Although the day was sunny and warm, once the cloud burned off, we’re on borrowed time. The spring wheat isn’t quite ready for harvest – I know this because there were no clouds of finches in there gathering while they may – and there are still flash mobs of young swallows over the grass, although the swifts left weeks ago. But I heard the first autumn song from the robin, and the first geese were overhead last weekend.
The rowans are blazing ripe where the blackbirds haven’t scoffed and scattered them and I picked the first blackberries for crumble. Hawthorns and rose-hips will be a week or two and the elderberries maybe a weeks after that. I’m pickling the smallest of the shallot harvest and getting ready for the plums and apples. Everyone in the village seems to have trees but us, so I am very grateful for the surpluses, which I repay in plum jam and mincemeat at Christmas.
Seeds are ripening on the verges and in my garden, and I’m saving seeds of poppy, marigold, astrantia, cornflower and chervil, and many more to share with members of Towards Transition Stirling, who are holding their next cycle tour of sustainable gardens next weekend.