THE WOLF FART.


   Picked up a lovely bit of imformation the other day on the common
   puffball.

  Its latin name is 'lycoperdon', 'lyco is Latin for Wolf.
                                                       'perdon' is Greek for, to break wind.
   Thus 'Wolf fart".

   l suppose that means that 'perdon me' is taken from the Greek!

   Another name for this puffball is 'The Devils snuff box'.
'

                  THE MIGHTY ALMANZORA.


   Sept: 16th has been and gone and no rain has come. Sept:16th is
traditionally the day the rains arrive, the weather cools and we find
out were the leaks are!

   The Almanzora river is, these days reduced to a dry river bed, or
rambler. On your maps you will see a lovely blue meandering line,
rising on the northern slopes of the Sierra de los Filabres in
Granada and emptying into the sea between Palomares and Villaricos,
some 90 kilometres away.
  All the old folk here tell us how, 50 years ago, the river always flowed.
It was full of fish. Then the fields were planted, on the flood plains, with
crops of maize, pumpkin, beans, oats, sugarcane, potatoes ect: This
was before the orange trees were planted on mass and the plastic
giant took over. Then the river had to be crossed on horseback, or accross
huge stepping - stones, or over the trolls rickety wooden bridge. The
dead were even taken by boat up the river to the cemetery .

  So now, with the lack of rainfall and the damning and redirection of the river
to irrigate the crops, of the multi billion £ corporations, who grow perfect
vegetables for export, it is said that, whenever the clouds gather in the skys,
two small aircaft fly back and forth spraying them to disperse them.
These planes are set in action by the insurance companies, because they
do not want to pay for flood damage!

   It's hard to imagine that a river flows here, but flow it does - 'The Mighty
Almanzora', roaring all the way to the sea. The first time we experienced it,
was whilst sitting on the doorstep one morning drinking a cup of tea. We
realised we could hear a thunderous noise, so load that at first we had not
registered it. We took one look at each other and said 'River'. Dropping our
mugs we hastily went down to see. There from bank to bank was a brown swirling,
raging river, pushing and shoving all in its wake The little wooden bridge was
 gone, we were trapped. How exciting!

   It was in 1973 that the rivers truly flooded, all joining forces, creating massive
waves,  that breached the bridge in the centre of Albox. The waters swept
away others, took farms, cortijos, mills, animals and even people in their beds.
It had been raining for sometime and the mountains had plenty of snow. The
ramblers started to run, slowly at first, then in the darkness of night it
rose and rose. This whole area was declared a disaster zone and the queen of
Spain came to see.

  It happened again in sept:2012. It had not rained for some years and the
ground was hard and parched. One morning l awoke to the beautiful smell
of wet earth. Wet earth smells aromatic here. Then the rain started, growing
stronger and stronger, next torential. The old house started to leak, the water
poured in under the kitchen door. l began sweeping it out the house.
For five hours l battled, eventually it eased. My daughter phoned to ask how l
was? l said that it had rained rather a lot and l had been
 sweeping water out  the
house for five hours. She laughed and told me that it had  rained from
Malaga to Murcia. All the bridges were gone and the main motorway impassable.
People and animals had been swept away. The mouth of the river was choked
with vehicles, fridges, washing machines, well, the whole contents of hundreds
of homes, farms and businesses. The crops were ruined. Infact they declared
that it was worse than 1973!

  It's not rained now for a few years, it has clouded over a few times, with rumbles
of thunder. This is always, these days, followed by the sound and sight of two small
aircraft, flying back and forth above us. 'Thats the army doing manouvers', l have
been told. Odd, because always, shortly after, the clouds disapeare and the rain
does not fall!

                                  OH! HEAVENS ABOVE.

     l was sitting on my own the other night and a programme came on
about UFOs and Aliens. l thought great, l'll watch that. Many years ago
l believe that l saw one. l was driving my car in St Catherines Valley, just
outside Bath, in the middle of the day. When an orb appears in the sky,
just above the car, it looked like the full moon but really just above me. l
stopped and stared, not taking my eyes of it. lt stayed awhile then shot
backwards into the distance and disappeared. l turned to my 4 year old
daughter Sally and said "did you see that?", "Yeth", she said, "it wath the
moon and went backwarths.

     So l settled down for the evening. Soon they were talking about people
being picked out , stalked and abducted. They told a story about how
a bus full of ladies, were on there way to play bingo, when a shinning orb
appeared and followed the bus, it hovered for some miles, pulling up along
side it shone a beam into the eyes of one of the women, then disappeared
into the distance, when they arrived at a junction. The women were quite
shook up and the one who had been picked out by the beam said, that her
eyes had changed colour from brown, to one being blue and the other green!.
Oh l felt spooked and switched the telly off and went of to bed.

     Up stairs all was dark and l drifted of to sleep and awoke in the early hours.
l needed the loo, and was fiddling with my phone, because it lights up when l
switch it on. Suddenly a beam of light shoots out from l dont know where.
My heart took a leap, l started to pray and slid down into the bed. The beam
of light followed me into the bed! lt stayed till it dawned on me that my phone
has a torch light that l had accidentally swiched on! Feeling foolish l went to
the loo.

     A couple of nights later l had to get up in the dark to let the dogs in. It was
a beautiful star lit night and l decided to sit outside and gaze into the night sky.
l settled down and looked up. There l sat for sometime when from out of the
milkyway a large shiny star appeared and moved very quickly accross the sky
in a silent zigzag course, moving northward towards to the rising sun. Then it
disapeared into the distance. Umm l thought.

     The next day l went to Mojacar with my friend to paddle in the sea. On the
way back we stopped here and there and found ourselves in a village  we did
not know existed, we found our way back to a familiar road and were chatting.
We realized we were in unfamiliar territory again and had driven for sometime
before arriving back to were we thought we were going. Whatever happened
there l said ""oh" said Julie, "l reckon we have just been abducted".
Der der der der der der der'.

 
   

THE TALE OF CHICKEN TURKEY

            THE TALE OF CHICKEN TURKEY.

     The other saturday my friend Julie came home with a very sorry looking
turkey.  She had rescued it from an old fellow who was selling it. Now is
the time to buy in young turkeys and feed them up for christmas. The poor
bird was in a sorry state. The legs were tied together, it had been flung down
in the blazing sun next to a fruit and veg stall, the old boy was asking 6 euros
for it. Julie had become very upset and angry at the way it had been treated,
so she offered all she had, 5 euros.The old fellow refused saying 6. The
vendor of the veg: stall threw him the last euro, he to was upset by the poor
creatures plight.

     When they arrived back at Julies place, it was realized that the bird could
not stand unassisted. So long it must have lain with its legs trussed together.
It did want to eat and drink, doing so laying on its side. On close inspection the
feet were found to be swollen and very dirty, with ridges imprinted into the
soles, as if it, in its babyhood, had been kept in a wire cage! As the days passed
its feet were twice daily cleaned and dead skin removed. It was held in a bath
of water to encourage it to move its legs and the best way for it to eat was sitting
in a flower pot for support. With great love and patience it recovered and is now
able to stand alone.
     The young turks name is gobble obble. You won't be able to eat it now l said.

     Some years back , down in the Albox rambla on tuesday market day, there
were chicken selling stalls. Live ones, egg laying ones, baby ones, eating ones,
ducklings, quails, geese, and in August turkeys, young ones.

     One tuesday we bought two. Bravely  we said for Christmas and put them in
with the chickens. Every one said "blackdpot". Blackspot is a turkey illness that
likes damp and wet, not so sure here especially in the burning summer. In with
the chickens the turkeys grew and grew. One turned into a girl and one into a
boy. They were neither ugly nor stupid, but wonderous birds, who danced and
gobbled, their heads and necks would change colour, from red to blue. They
would warn of danger and loved to roam far and wide.

     Then came Christmas. My sister said that we were cruel and that she had
seen a turkey weeping. We chickened out and asked the neighbour. He said
that he never kills living things. The boy had been pre promised but we kept
the girl. We turned vegetarian.

     So solitary turk lost her mate and lived with the chickens. In February she
started laying one ovoid buff coloured egg every day in the hens nest. Being
so much bigger than the chickens, she would accidentally break their eggs.
She started to become a bully, not her fault. The pecking order means pecking
and a peck from an enormous turkey hurts.

     Anyway, her preferred perch at night was high on top of the chicken run.
Here she was in mortal danger of her life. She had also taken to nesting
in the bushes. Which ment much trampling around but in her unprotected
home she was happiest. The hens also, could reistablish the pecking order
without getting knocked out or loosing an eye.

     So, one misty night, she disappeared, not a feather!

                     WHAT A CAPER!

     The other day my two elderly spanish neighbours invited me to
go for a walk with them. We set off with sticks in hand and carrier
bags into which we were going to put capers, that would be gathered
on the way.

   As we strolled along they told me that in the old days there was less
wild rosemary because the mountains were heavily grazed by sheep
and goats. They pointed to a missing mountain which had been
blasted with dynamite when the railroad had been built. The man
who did it had stayed with them, he had come from Murcia. They
showed me a spot marked with two stones were a hidden water
supply could be found, fed from Tijola.

   We picked the capers whilst talking. Then they decided to take an
old donkey track up the mountain, they were excited to go this way
because they had not walked it for many years. Mostly the track had
disappeared and it was little more than a pathway. Soon we were
passing about forty beehives. The elder sister wanted to carry on
so we did. The bees took offence and started to warn us, then to
sting. The younger sister, in her late seventies, panicked and flapped
her apron, more flew at us. Oh my l thought here we are up a mountain
with potentially hundreds of thousands of angry bees. The elder sister
kept her cool, with head down she walked on as fast as her arthritic
knees could go. We followed and eventually walked them off.

   When at last we got back, we sat under a fig tree to remove the stings.
They were many, we laughed with relief and said we would never go
that way again.

   Sad to think that each stinger represents a dead bee. Some say that
the stinger in a worker bee is her modified ovipositor. Not sure about
this because the Queen also has a stinger. She also has an ovipositor
but her stinger is straight, so that she can remove it without ripping her
insides out, unlike her barbed daughters stings. The Queen  will
only use hers on another Queen.

   On the other hand the male, drone bees, conceived from an unfertilized
egg, possess no sting. In fact they are little more than a flying phallus.
They hang around in boy bands, lazing about in flowers, helping them
selves to honey, waiting for the scent of the perfumed pheromones
of a rising virgin Queen. Then the race is on to catch her as she ascends
into the heavens. He does have fantastically developed senses of smell
and sight, also very strong wings. The lucky winner gets to mate with the
Queen high in the sky but upon releasing his load his penis breaks off,
tearing his insides out, dropping back to earth stone dead!

 

       CORRIDA DE CINTAS EL FAZ


   It's fiesta time of year and a little village close by, held its
first ever fiesta. It was a small afair but turned out to be very
well attended. With its own statue of St Antonio, patron saint
of farm animals. An outdoor mass was held and blessings
given. Followed by an antique car rally, free paella for all, a
bouncy castle and stalls. The highlight was to be the Corrida
de cinta or the ribbon competition. ( involving horses and riders)

   As with all these gatherings it took time to come together.
Horses and riders arrived from far and wide. All dressed in their
finest chaps, spurs and tassels. Well groomed mounts with
plaited manes and decorated saddles, more like arm chairs.
The excited competitors strutted their stuff amongst the spectator's.
Young and old wandering amongst the mares and stallions.
There were no saftey barriers all milling and mixing together. The
riders wore no hard hats. They were mostly male with one smart lone
lady rider. They pranced, trotted and showed themselves off amongst
the onlookers.

   Eventually all began to gather along a dirt track. Two poles were
erected either side, with a wire strung between the pair. Ribbons
had been wound around the wire, on the end of each was attached
a small plastic loop. The idea being that the riders, armed with a
pencil, gallope up the track and when passing under the wire trys to
hook off a ribbon, releasing it like a banner behind.

   So the riders on their stomping, snorting, steeds loosely organised
themselves to begin. One by one they galloped up and tried to capture
a loop.Easier said than done. The most successfull was Don Quixote on
his clapped out steed with bent back. He trotted up in a hobble de dee
fashion and being rather tall just reached up and scored several bulls
eyes. His side kick Sancho faired less well.

   The most confident rider, an aloof man dressed like a picador, his
hand on his hip, the other holding the reins, faired even less well.
Carrying a pencil instead of a pike, mounted on a stupendous
stallion, heavily controlled with bit, spurs and martingale, he urged
his mount forward and galloped at full pelt towards the loops.
It was the slapping noise that drew my attention, like a thaking.
I looked up and there flapping from side to side was the mounts huge
manhood. The rider thought that he was king of the corrida!
We thought 'GOOD LORD'.

                            I LOVE MY LEAK


     My neighbour called the other day and we got talking about water, as one
does here in desert conditions. It is a constant problem but worse for us is the
lack of natural rainfall. For several decades now the local farmers have been
saying that the reason for the scarcity is because someone is sending up
aircraft to spray the rainclouds,  to stop it raining. At first we thought 'no', but
since then on many occasions we have heard and seen two aeroplanes flying
back and forth above the low lying rainclouds and spaying them with God
knows what to disperse them. lt works, the rain doesn't fall and the clouds move
elsewhere.


     This has been going on for years, the desert creeps closer, the crops fail.
Well the crops of the smaller local farmers fail. The crops of the plastic farmers
boom. They have plenty of irrigated water, they do not rely on rainfall.  lt is now
said that it is the insurance companies manipulating the weather because they
do not want to pay out for rain damaged or flood damaged crops.


     l was then invited to attend a protest rally taking place in the little town of Oria
up in the hills. "Did I want to go"? "Well yes", l replied. So we did. The small town
square was packed with every farmer and his well dressed wife, all excited about
the prospect of being on the telly. The cameras arrived and a group of speakers.
A banner was strung up and speaches made. One orator, an almond farmer from
Murcia rallied the listening asembly  to great excitement and alarm as to the situation.
The telly interviewer asked some stupid questions about the 'legend'. The cameras
zoomed in, the gathered throng where asked to move forwards, so they all shuffled
forward, then they were asked to move backwards, so they all shuffled backwards.
After about an hour it was all over and we drove back down to our valley.


     'Ah the leak'. Yes at the end of my garden l have a water leak. Every now and
again l dutifully inform the water company and they come and fix it. But now l
cover it over with branches to hide it. l have introduced terrapins rescued from the
water hell hole. Planted pumpkin and mint. The singing frogs have found it, insects
busy themselves, grass and flowers grow. This morning whilst drinking my tea,
l could  hear the choir of throaty frogs singing and the fluty yodelling of a golden
oriole bird. It flew down into the tree above me, then another. l froze. Their song
almost sounds like water being poured. I wondered if infact it is their song for,
"here there be water, we have found water!"


     I love my leak.