There is often a discussion in our house about our favourite month of the year.
We are all clear on the worst month, January, despite two birthdays, closely followed by February. But thereafter we often disagree.
I am not a winter person..at all. I can hold on in a vaguely jolly way until Christmas, bouyed along by the twinkly lights, anticipation and sense of purpose. Even with the offspring growing into adulthood, we are still all together, and enjoy the rituals in the build up and on the day itself.
We have taken to going away to Cornwall straight after to avoid the depression of that dead period between Christmas and New Year. We enjoy a new year’s body board and eat too much left over food and chocolate and play daft games.
But then I have to come home and face the reality of January. For those readers not living in the UK it’s safe to say that the dark, murky days of January; dawn at 9am, dusk by 4pm are difficult. Some people like it. Not many though. In recent years we have had no snow to bring any excitement and it’s often wet and cold and dark..the least appealing combination of British weather.
In late March things pick up a little. There are some early flowers, the clocks change and it stays light for longer. It’s a hopeful month. Early spring can be lovely; crispy and fresh, with little jewels of colour from early bulbs.
But to my mind nothing beats England in May.
There is a burgeoning. Plants seem to grow in front of your eyes. The greens of the new growth are fresh and multi hued. Cow parsley dances in the wind like choruses of tethered ballerinas. Birds sing and sing and sing.
The best May I can remember was in lockdown 2020. I am not sure we have had a May like it before or since. The sun shone nearly every day. Confined to our houses and immediate localities everything I love about May came into sharp relief.
We all had to slow down. Every day on my permitted walk the crops in the fields had grown another inch or two, hawthorn blossomed and turned the air heavy with its rich, musky scent. Bees buzzed madly over my garden of alliums and geraniums and salvia. It felt like nature got a foothold back.
But even in damper versions of May there is a beauty. Rain drops caught on new leaves. The water releasing the smell of warming earth. Snails walking down the pavements.
The light is incredible as we build to the longest day. Nature wears its new clothes with pride and abandon. There is no point trying to tame it, the weed battle is already lost.
Others love high summer, July and August, our traditional holiday months but to me the world is already tiring and dimming.
Autumn has its fans with its colours and mists and bounty.
But for me May has it all. And every year I greet it with the same sense of excitement. And mourn it’s passing.
Today has been one of those perfect autumn days. Sunny. Crisp. Warm. There are probably not many of these left here in good old Blighty before the damp and cold of winter sets in.
I love this time of year. The colours are fantastic. Hedgerows are full of berries. Fields have been harvested. Squirrels are busy laying away acorns and beech nuts for winter. Cobwebs shine in the early morning dew. Daddy long legs flutter at twilight. The last hopeful butterflies emerge and dance in the sunbeams. The crispness of the, increasingly later, dawn gives way to a warm sun-filled day.
We have had a lovely summer and autumn here in the South East of England. It took summer a while to get going but during our long school break the weather was generally kind. Unless we had a day planned at the lido.
September has also been generally glorious. There have been many days like today. To start with actually hot, unseasonably so, but now pleasant with the heat of the summer sun ebbing away into autumn. Even so I have line dried sheets and walked coatless much later in the year than usual. A couple of weekends ago Youngest, husband and I blackberried in glorious heat with insects still buzzing. Of course we have had rain, mainly on Saturdays to coincide with pitch side viewing, but mostly it has been set fair.
This weekend was Harvest festival. I have spent a large part of it at church celebrating the bounty this season provides. Eating too much good food. Yammering with friends. Marvelling at the low October light streaming through the stained glass dancing coloured shadows on the floor. Singing Rutter and hymns. Enjoying children serving food and singing Sambas. Including my own.
And today was also the day for our Annual Conker Extravaganza. As to my mind nothing symbolises autumn like conkers.
As a child I can still recall the excitment of finding a spiky case fallen from a horse chestnut tree. An unopened package containing one or possibly two beautiful gifts. Finding such bounty was difficult. All horse chestnut trees near my home were regularly scoured by children with sticks beating the branches to release these packages. One had to get up early and brave that crispy dawn to find them.
Last week I went on a walk to the local bottle bank and passed a beautiful old tree near to our local school. I was amazed to find literally tens of conkers and unopened cases lying underneath. I guess life is busier. Kids have other activities to soak up their time. But even so I find it sad that there are any conkers left for a woman of a certain age to collect on a random Thursday lunch time. Of course I was unable to resist hoovering them up and taking them home for my children.
But really that is not the same as doing it yourself. So today we went off to do just that at a local park. In the well trodden areas I was heartened to discover that conkers were hard to come by. People who had got up earlier than us had been bothered to collect them. So we had to resort to ‘children on shoulders’ to retrieve some directly from the branches.
But in more tucked away areas there were still hundreds to be found on the ground. The slight wind also helped as we had timed it perfectly and newly ripened fruit regularly dropped to the ground around us. It was very exciting to chase after them as they bounced along the grass. Youngest came away reluctantly from one tree pockets bulging with beauties.
Of course there is no use in just collecting conkers. One has to play the game too. Which we duly did in the back garden. Youngest remained undefeated. Middlest burnt through three, Middlest one and myself two.
I have plans for Christmas decorations for the rest of our not insubstantial haul. Maybe a wreath or tree hangers.
Horse chestnut trees are in trouble in this country due to a leaf mining insect and a fungal infection. They are dropping their leaves earlier and often look rather dry and sad by this time of the year. They still produce their wonderful fruit though. I am not sure how many more years this activity will be viable. It will be a very sad day indeed if they do die out.
For as much as we love bashing the bejeebers out of each other’s conkers the real joy is in the collecting and unwrapping of these wonderful free gifts provided by Mother Nature.
So anyway I thought an update was in order. I am writing this listening to a cacophony of toady beeps on a warm Sunday evening.
Midwife toads are not native to the UK. My dad, who visited today, was quite adamant about that and so we did a bit of googling.
According to the Bedfordshire Natural History Society some toads stowed away in a consignment of French ferns bound for a plant nursery in Ashburnam Road, Bedford. Presumably they had heard of our more benign treatment of amphibians over that of our French friends…
They successfully began a colony. This was around 1908.
Some young brothers asked if they could take a few for their garden on Bromham Road and so they moved that bit further towards my village. Quite how they made the last bit of the journey is unclear. Although it probably wasn’t on bicycles.
The midwife toad is so named because the male carries the eggs wrapped around its back legs until they are ready to hatch in shallow water. They are only the size of a 50p but their noise would imply they were a whole lot bigger.
Of course now I want to build a pond to help them out. Although they seem to be doing just fine on their own.
musingsponderingsandrants 
Recent Comments