Oh dear it has been an age since I waxed lyrical on the birds and (worryingly scarce) bees and hedgerow flowers. We have been locked on the gerbil wheel of garden open day preparation for well over a month, weeding and planting and generally faffing round the garden. whilst I have managed to squeeze in many a wander by the river or round the fields by way of “weeding warm up” the time to sit down and let the words come has been sorely lacking. However, all the volunteers and visitors have gone and the kindly rain is pelting against the window, justifying some top quality lurking in the garret time looking over my mountainous stash of photographs from the summer. Grab a coffee and a bun, this could be a long one………..
June hove in with sunshine and blue skies and just enough rain to keep the grass long and lush. Oval planets of plantain were ringed by crazy seed satellites and a burgundy haze of seedheads began to hover on the meniscus of the meadows. Looking down from the top of the flood defences there was a densely woven carpet of comfrey flowers, cow parsley, white campion and fragrant stocks – a carpet with a pile seven foot deep! Lyra began to hover uncertainly at the fishing beat markers, viewing her usual paths down to the river transformed to narrow alleys between towering banks of flowers. Mum and I would pick our way down as back up, lest some giant emerge from the jungle to disturb madam at her ablutions! Finally the bees emerged and set to work. Butterflies were still few and far between but clouds of small grey moths began to hang around the paths tooling for unwary walkers in cashmere sweaters.
Proud parents began to usher little troupes of cygnets and ducklings around the lake at the Hirsel and along the river. Always there seemed one little fellow struggling to catch up under a gimlet maternal eye, having lingered too long inspecting the rushes. The riverbank rang with the noisy “wheep wheep” of oyster catchers. In their pristine “box fresh” Nike black and white these birds really should should look dashing, but there’s just something a little hilarious about the long, orange red pinnochio beaks that makes me smile. Sandpipers would dabble at the shore and there was a constant thrum from the undergrowth as ground nesters would shoot up as we passed by. The usually solitary heron seemed to mellow in the sun and could be found chatting amiably with the Canada geese which had begun to gather.
As the heat rose with the passing days, muscular heads of hogweed and ephemeral (but deadly) hemlock took over from the cow parsley and the cows dined out on buttercups. Daisies opened in the sun and the hedgerow was blush bright with roses. Bright fields of rapeseed mellowed to tangles of Bluegreen seeds and tips of gold began to appear on the wheat. All the while the moonlight nights got shorter and shorter.
As we started the downward slide to the longest day the temperature rose from hot to sweltering. Rain seemed a fanciful memory. Dogwalks moved to the morning to avoid the sun and there was much flopping around in the shade. A dragonfly appeared, no one can understand how, in the kitchen and had to be given a guided tour of the garden before returning to the pond. Overnight our usual paths were barred by tall, jagged thistles and the meadow tops softened to a creamy pink as the Yorkshire fog opened up. In the long grass soft pools of cranesbill appeared – we used to call it thunderbells when I was little. Perhaps this should have been a clue…
We woke one day last week to a different air, fresher. The wind picked up and suddenly we had clouds again. We enjoyed just enough rain to perk things up for a sunny garden opening (Phew) and then, with excellent timing, the much needed deluge arrived around closing time. And my goodness we needed it. Everything feels suddenly alive. Today the cheerful cries of fly fishermen were competing with the birds on the riverbank. One happy soul was wielding a landing net as we passed. Swifts, swallows and house martins were scything low, almost wingtip to wingtip with their reflections, hoovering up bugs. By the cauld my old friend the egret was standing companionably with a gull watching the water gush through the gap (rather helpfully confirming my identification as next to one another their shapes are totally different). (You will have to trust me though because, as ever, the bugger flew off just as I raised a finger to the shutter. )
There’s definitely a sea change in the air. We are moving into harvest season. I can see meadowsweet in the hedgerow to be picked for cordial. In the fields the wheat is turning to gold and, at least as far as the pigeons and crows are concerned, the peas are excellent.
