The Garden at 304 Francis...

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes;

And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.

But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor!

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter!

'One teaspoonful to be taken at bed-time.'

But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries, for supper.

THE END.

In our garden this weekend I found baby birds, so pale and with big bulging eyes still covered in skin. Not a slick of a feather to be found, and no momma around to pester me, so I couldn't quite tell what type of bird they might be. Nevertheless they cried like mockingbirds.

Near the backdoor our fig tree is bearing fruit again...

I plucked two miniature strawberries from the pot on the picnic table, of course the best I have ever tasted...

The fenced garden was blooming with mint as always and sprays of basil, every shape, colour and flavour imaginable pierced with steamy air in the afternoon.

Da's newest addition, a la farmer McGreggor, is near the back of the yard.

We've already seen pumpkins, little dainty watermelons barely striped in green, and snap peas.

Oh, the tomatoes, the tomatoes! Vine heavy Beef Steaks, little mouth popping grapes, stylish yellow pears, and vintage heirlooms all being simultaneously watched by human and avian eyes. Who will reach them first is merely a battle of speed and stealth. Mockingbirds will become vicious around cats, loud cars and the loss of a great tomato.