Forbidden fruit

Sure, it's summer in Houston, which means 110 in both the Fahrenheit and humidity columns, but there are some plus sides to living in a swamp-furnace: we can grow our own limes!

When I was young the only person around who could grow citrus fruit was local aristocrat Lord Bath, in the Orangery at his stately home. Now I can grow them by planting a tree in my front yard! This is known as "class mobility".

Not that it was easy. We had to go to a nursery for local plants and promise that we wouldn't take the tree we bought out of the county, but having signed the paperwork, put the tree in the ground, and waited two years, we finally have our first crop of limes. And what were limes invented for? Gin and tonic.

Unfortunately, our limes are kaffir limes, which are a lot more wrinkly than your standard lime, and have a pungency about them deriving from the huge amount of lime oil in their skins. As such, I can tell you from bitter experience that they are not very pleasant when dropped into a G&T.

A quick online search informed me that I should be using the leaves rather than the fruit for cooking, or maybe just a little zest in green curry, and that the "essential oil" I can extract from the skins makes for an excellent and effective household cleaning spray.

But if you think a generous portion of household cleaner in the glass was going to stop me finishing my gin...then you don't know me very well.

Look what I grew!

Easy does it.

Ripe and wrinkly, just like me.

That is a fine lime, even if I do say so myself.

Worth the two-year wait. Sort of.

Home to a hotspot

Unfortunately it was time to say goodbye to the pine-fresh, humidity-free air of Oklahoma and drive back down to Houston. The Texas border was still open - in the southerly direction, at least - which was a relief as we were front page of the BBC! Not because I'd won the Nobel Prize for literature, or peace, or whatever, but because we're apparently the world's worst Coronavirus hotspot. Florida, Arizona, and Brazil might have something to say about that, but everyone knows Texas is always #1.

We spent our last days in the cabin spotting wildlife while sitting around a fire, enjoying a little more kayaking, and hiking around woods that included caves where famed outlaw Jesse James used to hang out! The man had the right idea - now I'm on the lookout for a chunk of Oklahoman land to purchase, somewhere to run to when things (continue to) go wrong.

There are no gators in Oklahoma. At least, I think there are no gators...

Off on the hiking trail!

About as happy as Pete gets on any hike.

Jesse James used to live here, but these gangsters will only steal your heart :)

A good place to hide.

Pete displaying his excellent Cub Scouting skills. He must have a great Den leader.

Hotdogs by the fire.

The neighbours got nosey.

Stinky feet. He gets that from his mother's side of the family.

There was one happy surprise waiting for us at home.

Hammocks and kayaks

After staring at the same four walls since whenever all this virus stuff started, we decided to take a break. "Where can we drive to that's less humid than Houston and we won't see another soul?" was the question. The answer was obvious: Oklahoma!

I don't know much about Oklahoma, being a Sound Of Music chap myself, but it's the state that's directly north from us and rudely separates Texas from Kansas and Colorado with its ridiculous panhandle. We drove around Dallas, through a massive thunderstorm or two, and were soon in rolling forested hills without another car in sight.

We'd found a literal cabin in the woods in which to seclude ourselves, and the sign on the gate said the owner was a member of the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association; the first thing we look for when choosing accommodation. The track to the house passed the outside loo, which was a bit of a worry, but thankfully the modern cabin has two toilets inside, as well as wi-fi. All you need for a week of isolation.

Since then we've been kayaking, hiking, bird watching, chasing fireflies, and generally wondering how we could make this lifestyle long-term and sustainable (although the wi-fi is a little slow). Meanwhile, Houston has been hit with flood and plague so...yeah, I guess we're Okies now!

Our cabin.

Our toilet.

Our nearest neighbour.

The very rare sight of Hannah actually relaxing.

Checking for more wildlife.

A spot of fishing at the local lake (results: fish need not worry).

The real reason we bought kayaks.

A little more fishing, with the same outcome.

Staying 200m apart.

A walk in the woods.

And there are plenty of them.

Just like Bournemouth Beach.

Up The Creek

With everything that's happening, I'm on alert for a huge flood to wipe out life from the face of the Earth. I know God made a promise to Noah, but I can't help feeling that circumstances have changed since then.

So to put my fears to rest I bought a couple of inflatable kayaks! Together with my 200 rolls of toilet paper, 500 tins of food, and my secret underground bunker, I'm quietly confident we can survive the next few months.

But what's the point of an emergency plan if you haven't tested it? Which is why me, Hannah and Pete headed up to The Woodlands this morning to make sure our boat could float. This is a shiny suburban part of the city, with everything planned around waterways. Thank goodness we never get hurricanes or flooding!

Hannah had already completed a literal dry run in our living room so I left the hard work of inflating the boat to her. It was surprisingly quick, and together with the inflatable seats and clip-together oars the whole arrangement looked vaguely seaworthy. We lowered it from the dock, lowered ourselves in, and drifted off.

It was wonderful! There are no worries about social distancing when you're surrounded by water; one day I'll get my own castle with a moat. We made our way serenely across the lake and down through some landscaped channels between stylish apartment blocks, sharing greetings with other kayakers and paddleboarders as we passed.

I was up front and Hannah and Pete were in the back - the "engine room" as I believe Olympic rowers refer to it - but unfortunately most of the paddling was left to me, which meant that my prime athletic physique was feeling very tired after about fifteen minutes of splashing. We bobbed around, admiring the flowers and the wildlife, and took a circuit around one of the lake fountains without getting too wet

Soon we were back on shore, having had a great nautical time. Could we survive a Biblical deluge in this thing? What about taking in the animals two-by-two for forty days/nights? To paraphrase the famous shark documentary: we're gonna need a bigger boat.

Well done Hannah. I'll just stand here and supervise...

At the back.

The full crew!

Drifting about in The Woodlands.

How's flood insurance out here?

"Jump in and we'll take you to safety!" He didn't respond.

Mad dogs and Englishmen

I'm not a dog person. I'm not much of a person person to tell the truth, but today the limits of my empathy for both man and beast were tested when a stray dog arrived at our house.

It all started when I looked out of the door at the wrong moment and saw a black dog standing on our driveway. When it became clear it wasn't on a leash and didn't have an owner anywhere near I mentioned it to (animal lover) Hannah, who rushed out to see what was going on.

The poor animal was very skittish and somewhat crazed by the heat, although it was wearing a collar so we figured it would come to us with some gentle coaxing. No such luck! After chasing it around for half-an-hour I would have left it at that, having watched the documentary Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey and therefore confident it would get home, but Hannah wouldn't listen. Some time later, with the help of a sausage, we shut the gate to our yard having tricked it inside.

"Congratulations on your new puppy!" said next door neighbour Mo, who had been watching this all with much amusement. But I was having none of that so called dog-owning Kindra, throwing myself at her mercy with "Help! I'm a foreigner who has no idea what to do when you have a stray dog trapped in your yard!"

Kindra and Levi came to the rescue with a jar of peanut butter and a stick. The dog was not happy with anyone coming near, with much nipping and baring of teeth, but we discovered a name and number on its collar, although getting close enough to read would have risked losing a finger. Then Kindra worked her stick/peanut butter magic, and with the use of a digital camera we managed to get a picture that we could enlarge enough to read! It turned out that "Duke" had an owner, one that didn't answer when we called.

We all adjourned to bed, leaving a savage animal with a nice bowl of water to drink and our porch to shelter under rent-free. How I got a wink of sleep I'll never know, but the owner called back at 4.15am (?!?) and we eventually organised a hand-off later that morning.

When I cautiously opened the door to refill Duke's water it was like being greeted by a different dog! There was much tail-wagging, sniffing and pawing, and attempts to get into the house, as though apologising for the poor behaviour of yesterday. My heart thawed ever so slightly. Maybe it would be nice to have a fluffy companion (other than Hannah). But then the owner arrived - extremely thankful for what we'd done - and Duke was very happy to see him, so we waved them all goodbye as the sun was rising.

It was as I walked back to the front door that I noticed the poo everywhere. EVERYWHERE! From just one night!! There followed twenty minutes of scooping, hosing, and no small amount of swearing. Why does anyone own a dog?! A 7-yr-old boy is enough wild animal for this house.

I thought a guard dog was meant to keep people out, not in.

More my kind of animal (the cat, not the child).

--

PS Duke's owner came back later with a big box of cookies to say thank you! With that kind of payment, his dog can poo in my yard anytime.

The Graduate

It's the last day of 1st Grade at The Davies School For The Exceptionally Gifted and the results of the survey are in! They are as follows:

• Most popular teacher: Mr Davies
• Best principal: Mr Davies
• Most talented maths/english/science/music/etc teacher: Mr Davies
• Mejor profesor de espanol: Señor Davies

I could go on, but to say I'm surprised and humbled would not be entirely accurate.

Luckily Pete's real teacher, Mr Botello, was on hand to wish him a virtual "all the best" and to helpfully remind him to read every day and listen to his parents. He also told us how honoured he was to have Pete in his class and what great parents we were. I blushed and agreed.

After that it was all about the celebrations, which included cakes made by Hannah and some chicken nuggets passed over the garden fence by Levi, followed by a Zoom call with many of Pete's class. Moving to 2nd Grade doesn't usually involve the fantastic American movie graduation ceremonies and proms, but it was still a little wistful to see all the kids together who have been apart for so long.

And as for The Davies School? Well, despite the teaching accolades, there are whispers it is not going to pass its forthcoming inspection so we're closing down and making all former pupils sign non-disclosure agreements before any legal challenges crop up. Constant prayer will be uttered for the safe reopening of real school in August. Until then, it's the summer holidays! And if I had no clue what I was doing up to now, just wait until you see the next twelve weeks...

Virtual graduation.

You've got to start educating the Champagne palate from a young age.

Hannah's cake. No artificial colours or flavours.

Suddenly a second grader.

Class reunion (with the added benefit of being able to turn down the volume).

To recycle? To burn? To bury somewhere deep and dark where I never see them again? Such choices!

One season in one day

It has been determined that the 2020 hurricane season will be worse than normal. Given that four of the past five years have been "worse than normal", and that no one can remember what normal is anyway, it's not much of a surprise. But it did bring some excitement to homeschool today when we got our first storm warning, especially because we had to clear out the drains (yes, going outside to clear drains now counts as exciting, especially to dad-the-teacher).

Some years ago Houston began letting people adopt their nearby storm drains, so we hilariously gave two to Ellen and Meg for Christmas. Imagine my surprise when I received an email about the incoming storm and the fact it's now our responsibility to clean the aforementioned conduits! Turns out a drain is for life, not just for Christmas, so Pete and I ventured into the scorching sun and smothering humidity to keep our neighbourhood safe from flooding.

We found our drains to be clean as a whistle - naturally - so rolled our wheelie bin down to some others, clearing rotting leaves and generally sprucing things up until, having been thanked by various passers-by, we retreated from our own dripping sweat for some well earned iced drinks.

The storm indeed arrived a few hours later, though was distinctly not worse than normal and did little to challenge our drains, especially in their shiny new expurgated state. I guess we'll see if the rest of the season delivers the foretold cataclysm; our governor has decided he's bored with Coronavirus and everyone should get out again regardless of, oh I don't know, science and death, so perhaps the universe is considering sending him a message.

Sentenced to community service.

Retrieving an annoying Pabst Blue Ribbon can (not mine).

The rain came down...

...but the floods didn't come up because we'd cleared the drains!

On days like this, there's only one thing to do.