It’s not only the seasons that seem to have shifted here. At this time of year, we should have snow on the mountains; instead it looked more as if we had a volcano out there this morning.
Category: village life
for everything there is a season
I took this photo today; elsewhere in garden, the violets have been in flower for a couple of weeks. 
I don’t doubt that for everything there is a season. It just isn’t always the one you’d expect it to be.
of pigs and poetry
It’s a piece that I’ve been intending to write ever since we bought the house in the village and were told the guy couldn’t come to prune the trees on the long December puente as he’d be busy with la matanza.
In most parts of Spain, a cada cerdo le llega su San Martín – pigs get what’s coming to them on November 11th – but it seems that in our village it’s more traditional for the pig slaughter to take place on the feast of la Inmaculada.
That juxtaposition of the innocence and virginal white of the immaculate conception with the sheer red-blooded traditional country ritual of pig slaughter seems to be crying out for a poem to be written.
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room at the inn
We stopped for an aperitivo at a local bar at lunchtime and found the owner’s brother busy setting up a belén – the traditional nativity scene complete with stable, inn, and all the activity of the little town of Bethlehem.
The guy was clearly an experienced belenista.
The scene had been allocated something over two square metres of table space and although the basic layout was settled, he was still working out some structural details. The figures were sitting on another table waiting to be put in position.
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now I’ve seen it all
I’ve seen it all – though sadly I don’t have photos, so have had to link to other sites: I’ve finally seen all the animals and birds that appear on the information board along by the river in the village. There aren’t that many, but it’s taken me six years to get a full house:
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don't confuse the narrator 