Tales of the Lecrin Valley

A personal view of life in an andalusian village.

It is surprisingly cool today, a pleasant change after the scorching hot summer.  If we could alternate days like this with days of hot weather I would be very happy, and would be able to plan my life a bit better.  Still, it is not like UK where there are often four seasons in one day.

What´s going on in the village this week?  Here goes.

Chon One suffered a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and is now very confused.  Her family have taken her with them to Granada to keep an eye on her, leaving four cats and three dogs to roam the streets and forage for food from Monday to Friday.  Canela is looking very forlorn, the other two dogs are feral and eating everything in sight and leaving half chewed packets of various comestibles all over the street in front of Chon´s house.  The cats are better able to cope, but every morning at eightish they are outside the house mewing for food.  They won´t take long to learn that there is no one at home and will no doubt attach themselves to another family, usually British, in very short time.  Meanwhile, I keep thinking that a good sniper position on my roof terrace may be the solution and have zeroed my air rifle in for the appropriate ranges.  It is not powerful to penetrate skin, but it would probably make them realise that there are danger zones any closer than fifty metres to my house.

The almond harvest is in full swing, the constant noise of the de-husking machines punctuating the quiet of the village.  These are weird machines, like Gatling guns stood on their barrels, which spit almonds in one direction and husks in another.  It has been a bumper harvest this year, which gives all the farmers room for complaint as the prices are down accordingly.  They can keep almonds for up to three years before they go rancid so most of them are squirelling a proportion away for next year in case that is a lean harvest.

Tonight is the night for me to irrigate our finca.  We have a large pipe running from the acquia real, which is one hundred metres above the finca, down to capillary tubes which feed each tree.  It is a pain to set up and get running as each tube has to be properly positioned and clear from debris, but it is very effective and saves the maintenance of acequias.  Unfortunately the wild boar have taken to digging where the irrigation tubes are disgorging the water and making themselves mud baths.  They are big beasts with ferocious tusks and temperaments and the males can weigh up to two hundred and fifty pounds in  old money.  So maybe there is justifiction in upgrading my air rifle to a fully fledged combat weapon.  One probelm is that I doubt whether I would pass the psychiatric test necessary to own one. 

On reflection, it is probably not worth trying to take the test as they may keep me there for further evaluation when they learn about my justifiable paranoia concerning  dogs, cats, donkeys and wild boar.  I know that they aren´t targetting me specifically, or at least  I don´t think they are, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the cats are talking about me behind my back and planning my demise.  The dogs are tuned into my mind, know when I am into my deepest sleep phase and then bark madly to ensure that I wake with enough adrenalin in my bloodstream to keep me awake for the rest of the night.  And although Lolita the donkey is no longer living next door, I’m sure she is somewhere planning her revenge for the hormillas incident and it will only be a matter of time before she turns up and bites or kicks me.  Or gets one of her friends to do it for her, because I know they´re all in cahoots.

And that is it for today.  The Lolita incident can be viewed on the Tales of the Valley part of the blog.