It seems as though we stepped off the plane from Corfu straight into mid autumn. Whilst we were sunning ourselves the brambles and gooseberries had been and gone and the fat Ruthven blackbirds had stripped our rowan of berries. Sloes have also been few and far between this year. And so it was that when mum and I set off to forage last week the pickings were distinctly slim! The hedgerow offered nothing but roseships, and that at the cost of much finger pricking. However, we pressed on past the usual places and finally found a stand of overlooked rowans and some elder trees still sporting clusters of plump elderberries. The trees were guarded by a dense thicket of nettles and thistles but here and there deer or hares had made meandering tracks we could follow to gather in the bunches above doe height. Clutching laden bags we turned for home and, on the last stretch, added a few scrog apples (if I am honest, not so much for the taste (very wersh) as for the pleasing contrast of the green against the bright orange rowans and red black elderberries). Our hedgerow hooch will have a distinctly different flavour from last year, when we had tons of brambles and sloes in the mix. I’m hoping some of the spiciness of the rowans comes through. We had quite a lot of rowans left so I’ve made some jelly and will nervously wait to see how it compares with the lovely stuff Lois used to send us.
In our absence wasps had hollowed out the garage wall pears and feasted on the comice pears in the orchard. (Mum and I ran out this afternoon and cleared what was left of the comice for bottling but it was a paltry haul) Having good taste, the stripey boys have left the conference pears alone so pear and ginger mincemeat will shortly be back on the pantry shelves. The bright red apples dad liked and the rather tasteless yellow fellas ripened when we were away. These have been taken up by butterflies and the air in the orchard is thick with red admirals, feasting on windfalls. Whilst I was pulling weed and slime from the stream yesterday (no other takers for that job..) Keith gathered up a trug of the big stripey red apples and he and mum did a first pressing. Thirteen bottles in and lots still to go!
The woods are starting to crisp up now. Chestnuts and oaks are veering to gingerbread at the edges and birches are beginning to sport long falls of yellow amongst the green. Underfoot there is the beginning of a foosle. Of greater interest to Lyra, though, are the squirrels. Our walks have become strangely staccato, with enthusiastic snuffling dashes through the undergrowth followed by prolonged periods of staring mournfully up twisting trunks of beech trees. Curiously, Lyra doesn’t seem to have noticed the host of squirrels making hay with the hazels in our own nuttery. Laura, weeding the vegetable beds, had a lengthy gossip with one a couple of days ago, thinking the chuntering noise behind her must be mum…. (It remains to be seen whether S. Nutkin Esq. will return the favour and dish the dirt on the dormouse living under the pond deck). There are plenty nuts to share. We’ve cracked and roasted our way through two huge bags so far and there’s still lots to go. The granola jar is full to bursting. I’m thinking of trying nut butter next and, if there’s enough, I did find a recipe for hazelnut liqueur……
On the river and in the Hirsel lake, swans are beginning to gather for the annual Tweed Swan jamboree. In the interests of diversity the Hirsel swans have admitted two Canada geese to the troupe and I am strangely reminded of the “where’s Wally?” cartoons as I try to spot them lurking sheepishly amongst all the white feathered “vogueing”. An autumnal lethargy has taken over the rest of the livestock who are hunkering down under the trees and against the hedge with a “seen it all” air………………
