Peace comes dropping slow

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

WB Yeats: The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I've not got room for nine bean rows in my micro-plot, but I've finally got around to planting up what I have. Here it is, all marked out with green twine for planting with chard, pak choi, beetroot, radicchio...


Here's the contents of my compost dalek. It's less icky than usual because I covered most of the rotting fruit with the weeds I pulled out of the plot. I'm a sworn enemy of Creeping Buttercup (Ranunculus repens).



This bitch is my motherfuckin' hoe:



Here's Poop dilligently 'hiding' french beans: