My tale commences on a wet and windy trip to Norham a couple of weeks ago for essential bacon supplies. Lyra expressed the view that she was happy just to stay in the car and listen to the radio whilst I stocked up, with a view to heading straight back to the fire and the sofa afterwards. Mum and I demurred, impressing upon the reluctant hound the need to check out the bird action by the river. Lyra was clearly unconvinced by our arguments and exuded “I can’t believe you are actually making me do this” all the way along Pedwell Way. However, the emergence of some quality chasing pheasants by the river perked her up no end and we squelched along in the siling rain fairly amiably after that. It seems that nature dudery is a wet weather pursuit for we were rewarded for our perseverance by a pair of white egrets shepherding six or seven chicks along the bank. Obviously the photographic evidence is dire, what with the veil of rain and the birds’ commitment to stay out of focussing range. But still – Mum and I were cock a hoop and we lurked like loonies on the bank watching the egret family in the rain, braving both trench foot and “a chill on the kidneys.” As we drove back over the bridge to Scotland (it was an international bacon sourcing trip) I pointed out some blue emerging between the clouds. “Well it’s too late now I’m soaked” Mum noted witheringly, in the doom laden tones of the wild haired scotsman from Dad’s army.
The specks of blue persisted though and the following week was really rather lovely. Most days we have been down in the woods, enjoying the warm glow of the trees. There’s something very delicate and elegant about the slim birches, now gold at the tips, clustering along the pathways. Lyra swanks and sways along the avenue, very much the pampered pet from a Watteau idyll, or perhaps a Gainsborough shooting party, and Mum and I dawdle along behind, two chattering peasants bundled up in jumpers who have foolishly wandered into the scene from an adjacent Breughel… There are still pink and orange seed pods on the spindles and dark glossy berries on the wild privet that runs amok in the undergrowth. I often find myself wondering how it got there. Were these paths once lined with tidy clipped hedges? They are so narrow and twisting it is hard to imagine. Perhaps instead these are bird planted, brought from the douce and respectable gardens of the town by wood pigeons with suburban aspirations.
There was a tremendous row from the geese as we passed along the back of the lake a few days ago. We were almost deafened as they passed overhead making three, distinctly raggedy, circuits. I speculated that these were test runs before the big migration. They certainly needed the practice as the formation was more of a complex rune than a V, there was a highly vocal dispute over who was going to be the leader and when we rounded the bend we found 4 young geese standing on the path in bewilderment, clearly at a loss as to what to do next. However, two days later when we retraced our steps there was just an eerie silence and when we came around to the front of the lake the Swans were in sole possession of the water. I do hope the geese find their way home – I can’t help but envisage them descending on a small island somewhere to argue over the best route….”I said we should have turned left at Oslo Mildred…”
In the garden weeding and bulb planting continues – very slowly – but I’m definitely getting there. Progress stalled a little towards the end of last week when I managed to use up the last of the wood chipping mulch I like to put down to to finish off the planting sites (so that I don’t forget and plant other things on top). That excuse for indolence has, however, now expired. Davey and his lads came to take down a dying sycamore today and he kindly left us a large heap of chippings (and a couple of years’ worth of logs). With a following wind I’ll maybe get a few more in tomorrow before the weather closes in (the forecast is distinctly underwhelming). Actually, I’m not complaining – I rather like these half and half days – when the dwindling light or drizzle chases you in from the garden mid afternoon. It means I get some of the indoor jobs done. Today was rather too windy out and proved to be a blackcurrant jam and curry pasty day (the need to make space for the latter meant that I had to make the former to use up one of the many bags of summer currants that have languishing in the freezer waiting for jam weather). Who knows what tomorrow will bring – it could well be time for bottling up the experimental plum rum…
