Outdoors Les Davies MBE

West Countryman’s diary

I AMready to declare that autumn is here. My Virginia creeper in the garden has turned a wonderful crimson colour and the misty mornings are making themselves felt. Don't forget to change the clocks at the end of the month as we get that extra hour’s sleep. The downside to the clock change is darker evenings, although mornings should be little better. I must admit I have never really noticed it! Thankfully these days I am not one who has to leave home and come back in the dark.

For me changing the clocks is all part of seasonal diversity. I remember the only time they played around with daylight saving, it turned out to be a disaster back in 1969. Let’s leave it as it is because I think we all look forward to the change back in springtime.

This year’s Mendip Ploughing Match was one of those occasions that brings me both joy and a little sadness. Sadness that such a wonderful day must end, as all things do. The very last of the Summer Wine was played out against a backdrop of fine weather and good soil conditions.

The preceding rain was enough but not too much, making no difference to the 100 ploughs that took part on the day. A rainbow hung over the field in the morning, giving its blessing to the event that has become the “go-to” countryside event on Mendip.

The marquee was there, providing as it does every year sustenance, shelter and a meeting place for those who attend. A well drilled team of ladies run this vital part of the day with enthusiasm and dedication. They are as much a part of this tradition as the ploughmen, wallers, hedgelayers, stewards and judges.

How many other societies can proudly proclaim that sandwiches are cut with tea provided, for every competitor on the day and delivered to the headland, wall and hedge. None of this could happen without the support of those who take part, those who sponsor and support the event and those members of the society’s committee who prepare all year for this iconic event.

I have been taking a close look at the trees, not only those in my orchard, but those in the field wood and hedgerow. They are gambling! Some have decided to start closing down early and are pulling back all they can from the leaves and pumping anything they don’t want back into them.

This is where the colours come from as the food producing green chlorophyll is taken back into the tree to be used again next spring. Other trees are hoping there is more sunshine and mild weather to come, producing extra food to be stored in the root system during the winter.

A few of my apple trees have de-foliated during the dry weather in an attempt to conserve moisture. They will come back again next year but have made a conscious decision to cut down on food production in order to survive. Up-turned branches, like arms reaching up to heaven, will capture every drop of rain and funnel it down to the ground to be stored for next time.

Everything seems late this time and it’s no doubt to do with the dry summer. The last cut of silage in many respects looks minimal, but everything is going to be needed if winter tightens its grip . . . we simply don’t know what’s ahead.

Having the apples a little later this time has eased the pressure, or has it just put it back? I’ve managed to get the apples picked up for juicing and in for pressing. The sugar content will be high after a hot summer but the juice quantities may be lower. As my dear old Mother used to say . . . it is what it is!

Halloween at the end of October is when everybody goes “spooky”. I am not a great fan of following the American road with this celebration. The origins of this early winter celebration may have its roots in the Pagan celebration Samhain.

This Gaelic word, pronounced “Sow-in” was a preparation for winter after the harvest. Like many such Pagan celebrations it was absorbed by Christianity to become All Saints’ Day and has today changed through time and many cultural influences to portray something a little more macabre.

Whilst on the grizzly and macabre

With LES DAVIES MBE

theme, November 5th is bonfire night, (that’s if modern Health and Safety rules allow such a thing). For many years it was called Guy Fawkes’ night and small boys used to wheel around a scarecrow-like image of the hapless Guido Fawkes in an old pram whilst appealing for donations of a “Penny for the Guy”.

Small family bonfires were the norm in the back garden. Simple homespun things with a few fireworks and sparklers. Sparklers were those white hot fizzling sticks of burning chemical that would burn you to the bone if you picked them up the wrong way. Nobody ever did to my knowledge.

Having been arrested in connection with an attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in the failed Gunpowder Plot, 1605, he was tortured and sentenced to death. Apparently he fell from the gallows and broke his neck, thus escaping the horrendous sentence of being hanged, drawn and quartered. He has been vilified ever since and joked about by many as having been the last person to enter Parliament with genuine intent!

Thank you all those who expressed their enjoyment about the “commando” hedgehog Herbie, who scaled my stairs to wake me in the early hours. I’m happy to say that Herbie is still in the garden and regularly patrols Springfield Terrace at night.

I leave him/her/it cat biscuits every night and in appreciation I have occasionally found hedgehog poo on my doorstep in the morning. Is this a sign of appreciation, affection or just a statement?

This month’s picture is non-hedgehog related, but tree-related. The horse chestnut changing into its autumn wardrobe.

Happy Samhain!