it does seem as if she has pecked her feathers into the shape of a chicken bikini.
'I was thinking about using it for tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers,' I say. 'You won't be allowed in, I'm afraid, not after what you've done to the lawn.'
'In that case, I think it's a very poor idea,' says Miggins. 'How about a jacuzzi instead?'