Smoke Signals

October heralds the start of the smoke season on the nearby allotments where DH has a plot. During the summer months, bonfires are banned to allow local residents to use their gardens, open their windows and dry laundry, without fear of being smoked out.

It was a beautiful sunny autumn Friday, perfect drying weather.
I am home alone, catching up on paperwork and laundry.
DH is pottering on his allotment.
The load containing beddings reaches an impressive crescendo, before staggering to a halt. The machine gives an irritating series of beeps to notify me that the cycle is complete.
Right on cue smoke arises from the allotments.
To make matters worse it is from DH's plot! Grrrr!
I send him a text containing a sound file of the washing machine beep.
Then I send him a second and third for good measure.
"Nothing arriving" comes the reply
"Sound files!" I retort.
I phone him. It is easier than yelling and more discrete...
"If you are going to send me a message, send me a message!" 
"I did!"
"Well, all I got was a series of beeps!" came the somewhat bewildered reply.
"Don't you recognise the sound of your own washing machine?" I ask,"I am waiting to hang the laundry out, when the smoke finally abates!"
Actually, the recording on the phone sounds nothing like the washing machine, but I do not mention that fact, as it weakens my case."
"It's nearly done" he replies.

After lunch, the washing machine is put through its revolutions for a second time. DH returns to de-weeding his fruit cages. The machine finishes, just as smoke arises from DH's allotment once again.
I text him a picture of the offending smoke with a cheery message
"I am watching"
"It started spontaneously!" he claimed later.
I was unconvinced.
During the afternoon, I fit in half an hour of garden pottering.
Moving some of the plants from the bed adjacent to the patio, in preparation for the planned redesign.
The bed is over 6 foot deep, and slopes awkwardly towards the garage.
The plants that are in it are too big and completely obscure the planters at the back of the bed.
Colourful, it may be, but it is too chaotic and requires a rethink.



Meanwhile, on the other side of the garden, the winter-flowering Jasmine is already putting on a good show, before the last of the summer flowers have finished.
I find some lower branches that have rooted and move them to other parts of the garden.
They may take, if they don't I will try again.
Self-set climbing nasturtiums add extra unexpected colour.

I log on to Facebook. A meme comes up of a horror scene with the request to post the last text you sent. I obediently post
"I am watching." as that was the last one I sent, which was to DH, objecting to his bonfire.
In this context, it felt a tad macabre, but strangely fitting!

I brought the washing in.
The oak trees do a good job of shielding us from the worst of the smoke. Occasionally we have to close the vents if the wind is towards the back of the house, but it is not often.
I would rather have the allotments than more housing.
Don't tell DH, but I quite like watching the smoke, but I prefer the more genteel plumes rising artistically towards the heavens, to a billowing mass...

Later, long after DH has left his allotment, smoke arises from his bonfire once again.
This time I definitely know it isn't him, as he is the other side of town.
Sometimes we can misread smoke signals even if we think the evidence is compelling...