AN August dog-day afternoon, the very earth panting. I went up the farm track with a pair of shears, thinking only of cutting off the arcing tendrils of bramble in the hedge that whip every car and tractor that passes, including the cabless Ferguson and its blood-clot-faced driver. I started snipping the barbed tentacles, then looked at the hedge: nothing tells you that your summer is shot so much as a 6ft-high hedge in the country. Overhead, the sky might be blue and blinding and, after rain, there can even come a brisk gust of oxygenating air carrying a simulacrum of spring. Then look at the hedge: the museum dust at its skirt, the abandoned spiders’ webs, the mildew on the oaks, the pox on the field maple, the coarseness of the aged, tired leaves, bowed with the effort of it all. Drool- ing and drooping senescently over everything, the white-beard flowers of wild clematis. The leaves of hazel yellowing, dying.
It seems human nature to hope for an extension of summer, a so-called ‘Indian summer’. But the writing is on the hedge: the ancient Celts knew this, regarding August as the first month of autumn, not the last month of summer. Because the fruits of autumn are already ripe in August: the haws the scarlet of lipstick, the sloes fulsome and grape-like, the dogwood berries mouse-eyed bright, and the elderberries hanging in purple bunches, as if about to be consumed by a Roman aristocrat lying on a couch. And the blackberries glittering. I plucked one, ate it. Then another, because one can never eat just one blackberry.
Denne historien er fra August 30, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra August 30, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery