Harvest music

Lachlan and Keith volunteered to reassemble the Plough marquee yesterday in anticipation of reopening (hopefully before too long as we have missed it sorely). I was deemed surplus to requirements and had settled down to a snack with a view to some weeding after when the call came through to “take Lyra for a walk and entertain her”. The entertainment was immediately accomplished as when I turned my back for a nano second to answer the phone Lyra made off with a huge slice of game pie from the table. She was thoroughly pleased with herself and my weight loss programme was also much advanced.

We set off for a yomp round the fields. (I am avoiding the little woods for now as I believe the pheasant chicks have now gone in. I might sneak up for a look without the pie snatcher to check later in the week). Some kind soul has trimmed the margins and the walking is so much easier now there is no need to squeeze between the thistles. Everything is golden and harvest must be just around the corner. The wind in the drying ears of corn has a curious sound, not a rustle but more of a bell-like papery tinkle. The blue vetch seems to be having a second spurt and the big scary thistles, the burdock and ragwort are all now flowering much to the satisfaction of the butterflies and bees. The thistles in particular seem to be attracting the most enormous bumble bees – as big as my thumb joint. As we went around the back of Butterlaw we could see several new alpacas. They were as curious about Lyra as she was about them so we spent quite a while hanging over the fence. They have such funny little faces.

Walking back along the Butterlaw road what a cacophony there was in the hedges. There were the peep peepers, the chuck chuckers and the trillers all giving it laldy – a most multicultural hedge. It was a blustery day so adding to this chorus we had a steady singing in the telephone lines as well (which in turn led to a rather off key rendition of “I am the linesman for the county). Luckily, no sign of Simon jogging so I got away with it. As we rounded the corner past the wood at Trasnagh we startled some wood pigeons. They exploded from the trees in tones of opera gloved applause. (I wonder if a good night at Bayreuth sounds like the raising of several brace of wood pigeon?). Looking up, I noticed that the old scrog apple tree was laden with fruit. Signs of autumn already.