Autumn, and each warm sunny day feels like it could be our last.
The sun climbs just high enough to brush the trees tops, bathing the house in glorious yellow light for the middle of the day before sinking wearily behind the conifers by early afternoon.
I love the heat, loathe the winter and want to squeeze every last drop from this season’s swan song.
Lingering on the track, after walking the kids to the school bus, the low light playing on the autumn leaves is enchanting.
Like a character from a fairytale I am lured off the path, drawn to pretty patches of sunlight caught in ferns and rusty bracken.
Ruby red treasures tempting – but wisely left alone.
I greet gnarled old stumps like old friends pleased to see that despite exposed roots they have clung on to their precarious existence on an eroding bank for another year.
Tree trunks which bear scars like jewellery are another familiar landmark. I always look out for the oak carrying a burr bigger than its girth and another adorned with a skeleton of thick ivy.
It would be easy to spend all day roaming the woods but back home there are jobs to be done. The apples are ripe, most have been picked and carefully stored, and the priority now is to juice the windfalls before they go bad.
More squeezing out every last drop before the inevitable arrival of winter. In my next blog I want to talk more about juicing and tell you about some delicious drinks I’ve been making with apples and a whole host of other garden produce.
But for now it’s time to sign off and say that this magical faraway wood, which I am lucky enough to call home, is worth every hardship and every challenge that comes with living in it – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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