the rise of the apple and the fall of the oak ...

Sunday
Early morning.  We drove down to the lake for a stroll in the autumn sunshine; the air was chilled in the shadows but the sun was bright.  The water level was still very low; we have had hardly any rain for weeks.  On the spit of land a gaggle of Canada geese preening and resting.  The water still and calm.



 

We walked further along the lane, and there just around the bend, my favourite oak tree; a lopsided old thing with winky-wonky branches.  But all was not well.  The trunk had split and there was a gut-wrenching open wound.

 





I loved that old tree and always take a photograph of it when we are down there; a kind of tradition.

Now, half the tree lying on the ground - only fit for firewood - such a shame - I felt really sad.

Monday
Spent the morning pruning the Amelanchier which had outgrown its space.  My neighbour came round with foxglove self-seeders which I planted beneath it now that there is some room.  I have finally come to the end of the garden restoration project - it is far too tidy for my liking, as if it is minding its manners - but this time next year I know I will be doing it all over again.

 

Amelanchier at its best in June of this year 

(I won't show you a picture of it after pruning too depressing :()

Tuesday
When I left home to go shopping this morning the fog was really thick; by the time I had driven five miles to town, the sun was out and it was really warm; when I returned home an hour later it was almost as foggy as when I left; how can the weather change over such a small distance.  The garden furniture has been oiled and stored away for winter - a sure sign that summer is over.

As I drove past the hedgerows they were full of colour from the blackberries and bryony berries, draped like Christmas garlands.





Friday
Apple picking time.  The Bramley cooking apples were ready.  I picked at the lower level; Dave picked right at the top.  This is the best year I have had with this tree and have had to wait twenty five years or more, since I planted it, for a really good harvest.  There is something about climbing into a tree; hanging on to the scaly trunk and smelling the sweet, green, fragrance of the apples; bringing back happy childhood memories. There is plenty of fruit to see us through the winter and to share with friends and neighbours.  Plenty for pies and crumbles and sauces and for my favourite - Eve's Pudding.

 

And, so the sun sets on another fruitful week.

Autumn Song - Mary Oliver

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Elaine