Golden snow flakes

Crown Prince Squash and tomatoes

Muted fields, hedgerows and the ornate, distant Victorian pumping station tower are a washed water-colour landscape.

At night a thundering wind rages in the trees. A ten ounce Bramley's seedling apple thumps into the grass of the orchard. 

By day, and accelerated by the wind, the sky an alternately oppressive blewit grey then opening to a clear pale blue. Leaves sloughed from branches - golden snow flakes. Each tree sheds differently. Our big sycamores send battalions of paratrooper leaves down, their stalks like hanging legs beneath parachutes. Beech cast copper and gold coins. I plough them into the mower and mound them.

Sarah arrives and asks 'Whats's that noise?'. The goldfinches have returned and are massing in skittish noisy charms in the trees. 

Little owl

In two locations a calling little owl. First by the stables, then in the conifers of our Cedar Walk. Almost parrot-like notes unlike the usual peeping call we have become so accustomed to. As it turns its small head calling it projects its voice in different directions giving the suggestion of there being several birds in faltering conversation. We'd like to think that the success of our little owl boxes has contributed locally to t
he halt in their decline. Four more boxes ready. The covid rules have prevented us siting the recently-made owl boxes in the garden or on the farm. Little owls are thrush-sized, their nest boxes must be so made to keep all light out and so an entrance hall is part of the design. In siting the box, we ensure that the young birds prior to fledging can clamber into cover easily, thus being less likely to be predated by tawny owls.

Ravens overhead almost daily. On my morning walk I watch one spinning through 360 degrees in its' flight, cronking. I share its delight. Research has shown ravens to be more intelligent than the large primates we have as our closest cousins. They're recent returnees. Deep black, vocal, impressive. Astounding that Natural England issue licenses for them to be shot in some parts of the country.

What predicted severe water-shortages ..?

My battles with the so-called custodians of our countryside continue. The Environment Agency and Severn Trent Water have overseen the degradation of our watercourses see my correspondence in my 'Kicking up a stink' blogpost. Their failings are due to lack of political will. This week, in the face of predicted severe water-shortages to come in the south of England, the government suspended all policy work to deal with this forthcoming and predictable crisis.

Between showers we tend the vegetable garden. It has been generous this year, despite high winds and drought. Over 140 kgs of vegetables  harvested since the beginning of June from an area smaller than a standard allotment. The polytunnel is tired now and its old plastic sags in the wind. Tiny puncture marks (left from the claws of fox cubs whose game one evening was to try and conquer the plastic ridge) have expanded and I patch with tape, perhaps to get it through one more winter. It breathes in and out. The polytunnel soil was mulched last year but not watered recently as we encouraged the last tomatoes to ripen. These have now been cleared and the ground is filling with winter crops of salads, brassicas and garlic. I water from our rainwater tanks. 300 litres.

Crabs

Windfall cookers mixed with cider apples and crabs have been pressed to make 12 litres of juice that is now frothily fermenting. The air trap clicks filling the air with yeasty scent.

A tawny owl has become our time-keeper and hoo-hoo'd in the fading afternoon to mark the end of the shift.

The covid lockdown has cast a gloom, we are all depressed by the prospect of further isolation without end. Our venal and incompetent government putting lives and jobs in danger.

I pray that you can reach out and feel the healing hands of nature over the coming weeks...