Doctor Arenicola Marina (his scientific name of course) prefers the quiet life down in the burrow beneath the sand, not far from the home for waifs and strays. For entertainment he listens to the goings on above ground. This is far louder during the summer months and can get a wee bit annoying.

     Being a lugworm can be lonely at times and very occasionally, he will risk his life and peep up through the sand to see what’s going on. Despite being an old man of almost six years, he still likes to slide up the head shaft to where he can enter the small saucer-shaped depression, which is a simple design made when Doctor Arenicola Marina eats the sand then uses the basin as a toilet. However, he does risks having his bottom pecked off by bottom eating birds that watch his every move. But Doctor Arenicola Marina is very clever and has only lost his bottom once. He has since, grown another bottom which he carefully guards when needs are a must. Now opposite the tail shaft you will notice a curly sand cast made by the doctor himself. You can see why I call him Doctor Arenicola Marina, as he is like my kind and unassuming husband, very clever! At this point, I must tell you that my kind and unassuming husband has never had his bottom pecked off by any bird, he is much too smart to let happen.

      Doctor Arenicola Marina sighs to himself as he watches for birds out to get him, . Being around twenty two centimetres long, he is an easy target from the air but the doctor is quick to sense if danger is near

       Now Doctor Arenicola Marina isn’t always a lonely old lugworm, he has many children. They swim in the sea and live in burrows. What Doctor Arenicola Marina must have, I conclude, is an imagination. That, in itself, is what keeps him going.

Driving through the long and winding country lanes of Wales, during these spring months, reminds me of my school rambles. The sudden burst of flowers, with colours to send an artist running for his brushes, vie for the suns attention and its warmth. 

      Wild garlic mixed in with forget me nots and stinky bobs (herb Robert) and honeysuckle, to mention just a few. A heady mix of aromas rush through my camper window as I slow the pace right down, wanting the moment to last; wanting to remember the images of my childhood once again.

       My father called the hedges mini nature reserves, which they are, in their own right. This vibrant ecosystem is home to insects, field mice, butterflies and birds. Slowworms hide in the tall grass and hedgehogs hibernate there when there is nowhere else to go.

       Birds nest in the brambles, embroidered around the dead wood which is home to invertebrates and food for the bats. The great crested newts scurry through the stems upon which you will find the stag beetle and the scorpion fly.  

       As a child I imagined fairies living in the granny’s bonnets and could never understand how some people say they resemble an eagle’s claw. And the bees that buzz inside them, a perfect setting for a child’s imagination. It’s no wonder I grew up the way I did.

       And let us not forget the road on which I travel, the same road that was once a dirt track winding its way between these hedgerows and used by our ancestors down through the years.

       Oh if only hedges could talk! But then again they don’t need too; it is all there for everyone to see, hear, feel, taste, and touch. It is a world within a world, a commune of creatures and plants all depending on this natural habitat in order to survive. Long live the hedges!

I just had the sudden urge to talk to you again. The sun is shining brilliantly, through in the small room where I write, overlooking our allotment. I have just come in from digging and planting and stood looking out at the hard work my kind and unassuming husband has done to allow me to grow enough vegetables to last all year.

Even in the smallest of gardens, you can grow something edible. Outside my kitchen door, I have pots galore, filled with mint, parsley, sage, thyme, oregano, tarragon, lemon balm, coriander, lavender and heaps more. All they need is watering. I grow lettuce in tins of my kitchen window sill and dry herbs and fruit rings from the ceiling. Ok, it is not to everyone’s taste, having a living kitchen...but you can if you want! It is so rewarding. All this said, I would like to add, that by keeping it simple (at least to start) is probably the best way forward. You don't want to overwhelm yourself with too many plants. Start slow! Enjoy playing and experimenting in your own space.

As many of you already know, we also rescue battery hens. Well, we try to help all animals that somehow find their way to our home for waifs and strays. Just like Lolo, an old homeless dog that came to us on Christmas day some time ago. We didn’t want a dog, mainly because of our rescued cats and hens but she won us over and is now a valued member of our quirky family.

Well back to gardening. I am no gardener, other than in my dreams. However, I love to watch Monty Don and Alys Fowler and always try to follow their advice. My father was a gardener but mainly flowers, and he could thrive almost entirely on food from the hedgerows and the beach where we lived. In our garden for waifs and strays, we tend to let the flowers grow wild around the pond, however, they seem to have got out of hand this year and now we’re concentrating on a disciplined edible garden. This means plenty of hard work, weeding and watering. I will keep you up to date with our progress.  

Every week I pay a visit to Carmarthen, the oldest town in Wales (so it claims) and every week I travel the same road home. Yesterday however,  was different! I went cross country, thinking it would be a short cut...How wrong was I?

     Instead of going straight over the crossroads, I turned left onto a quiet lane, thinking it would cut off a huge part of my journey. There was no sign to say it would, it just looked like it should. The sun shone through the windscreen and I felt a surge of excitement. I love adventures!

     Driving down lanes laced with wild flowers took my breath away. Every so often I would pass an isolated farm but no other car, just the odd tractor as I drove up and down small hills and over the oldest of quaint bridges where our ancestors trodded. This didn’t seem to bother me at first, I was heading the right way, so I thought! My excitement grew, as if I had discovered a new part of Wales, a part no one else had ever seen. I just couldn’t wait to tell my kind and unassuming husband on my eventual return.

     I braked suddenly, just in front of the oldest oak tree I had ever seen. But it wasn’t just the tree that caught my eye, but the buzzard that sat on its naked branch. I turned off the engine and watched, mesmerised by its large broad body and a pale necklace of feathers.  

     Further along the lane, I saw newly born lambs wobbling besides their mothers. It reminded me Sandwich and all the other wee lambs that had passed through our home for waifs and strays and I smiled. However, my smile soon faded when I realised I was lost.

     Deciding to turn the car around and go back the way I came seemed the best option. The lanes were getting narrower and grass grew down the centre making driving difficult. And just at that moment, I saw the most amazing site. A Red Kite! It was unmistakable with its reddish brown body and forked tail. Saved from extinction by one of the world’s longest running protection programmes, these magnificent birds of prey can now be seen across many parts of Wales. I felt blessed!

     Back at our home for waifs and strays, I told my kind and unassuming husband all about my journey home and how the road less travelled took twice as long but a hundred times more interesting. And yet another tale to tell my readers!

I often think about the animals that scurry through our garden at this late hour, the hedgehogs, polecats, foxes (lovely animals, despite being a relative of the wolf and not very chicken friendly!) shrews and rats ugh! And of course the mice!

    With less competition at night, the bat with its leathery wings, is a frequent visitor to our garden and contrary to belief, the bat is not blind. In fact, bats often have better eye sight than humans.

     There’s an owl that rests occasionally in the tree by the pond. With her heart shaped face, she has her eyes on shrews with their voracious appetite. And oops I mustn’t forget the frogs and the newts all gathering in their birth place and and soon to arrive are the toads with their warty skin and squat bodies.

     Sleep well all of you!