The surrounding slopes are a jungle of greenery at present. An observer could well imagine that Gamone is a natural Garden of Eden, but this is an illusion, for the limestone soil is not rich at all. Thick wisteria leaves and rose bushes conceal the southern half of the façade of the house.
A local craftsman will be coming here in August to renovate this façade by replacing all the ancient mortar between the hunks of stone. Prior to his arrival, I'll have to cut back all these wisteria and rose branches.
On a sunny window sill at the southern end of the house, my miniature Jacaranda Avenue is coming along well:
Natacha gave me seeds from the Mediterranean coast for the two plants on the left, whereas the three smaller plants are grown from seeds I picked up last year in my native South Grafton. Unfortunately I'm unlikely to ever see these tropical American trees growing outside on the slopes of Gamone, because they only thrive in hot humid climates.
My strawberry, lettuce and tomato patches are coming along slowly but well, now that I've fenced them off so that my billy goat Gavroche doesn't wreak havoc upon the tender plants.
This morning, Sophia came back from our customary morning excursion up along the track beyond the house with a gigantic bone.
I have no idea where it was hidden, but I believe it's a bone she brought back from a walk over on the other side of the valley a few years ago. If I were conscientious, I would try to determine from what kind of a beast it comes. But Sophia doesn't need to know that. And neither, for that matter, do I. So, let's simply assume that it was some kind of a big non-human creature that died lawfully and as peacefully as possible. That's more than what can be said, these days, for many poor men, women and children.