Harvest.

The seasons in England seem to be in terminal decline.  Perhaps there never was a spring, summer, autumn and winter, it was just a prank the elderly teased the younger generation with.

“Oh daffodils come out so much earlier than in my day”.

We look at them enviously for their late flowering daff memories.

There has always been the joke “if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute”.  So determining what season you are in via a quick glance out of the window was never likely to be possible.

The six week summer holiday existed so the children could assist with the harvest.  Well 100 odd years later, its the school holidays, kids are playing on video games and the harvest is coming in.

As dogs were strolled, I watched the first crops force themselves out of the ground, watched oil seed rape grow at an incredible rate, turn yellow, then turn into that brown tangled mess making walking near impossible.

The barley turned golden in the fields, with the wheat following on behind.  All manner of crop was growing large underground, un-noticed, largely unloved.  I spoke with farmers when they were out examining the crops.  None were particularly pleased with the weather this year. 

Dry when it should have been wet.

We would stand in silence and consider the possible reasons for this, but there have always been bad years and not so good years.

Now though, the interesting displays in the fields are being mowed down and turned into huge industrial sized rolls.  This process started a few weeks ago, but now it is in full swing.

Machines the size of farm labourers houses trundle within the field processing the crops.

Fields are being turned into a pygmy punji stick crop.  Not pleasant to walk on if you have footwear, a real challenge if you are ten inches off the ground and have paws.

The harvest is very much the end of a colourful chapter in our year.  The fields are going to return to earth colour, ploughed up.  I can almost feel the mud sticking to my boots already.

There is a certain regret of this special time passing, but it comes around again, and it is foolish to want to hold a moment in time because its passing is the only thing that gives it relevance.

Already the days are getting noticeably shorter.

My mind is turning to the autumn season, plans for walks to take in woodland, so the changing colours can be admired, the fungi examined.

I am looking forward to that, lots of new things to discover and old sights to be reminded of.