All is safely gathered in

In the second part of our series on bringing youngsters into fieldsports, Richard Negus takes his son to harvest some pesky pigeon

- Richard Negus

The harvest festivals of childhood memory were important affairs. A pair — or in bumper years, a quartet — of finger-trapping trestle tables were erected alongside the altar rail in the parish church. These counters groaned under the weight of farm, garden and allotment produce.

Glistening marrows the size of seal pups, apples, potatoes, beets and a myriad other assorted parts of nature’s bounty were stacked. This produce, once blessed, was destined to feed the local elderly, imprisoned in their care homes. The harvest festivals of today are markedly less impressive. Thanks to food hygiene legislation, fresh produce is no longer welcome. Instead, a few packets of macaroni, a leash of baked bean tins, a solitary jar of home-made jam and a box of breakfast cereal receive a benediction. It is then whisked offto a nearby food bank. This highlights two shifts in modern life.

First, we are obsessed with sell-by dates. Secondly, there is a tragic dwindling in wonderment that man has worked the land and this partnership has once more produced healthy food to sustain us through the winter.

Taste and sniff

My wife and I maintained we would nurture this state of awe in my son, Charlie. We have from the outset encouraged him to stir and to peel, to taste and sniff, to sow and plant. Now he is of a sufficient age his education has progressed from soil, saucepan and seed to fur, feather and fin.