Day 190

Posted byThe Bald BirderPosted inagriculture, autumn, trees, walking, wildflowers

Saturday 26 September

Autumn and winter are the seasons of hibernation. Nature winds down to sleep out the cold and dark times. My blog is going to do something similar. I have decided that I will do a weekly entry covering a full seven days on each one, unless something dramatic occurs of course.

Just arrived. The wind is still howling outside. The sky is angry, and the dropping temperature makes my whole body cold. Time to venture outside briefly to stock the pantry shelves and settle down with a glass of red and beautiful book of classic ghost stories.

2pm We have been out for a bracing walk with Mabel and her sister Billie. Lovely to spend time enjoying the local countryside and chatting about this and that. The dogs running, full sprint, tongue lopping out of the side of a ‘smiling’ face. Their ears flapping with each gallop – fortunately no flying dogs today.

The wild weather continues to punish those that have already fallen. A tree was taken down during the night, the strong northerly wind bends the leaf-loaded branches of the half that stands upright and the half that lays  across the water.
Closer. Fresh flesh. Bare, exposed.
Closer still. Every tiny fibre visible. Looking closely at this I can imagine the sound of painful, splitting crack. Spitting like a firework.

A cup of coffee and a piece of cake bought from the stall next to the church. Wellies, muddy paws and cows in the fields. Tyson the bull is lying down, surrounded by his harem uninterested by the yaps of our dogs.

The colours of the season. A pot-pouri of wind stirred, autumnal flotsom.

Although this season brings jumbled mess in the countryside there is also order. The leaves swirl around the roads in random wind-kicked chaos only to change texture as the rain comes down and the cars and feet compress and smudge the litter. At the same time, the fields are ploughed with deep furrows in straight lines or gentle arcs running in tracks parallel to the hedgerow or path.

Parallel ploughed lines, repeating tyre-tracks and random potatoes. We picked up a few and took them home to make leek and potato soup for lunch.
There are still little jewels to be seen if I look out for them. Common Comfrey (Symphytum officinale) sitting amongst other damp loving undergrowth.

There are clumps of flowers sprinkled on the ground. Comfrey. A traditional name was Knitbone as it was believed to mend broken bones and ease bruising and sprains. Sadly, it actually causes liver damage.

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