Peak Yellow

We have hit “peak yellow”. The oilseed rape has reached its apogee and is now a good 3 foot high. We can no longer see the little fluffy flag of Lyra’s tail if she ventures into the field and the smell, which has just a tang of honey, is overwhelming after a light rain.

Yesterday morning Lyra and I had a lovely scramble in the little wood. It is almost deafening with the sound of hoverflies. Curious little insects, they really do just seem to hang in the air. The ferns are unrolling and there is a general spangling of wild flowers. There are also several young elms. It looks like they have suckered from mature trees which succumbed to elm disease so these too may eventually be struck down (the beetles tens to strike at mature trees of 20 years or more). I do hope not though.

I was busy showing Keith the best way into the wood in the evening when Lyra decided to venture into the rape field. She disappeared. For what felt like an awfully long time.

There was extensive bellowing and wheedling before she trotted out, thoroughly pleased with herself, tail wagging merrily. Keith’s nerves were distinctly frazzled. I have found an old gym whistle in the kitchen drawer and this morning whistle training commenced, and we eschewed the rape field for a slightly lower crop.

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