I can always rely on rhubarb to cheer me up, on yet another wet morning, when my plans to belatedly plant my maincrop potatoes are once again thwarted. The beautifully prepared bed I have earmarked for them is now a moated island... and not the tropical sort!
The rhubarb however is in full swing. Don’t you love a true stalwart that delivers reliably on minimal attention?
Amid visions of simmering pies and steaming crumbles I tug at the crimson stalks and unknowingly dislodge a bundle of dry grass at the centre of the plant. Quick as a flash, half a dozen teeny, velveteen bodies with pink tails wriggle out of sight. I do hope they find their way back to their cosy nest and I do I hope I haven’t picked the umbrella that was sheltering them from the rain. Sorry chaps!
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