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I’ve been away. It was a spur of the moment decision made on Friday morning halfway through making a batch of quince and squash chutney. Well, I exaggerate, not wholly impulsive, I’d been toying with the idea ever since Will (3rd son) had suggested it a month or so ago. The time seemed right. Olly was around for the weekend… “100% mum. Though I’m going out Saturday evening.” And Robert had no pre-arranged ‘dos’ either.
After a couple of quick phone calls and very hastily potted chutney, I threw some essentials into a bag and was on the road by 2pm. It was the foulest drive imaginable. Busy roads, incessant rain, fierce wind and relentless spray, poor visibility…and dark! Six hours later I emerged, zombie-like, from the car.
Relieved to have arrived I push open the wicket gate and, clutching my basket, carefully walked down the slippy, uneven brick path. Lining the pathway are tall, darkly-dense box hedges crowned with mystical topiary beasts that moan and groan in the gusting wind and pelting rain. Drenched I reached the door, give a tap, turn the knob and step into another world. I blink in the soft light “Sorry I’m late…the roads…the rain, the traffic.” I thrust my basket towards Don “Supper.” Pulling it back to me I rummage around and take out a wrapped greaseproof package “Steak…fillet. Ours. Red Ruby.” I look up and smile “Quick to cook. Tender and mouth-watering…hopefully.” Grinning I dig into the basket again “And wood blewitts. From the woods above Marymead.” Carefully I lift out one of the starling violet-blue fungi “Aren’t they just extraordinary?” I hold it to the light “So beautiful…what an amazing colour. You’d think they were totally poisonous!” And lastly I take out a bottle of wine “And wine. To celebrate!” I pause, take a deep, slow breath and let my eyes wonder around the kitchen absorbing every little detail “How wonderful to be here. I feel recovered already!”
The friends I was staying with live in an old gardener’s cottage once attached to ‘The Big House’… to me it’s a place of enchantment. I’m Alice… stepping through the looking glass into another world; wood smoke, worn red-brick floors, milky glass, ancient timber framing and soft chalky walls. Colour; colour is everywhere – softly muted and earthy rich. And then there are the things! A jumble. A plethora. A marvellous abundance of treasure. I love it. I gather to me the extraordinary tapestry of senses and feast my soul.
Next day, the enchantment continues outside. An old oak barn tumbled with myrtle, rosemary and clematis, a hidden sculpture, a table, a summerhouse. Brick paths which turn into mazes of tall box hedges and fantastical topiary beings that lead one into small secret places…or with an unexpected twist guide you down a grand avenue (the Queen of Hearts?) to a pond and the rolling countryside beyond.
The reason for my visit? Time to reflect. On my memories. Of my mother and my closest family buried in the churchyard not a hundred yards away from the cottage. My father, my aunt, my uncle…and in a nearby village, my grandparents.
To me the month of November lends itself to recollection and introspection. November is a month of transition, a time for rest, a time of renewal and a time for resurrection. The darkening days, the wild weather, the slowing down of nature and the comfort of the home hearth make it so.
With the church bells ringing overhead I walk in the garden gathering sprays of crimson crab-apples, branches of myrtle and sprigs of rosemary which I take and lay on the still uneven turf of my mother’s grave and remember…..with love.
remembering
“Oh hi. It’s Paula I left a message on your phone earlier. I wanted…”
“Yes, here it is. I’ve got it in front of me. I was just about to call.” There was a halting tap-tapping coming from the phone “Ah, yes. Now it’s 0183…Paula! You’re from Angel aren’t you? I recognise the code. You see Sal’s ill and it’s taken all morning to re-jig her appointments. Much much longer than I thought and I really was going to phone earlier. You were next on the list. You see…”
“Please.” I interrupted “please, it’s not a problem. Really. Could I make an appointment to have my hair cut…with Sal?”
“I truly was going to phone but the morning just went and…” I broke in again
“ It’s not a problem. Honestly. But may I make an appointment?”
“Oh. Oh yes. When would like one? You are Paula from Angel aren’t you?”
“No I’m afraid not. I’m Paula from Hatherleigh…and as soon as possible please. I’ve lank rats’ tails!”
“Oh dear.” There was more rapid tapping “I’m afraid the earliest is next Monday. What do you want done?”
“Cut…a cut please…oh and Sal generally does a bit of funky toner on the fair bits. But that’s not important if she’s pushed. At what time?”
“Let me see… ummm, quarter to one?”
“Excellent. So that’s next Monday the 9th at 12.45 for a cut with Sal”
“No, no. No, 2.30.”
“Ahh. I thought you…oh never mind. Okay 2.30 then?”
“Yes. I’ve got your contact details haven’t I? Paula from Angel and your phone number is 01392*****…”
“No Paula from Hatherleigh and my number is 01837******.”
“Oh of course it is! I asked you before. Okay, we’ll see you next Monday then. Byee.”
“Bye and thanks”
Feeling a little perplexed I put the phone down, almost immediately it began to ring again…
“Oh hello, it’s Pat. I’m sorry Paula; Monday looked very different once I looked at it. I’m afraid we can’t do anything till Thursday at the very earliest.”
“That’s a shame. But okay so that’s Thursday week. And what time?”
“No, Thursday this week.”
“Erm, but that’s sooner? That’s this week sooner, but hey, that’s good. So what time?”
“3.30”
“Any chance of something earlier?”
“Yes, let me see? 10.30? 11.00? 12.00?”
“10.30 is perfect. Thanks. So that’s this Thursday at 10.30 with Sal”…”for a cut.” I added quickly
“Oh not with Sal, that’s with Sam and Julian.”
“Uh? Umm, I did say Sal. And I only need one person to cut my hair. There’s not an awful lot of it.”
“Oh well then that’s different. What was it you want done? A full head of colour wasn’t it?”
“No, a cut. Just a cut. With Sal.”
“Well that is different. I’m afraid we haven’t anything for at least two weeks if it’s with Sal…”
“Oookay. So it’s got to be Thursday two weeks. What time? Early would be good.”
“Monday, not Thursday. Yes Sal can do Monday. 2.30 suit you?”
“A bit earlier would be good. Have you something earlier?”
“Yes. 12.45.”
“Great! That’s definite? Yes? 12.45 for a cut with Sal on Monday 16th?”
“No. Monday 9th.”
“But…that’s where we started off from.” I squeaked into the phone “That’s exactly the same day and time you first gave me…”
Have I’ve been had? Have I been framed? Was it a dream? Somebody pinch me!
I just want my hair cut...
help!
autumn coulour
Last night a low pressure weather system from the Atlantic roared into the South West. High winds and rain tore through the countryside screeching and wailing along quiet lanes, rattling and crashing through hushed farmsteads and howling over silent meadows. Trees and branches bent, twisting and gyrating under the onslaught; their leaves, whipped into a rattling frenzy, hung by tenuous thread before being ripped, torn and hurled into chaotic cyclones spiralling across the countryside. And how appropriate! How fitting that Nature should use her elemental power to scour and cleanse herself for the ancient festival of Samhain.
This morning the ground has changed into a confused tapestry of molten bronze, burnished copper and liquid gold. The trees, denuded of their autumn finery, silhouette a filigree of delicate lacework branches against the skyline. It’s only now that it becomes obvious that most of the trees around here are hedgerow trees, as the details of the landscape become apparent. But for how much longer will these trees grace our countryside?
hedgerow trees between Dillings and Rushy Field before last night's gales.
Nationally, over the last decade we’ve lost one in twenty of our hedgerow trees, a 5% decline between 1998 and 2007. Quite simply, there are not enough young trees being allowed to grow up to replace those that are dying or being felled.
It’s true that hedgerow trees often cause problems for the farmer. If not carefully managed, as they grow up the shade they cast can result in gaps in the hedge beneath, making it less stock-proof. Trees add considerably to the time taken to cut a hedge, and their limbs can get in the way of farm machinery and overhead lines. And there’s always the risk that they will be hazardous later in life. But they are of great value to wildlife and the landscape.
Old, veteran, trees are of special wildlife importance, their cracks and holes providing nest and roost sites for birds like tits, woodpeckers and owls, and for many bats. Their rotting wood is home to huge numbers of different invertebrates – insects and so forth, especially beetles – and for fungi. All these forms of life would otherwise not be able to survive in hedges or the surrounding farmland.
Recent research has shown that even before they become veterans hedgerow trees, especially isolated ones, greatly increase the amount of wildlife in an area. Moth numbers, for example, have been shown to increase by as much as 60% where such trees are present, and their species diversity by 38%. Hedgerow trees act as beacons in the landscape, attracting the moths and other insects, and in turn these attract birds and bats which use the trees as service stations in their movements across the landscape. The crowns of trees are important for larger birds such as buzzards and rooks to build their nests in, and the trunks can carry rich lichen floras, including some great rarities.
To maintain hedgerow trees numbers nearly half (45%) of all trees need to be young, that is with diameters of 20cm or less. The good news, though, is that to stabilize the population we do not need to recruit many more trees each year. Indeed, if just 15,000 extra trees are planted or allowed to grow each year across the country, that will do the trick. If each farmer encourages just one additional tree each year, our hedgerow tree population will quickly start to recover and rise.
young trees marked in new hedgerow along our farm lane
Others can help too. To survive their early years, until they stand proud of the hedge and are safe from the flail cutter, young trees need to be marked clearly. Experience shows that tags need to be renewed each year, and surrounding vegetation cut away so the saplings are clearly visible. This takes more time than farmers like us have available, so offers of assistance from people in the local community can be more than welcome.
15 year old hedgerow trees between Five Corners and Square Field
Guelder-rose berries and ash tree
It’s Devon Hedge Week! What a perfect week it’s been to celebrate our amazing hedges…and the breathtaking autumn colours.
Last weekend we held our own event at the farm on hedge management, hedgerow trees and dormice – staring Dora, of course!
Interestingly most people when asked about hedge management would say without hesitation ‘Laying is good. Flailing is bad.’ This is not strictly true. Yes I do agree there’s still a lot of poor hedge cutting practice about, but flail mowing itself is not a bad thing. In fact hedge cutting is positively beneficial in most cases, and the flail is the best means available in the majority of circumstances.
Our contractor is flail cutting a hedge we laid two years ago and is taking care not to damage the ash hedgerow tree
You see cutting promotes thick, dense cover necessary for many of our smaller breeding birds (warbler, finch, sparrow, dunnock) and dormice. Interestingly it is along the knotty growth of the fail-line that you’ll find most bird and dormice nests. Cutting also prolongs the period before a hedge needs to be rejuvenated by laying or coppicing. Laying is costly and time consuming so it’s important that management should try to keep the hedge in good condition for as long as possible before laying is necessary again.
young wych elm tree and hedge fail
Back to flail mowing, the main issues here are, of course, that hedges are either cut too often, or too short and thin. Hedgelink has recently produced an excellent leaflet (click on link for pdf) which takes one through the management cycle and the management options for each of stage of the hedge.
‘We encourage cutting on a 2 or preferably 3 or more year cycle, raising the cutting height a few inches each time, and staggering cutting between years. There are times, though when cutting annually is necessary, for example to maintain road visibility, or desirable for the hedge base flora – the magnificent displays of primroses, bluebells and other spring flowers along many Devon hedge banks are dependent on frequent, close, cutting. Cutting two or three year old growth can make a hedge look unsightly for a while, but it’s remarkable how quickly they recover, and as far as we know, no lasting damage is done to plant survival or hedge structure (research is underway to test this).’
Of course if you are managing your hedges mainly for wood, cutting would be counter productive as you’d want the growth to ensure a good wood harvest; but if possible aim at having as many hedges you can at different stages in their cycle.
So don’t dispair when you see fail mowed hedgerows – it’s the autumn-clean for next year’s wildlife!
...and just perfect for us!
calves on Saturday's frosty morning
Glorious October certainly! We continue to be busy outside with the hundred and one jobs this dry weather has allowed us to get on top of…dung spreading, ditching, fencing, hedge trimming, cutting and carrying wood from our wood stacks to our winter store and, of course, never ending topping (yes, we are still able to get onto the land with a tractor!).
ewe lambs enjoying the autumn sunshine and grass
The ewes have been tupped and are now grazing peacefully, happy in the autumn sunshine and revelling in the unexpected bonus of being dry underfoot.
Cows and calves are contentedly munching away in the River Meadows, whilst the bull and his cohort are doing a first-rate job around our smaller meadows at the home farm. Our autumn flush of grass has been excellent – more sustaining and nutritious than the rank crop our waterlogged fields produced during the wet summer months.
the bull happily grazing Flop Meadow
Polytunnel beds are gradually being mulched down with our organic dung and covered over for winter – though a handsome supply of chilli, aubergine, tomato, squash and carrot are still providing us with tasty suppers. Outside in the kitchen garden leeks, kale, red cabbage, spinach, broccoli spears and roots are giving us delicious seasonal variety.
Though apples haven’t produced that well this year the quince tree is heavy with golden, fragrant fruit which I’ll pickled, make into jelly and quince cheese. The pear tree in the orchard is also bowed over with small, bullet hard fruit for which I’ll have to invent some different preserves.
It’s a good autumn; land, man, beast and wildlife flourish. Next weekend, on the 25th, we have two farm walks, so though the weather is due to break tomorrow I hope we won’t return to horrendous torrential drenching!
Devonian Whitebeam (rare and indigenous to Devon) berries, which I'll harvest to grow saplings from.
Meet Dora the Dormouse. She’s very special (and hugely cute). Dora made her first public appearance yesterday at our dormouse and hedge training day. She was the icing on the cake!
Dora the Dormouse
What? Why? How? I hear you exclaim. ‘Aren’t dormice a rare and protected species?’ Yes, yes they are, you’re quite right. So let me tell you Dora’s story.
Over the next month or so we’re holding a series of training days on hedges, hedgerows, their management and their wildlife, especially the dormouse. As you probably gathered in various other posts I’ve written, we have magnificent hedges on the farm which are home to a thriving dormice population. This year numbers appear to be down compared to previous years – probably the result of three wet summers in a row; but still, when people come on these training days what they are really keen to see are dormice nests and dormice! Dormice nests, yes, we can generally oblige, but dormice? Not a given, more luck than anything else.
Now I’d heard that Paignton Zoo (who are involved in a dormouse breeding programme) occasionally need to find knowledgeable homes to care for individuals unsuitable for release into the wild. This would be, I thought, a wonderful opportunity to show people a real live dormouse. I contacted the zoo to see if they had anything and would consider us appropriate guardians. Unfortunately they’d recently just re-homed the last of their old breeding males the keeper Julian told me, but he would have another look and call me…!
On Thursday, just as I’d given up all hope, he contacted me and said they had a young female which had lost her back leg. It was completely healed; she was fine, she’d been checked by the vet, it was really unnoticeable, but they’d be willing to loan her to us if I was interested. She couldn’t be released into the wild and they wouldn’t want to breed from her. Was I interested? You bet!
So on Friday afternoon we went to collect Dora.
Dora
Yesterday, Saturday, was the training day, and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. A golden afternoon. Jane from UrbanExtension came all the way from Dorset with fellow officers from the Dorset Wildlife Trust. Not only did we find dormouse nests we also saw three wild dormice…and then, of course, there was Dora!
wild dormouse, Flat Field
A little delayed I’m afraid – an unexpected housefull…again!
The day dawned. I felt surprisingly calm. I couldn’t resist prodding myself mentally to see if it was true composure. But sad to say it was still the same old me, unfortunately no overnight transformation, and without too much effort I could still whiz up the old heart beat!
I arrived at the venue early, to familiarise myself with the unfamiliar. The lecture hall wasn’t as daunting as I’d expected; it was modern – low ceilings with gently banked seats in calming green – there was soft hidden lighting, good acoustics and quiet carpeting. On the podium stood a lectern, solid and comforting, which incorporated every technical aid. Behind the speaker were three impressively large screens for presentations…there was also a fully equipped projector room and human technical assistance!
The organisers, speakers and chairs began to arrive. Introductions were made, last minute hitches ironed out whilst absent key speakers and mislaid presentations were located. The lack of projected red in the spectrum was thankfully corrected after hysteria erupted in the ranks (I had suddenly acquired blue/black cattle, faded blue ragged-robin, grey-blue orchids – amongst other things!). I couldn’t have asked for a better chair either – Jayne was full of encouragement and support, totally understanding of my over-active heart and adrenalin-induced panic…though she wasn’t too enthusiastic about the knockout smell of my herbal tincture! With all the initial organisation organised it was off to lunch in the main conference building where delegates had been arriving all morning.
All too soon (or not soon enough – anticipation was having a detrimental effect) we were back in the lecture hall. Beta-blocker free (I’d decided against them) I sat in the front row counting down the interminable seconds of the three speakers before me…5…4…3…2…1…and I was on!
Notes, pretty-picture presentation loaded (I’m not a powerpoint trained speaker), water…help no water…there it was on the table four feet away! Oh well, too late, I’d have to manage. The lectern, still solid and comforting, though the array of technical detritus no longer made any sense. I stared out at the audience…paused, breathed and gathered myself. Heart was in overdrive, to me the noise and movement of it were overwhelming – good god, I thought, they’ll never hear me over this!
So I began, mouth dry, stomach in some unreachable place and eyes trying to focus…Interestingly I could see the audience clearly but my notes when I glanced down had turned into a ‘grotesque’ of gesticulating spiders – in fact everything in my near vision was quite incomprehensible! But somehow the words did come out…not that I remember much. And then it was over. I stepped down, numb and blind. The final presentation passed in a haze, I came to as the chair summoned us back for questions. Heart and stomach in place, sight restored, mouth normal and tongue dexterous I arrived on the podium as a functioning human being!
I was so surprised by the follow-up reaction. I was received well. People felt I talked with confidence(?)…and passion. Interestingly another excellent speaker echoed very similar thoughts and messages to mine and it was these more controversial views which turned out to be an important outcome of the conference.
But sadly I can’t say I felt any sense of achievement or triumph. Though this may change with time. I am, I know, a perfectionist, but one day when I step down from the podium I will feel elated and fulfilled…though for now it’s back to the drawing board.
Anyone out there want a speaker?
metamorphosis? one day...
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