‘
Today it rained; across the evening sky
Grey, ragged ranks of cloud now slowly pass
After the rain away, and out to sea.
Where near the old wood; from a dripping tree
Leaves, damp and yellow, fall upon the grass,
As startled pigeons from their cover fly.
A pheasant calls; gnats dance by ivy blooms;
Among the bracken blood-red brambles run.
The daylight fades, and in the scattered homes
The little windows light up one by one.
In cottage gardens now the beacons glow
Of white Chrysanthemums, defying night;
Pale, cold, the moon glides slowly into sight,
And trees across the fields faint shadows throw.’
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Devil’s Dyke, West Sussex by John Miller and NT images
Strumpshaw Fen, Norfolk. image via RSPB
Whilst on our summer holidays in Cornwall and Devon, we visited a fascinating iron age village – Chysauster, near Penzance. Thought to be around 2,000 years old, this wind-swept, rocky network sits on a south-facing slope overlooking Mount’s Bay.
Graham earlier in the year planted his ‘Historic wheat’ around the Church and hoped for good weather. At first nothing happened, but thanks to our wonderful summer the wheat which is a variety used from around 1600, is now perfect for harvesting.
Haveringland Church stands at the end of the old Swannington World War II runway. There is a memorial stone dedicated to the service men who flew from the base at the entrance of the Church.
Following up from my last blog explaining how we had been harvesting the rye, oats and barley down on the farm, (I hoped you all liked it) I thought that as my latest blog coincides with our potato harvest, I would explain a little further.
Richard with the horses
The way we harvest the potatoes here at Gressenhall is through the use of a horse drawn Ransomes potato spinner. The spinner we use is a later model dating from around the 1940s.
Spinner
Bottom blade and tines
As you can see from the picture above, the spinner works by the bottom blade cutting into the ridged row of potatoes and then the spinning tines pushing the crop out to the side. As the blade digs into the row, the soil that is pushed up cushions the potatoes from being bruised and broken during the harvesting process. The spinner is powered…
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I recently featured a poem by a former neighbour, Jack Kett. I’ve now picked up one of the books of his poems and thought some of these are so evocative of the landscape around me here in Norfolk, that I’d feature a few more. So here’s the first as we end September…..‘September morning, with the warm sun growing
In warmth and brightness, scattering mists of pearl,
Which round the waking village flow and furl.
And see, the top of the church tower is glowing,
Splendid, sunlit, above the misty sea,
Now ebbing fast to set the morning free.
Along the hedgerow countless dying weeds
Show one last beauty in their feathered seeds.
The chattering sparrows wheel, and wheel again
Across the stubble field, and by the lane,
Among the dew-drenched grasses hardly seen,
Yet showing rarely a sun-gilded sheen,
A silver maze of gossamer is spread,
While all around hang berries, richly red.’
Peak District
Nigel Boldero aka 'Old School Gardener'
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