Some time ago, well over a year ago, possibly two, a car appeared in one of the side streets off the main road through the village. Of course, it didn’t appear by magic. Somebody must have parked it there, obviously, but it scarcely looked roadworthy. It was an old, quite battered, rather rusty, once upon a time black but now a rather nondescript colour, Citroën 2CV. One of its headlights drooped badly and it only seemed to have one windscreen wiper.
It made me a little nostalgic as my very first ever car was bright red Citroën 2CV which we drove around the roads of Brittany with the roof rolled back. We more or less moved house, getting a small van only for the biggest pieces of furniture. Oh, the nostalgia! Not that I would care to drive such a fragile-looking vehicle around on today’s crowded roads, let alone motorways!
I tried in vain to find out who this relic belonged to, where it had come from. Nobody seemed to know. It never went anywhere, or certainly didn’t seem to. Weeds and tall grass grew around it, to such an extent that my small grandson thought it had no wheels.
And then, last weekend it disappeared, as mysteriously as it had arrived. All they remained was a rectangle of dry ground surrounded by grass and weeds. I asked one of the local residents, sitting outside his house opposite the parking spot, and he expressed bis surprise, declaring that he had not even noticed it was gone. I’m not surprised at that; he’s one of those people who sits outside with his cigarette, rather withdrawn and surly, barely meeting your eye as you wish him a cheery good-morning on your way past.
So there it was gone! One mystery replaced by another. And now other vehicles park in that spot and the long grass is getting flattened. So it goes.
Our next door neighbour is American; well, one of them is and their offspring still speak with an American accent despite having lived in our village for about ten years. Lisa, the American mother, grows squashes or pumpkins in a little plot in the garden. (She also grew very tall sunflowers this year but they were battered by the rain and wind as they came into their full glory.) Last year the pumpkins grew and ripened nicely in time for Hallowe’en or Thanksgiving - I’m not sure which they celebrated. This year they are rather sad specimens and Lisa has had to work hard to prevent mildew taking over. That’s the kind of soggy summer we’ve had!
This morning I read about someone in Minnesota who grew a giant size pumpkin that weighs 2,749 pounds, a world record apparently. He has won prizes for his pumpkins over the years. He had to transport his prize specimen to the 50th World Championship Pumpkin Weigh-Off in Half Moon Bay, California. Amazing!
(Aside: what a wonderful name: Half Moon Bay. I googled it: “ It is called Half Moon Bay because of its crescent shape.
Originally an agricultural outpost to Mission San Francisco de Asîs, town was founded in the 1840s first as San Benito, and then as its Anglo fishing community grew, it was renamed Spanishtown. In 1874, it was again renamed Half Moon Bay.”)
Somehow I think of those food and produce shows as a very American thing, quite different from the fiestas that Spanish towns organise to celebrate one particular thing they grow or produce, like the Albariño wine festival. Maybe it’s the sheer size of the USA that makes me think of them as being a different kind of thing altogether.
I think I’m also influenced by reports like this :
“Bob Dylan made a surprise appearance with members of The Heartbreakers at Farm Aid yesterday [September 23, 2023], report multiple sources.
Dylan – who helped conceive Farm Aid in 1985 – played played three songs from 1965: “Maggie’s Farm”, “Positively 4th Street”, and “Ballad of a Thin Man”. Aside from the revelatory nature of the appearance, backing band and setlist, Dylan also played guitar throughout; since 2012, he has played keyboards at this concerts.
This was the first time Dylan had performed “Maggie’s Farm” since 2011, “Positively 4th Street” since 2013 and “Ballad Of A Thin Man” since 2019.”
And somehow I imagined that such shows in the UK only existed nowadays in Archers Land, the mythical Ambridge. So I did a bit of a search and discovered this:
“UK Royal County Shows
Counties around Britain, that hold their own shows, these include; the Royal County of Berkshire Show, the Cheshire Show, the Royal Cornwall Agricultural Show, the Devon County Show, the Kent County Show, the Westmorland County Show, Dorset, Hampshire, Hertfordshire, Lancashire, Norfolk, Nottinghamshire, Staffordshire, Suffolk, and Surrey.
Not only is the Great Yorkshire show the largest, it was the first purpose-built showground.
There’s something truly special about being among the hustle and bustle of the showgrounds, surrounded by people who are passionate about the land and the animals that live on it.”
There was a whole list of shows to go to. I stand corrected!
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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