For now at least the rain is gone, driven on by  North winds which pale the tarmac of the winding lanes  with their cold drying breath. Despite having waned for a day, the moon appeared full last night and lit the freezing countryside about the cottage with perfect clarity.  Standing by the pig pen, satisfied grunts and the sound of slapping jaws in the shadows behind me, I took in the scene. Trees appear more starkly naked at night, their skeletal fingers silhouetted  against the white light and above them, wisps of cloud like lonely spectres, glowed pale  in the otherwise clear expanse. Up the lane the the face of the moon  peered between the cowls of the oast house roundels and had a fox been padding across the frosted field before me I would have seen it in sufficient detail to admire it’s white tipped brush.

For me, the punctuations in my life when I am enfolded and transported by the wonder of the natural world, are my moments of extasy. The golden seconds that others  find in music or religion, art or football come to me when I am alone in the fields and woods or beside a lonely autumn hedge. Then all of a sudden I am struck by a scene which at once  humbles and  fills me with a sense of power and energy, as if for a instant instant, through my dumb admiration, I were connected to that vast and magnificent other.

This morning a glorious sun rise crowned with ranks of rich pink clouds revealed the fist true hoar frost of the winter.

Yesterday was a wet and generally unpleasant day, so I did what any sensible individual would do and went out shooting with a bunch of like-minded idiots. The rough shoots, as opposed to the more formal days (still a relative term with our shoot) when beaters, picker uppers and guns are all on parade, are the the highlights of my shooting calender. As a boy I dreamt of having the opportunity to amble all day with my gun, travelling miles in pursuit of wily game and a rough day with Hugh is pretty much a manifestation of that – though we are not permitted to amble of course! First drive was through an asparagus bed, thick with dead ferny foliage and also pheasants, as Hugh must have put near forty out.  I have never looked in to the edibility of Asparagus seed for birds and animals, but I can only assume they enjoy it, as accompanying the pheasants were wood pigeons which would be there for no other reason than to feed. Generally the standard of shooting was not good though for once I bucked  the trend, managing a left and right with my opening shots and we walked from the field with three brace and a pigeon.

Once the annual touture of the ‘holly hedge’ had been endured we continued on to a local farm where we were confronted with a block of maize totalling around fifty acres ,which to the uninitiated is a hell of a lot! Eight men and two dogs were never going to do the situation justice, but we enjoyed trying. Invisible to one another through the ten foot crop, we swept the fields in ragged lines, firing at fleeting birds when the opportunity arose, whilst Treacle and Hugh’s dog Tiffin ran themselves to exhaustion between the cane like steams. Half way through we stopped for lunch, sheltering from the rain in the Landrovers , steamed up by wet clothes and dogs and then back we went to comb the maize for more birds. I had one more hen and by the time of our early ‘wet day finish’ there were eleven pheasants and two pigeons to divide between us. It is worth worth noting that there was  rats tail plantain seed (of which there were thousands growing between the maize plants) in the second pigeon’s crop – something which I have not noticed before. I have read that they are nutritious, but for pigeons to take them in preference to maize suggests that they really are full of good things.

Hard earned brace

After gutting the cockerels this morning I headed over to Bryn’s to help raise his pig ark out of the mud. The rain has been so severe this year that we are all in the same boat (we may be quite literally soon) trying to do the best for our animals in very wet conditions.  His pigs have now been upgraded to luxury accommodation and they look extremely good, very solid with a back ends which scream out ‘honey roast’ to me every time I see them.

The day wasn’t quite as exciting as the title might suggest as I spent all day plucking (yes I did say plucking). Every year the unwanted cockerels are fattened up and killed for the freezer and while I was at it, I despatched a turkey for my sister so she can take it home to Worcester and freeze it for Christmas. The Rhode Island Red cocks were never going to be plump (they just aren’t designed to put on meat), but slight as they are I know they will be absolutely delicious.  The turkey couldn’t have been more of a contrast, looking as though it had been on steroids for a month. I hope my sister and brother in law are hungry on Christmas day, as It’s only the two of them for dinner!

The rain has been spectacular, periodically falling in torrential showers from ominous black clouds which creep imperceptibly across the sky.  Even through my ear muffs (worn to protect my hearing when I use the plucking machine) I could hear its violent drumming on the tin above my head and on my journey home the lanes were running with water,  sweeping the dead leaves into half moons on the tarmac.

The White family Christmas tree plantation must be almost half my age now and where neat little Norwegian Spruces once grew, skinny giants now dominate. Every year we select trees for each family and this year there was an added bonus  – 12 foot of firewood with every specimen as only the tops are any good nowadays. Most years I make the mistake of choosing a tree I think Em will like.  This year, wise to her exacting standards I bought back a selection of half a dozen and as a result the annual Christmas tree debate (a.k.a argument) has been avoided.

Chris and I finished the hedge in style last Thursday with a lunch of toasted sandwiches cooked in my double pie iron over the brash fire embers. We like to finish each job with a cook up and the sandwiches certainly rivalled last year’s billhook cooked panninis! On Friday there was time to take the guns out for a couple of hours, but our success was  limited , one fox and one pigeon being the final bag. There is so little natural food around owing to the cool autumn and poor wild harvest that there is nothing  in the woods to hold the few pheasants which have strayed this way. I did see a wood cock though, which is encouraging for my Christmas day breakfast.

Hedge layers lunch

Pat of the finished hedge

Hedge laying season has begun! Friend Chris has come down to provide the strength and good looks and between us we  put down about 45m of hawthorn hedge beneath the day’s dull grey sky.  At around 3.30pm the sun sank below the blanket of cloud and for a few precious moments the damp leaves and dark steams about me were turned to a honeyed gold. This first glimpse of sun was enough for me to unbend my back for a moment and survey the day’s progress. When we’d arrived, the hedge had been  a grotty old thing, starved of light by the overarching oaks and  cut straight on one side by the lorries which surge round the corner with unsettling frequency in that spot. Now before me, the neatly ordered pleachers  snaked away, staked and bound into place with the hazel and willow coppiced yesterday. To create  order from the chaos of a sprawling line of trees is a pleasure all of its own and it felt all the better gilded in rays of autumn sun.  Of course if the owner chooses not to cut back the oaks as I have advised, our work will be in vain and in a few years the hedge will be little better than when we started.

Loading up with stakes and binders

Wow, what an Autumn! The courses have come thick and fast and have, I must also say been successful and very enjoyable.  Everyone has been great and I’ve made lots of new friends.  The latest two courses this season were ferreting on Saturday and game prep on Sunday. The ferreting  far surpassed my expectations with a bag of ten beautiful winter bunnies, even with the high prevalence of mixi in our area and the game prep went well despite my pet jackdaw’s attempts at sabotage.  He had a field day stealing knives, pecking my ear, pushing bowls off tables and generally being a nuisance!

Ferreting Course

Normal life can resume now courses are slowing down and it’s amazing how things have moved on since my last proper blog.  I’ve missed having the time to record the changing season and now winter feels very present.  The old red kettle on the Rayburn is always hot now as the oak, ash and apple logs burn slowly in the firebox day and night, Polish men walk past the cottage each morning to prune the orchard in the valley (they tell me they will finish today) and field fares can be seen streaming over the field opposite to gorge on the fallen pears in the orchard beyond. The birds face a hard winter as the cold spring, so many months past, is responsible for a poor crop of berries, seeds and fruit.

Between courses there has been some time for other things, a particular highlight being a trip up to the North Kent coast to gather oysters with Norman.   Alas that I don’t live closer to the coast as I am reminded what a treasure trove the sea side  is.

Gabriel inspects the oyster haul

A late bonus this morning was the discovery of a splendid parasol mushroom nearly a full month after the main flush of that species came abruptly to an end.

'I prefer my teddy dad'. Gabriel looking unimpressed with parasol mushroom.

I have been overwhelmed by the continuing high level of interest in all sorts of different courses and offers of collaboration with different organisations. Things look set to remain busy as  ferreting and game prep courses fill up on the approach to Christmas and foraging courses are being booked for spring. I would like to say a heart felt thank you to all of you who have contacted me with kind messages about your course/walk experiences – it is a privilege to meet so many interesting people, and to know I am providing a good service is very rewarding.

Now for the apology bit for having been very patchy (or worse) with the blog. Things should improve as we emerge from the foraging season.

A pilot for a potential new foraging experience which I could offer went very well last week. A party  came for a 3 hour guided foraging walk, followed by a three course wild food meal. On the menu was; crayfish with home made mayonnaise followed by wild mushroom tart with wilted wild sorrel new potatoes and a green salad of chick weed and bitter cress, and blackberry ice cream with chestnut biscotti for dessert. The whole thing was a huge success largely thanks to Em, who did much of the cooking.

The foraging continues to be good and the mushroom species available are changing with the season. Parasol and field mushrooms are largely gone, but other varieties such as common puff ball and wood blewit are still appearing in places for the first time. Many greens/herbs such as sorrel, wood sorrel, stingers and garlic mustard have enjoyed the recent warm, damp conditions putting on a decent Autumn flush and chestnuts are here in force!

Autumn foraging courses have begun in earnest and combined  with slaughtering and skinning two hoggets and a bullock yesterday, hedge laying enquires, poultry auctions, a friend’s stag do….  life is rather full!

Head beater of our small shoot A, helps out at a local trout lake from time to time and after a day clearing course fish from the water, phoned to say he had some eels for me. Ideally they should have been kept alive in clean water for a period to avoid their flesh tasting muddy, but they looked on their way out, so in between a course ending and going out for the morris A.G.M I dispatched and gutted them. Yesterday morning  they went into a 40%brine for roughly 9 hours and after quick drip dry, went into the smoker last night. The smell of smouldering oak is wonderfully evocative and as it caught my attention this morning, my mind was filled with thoughts of curing pork the huge hams ruddy brown with smoke, and breakfast on Christmas morning.

Hung out to dry - eels on the cloths line

Our only vehical, a top heavy looking Kangoo  still languishes at the the car doctor’s (as Em refers to the garage) with an impressive and alarmingly expensive sounding list of ailments. We hope to retrieve it this afternoon, but until them I’m on the push bike. Years ago whilst living in London I cycled everywhere, cheating death which lurked in every bus,lorry and rude boy beamer for a full four years. Pedalling along the local lanes is an altogether safer,  more sedate affair though riding home last night in the gathering gloom I did question the wisdom of wearing my brown trousers and murky green fleece. This morning I pulled into the drive brandishing a rabbit for my ferrets (I was behind a van which knocked it down), having just been stopped by the old coppice worker who practices the art with his grand son in the woods behind the cottage. Tickled to see me on my bike wearing a  fluorescent, reflective pullover (after the concerns of last night), he had stopped to pass comment and soon we were chatting about his work and the weather. Quickly the conversation turned to his ailments, clearly a favoured subject for he quickly reeled off an impressive list of complaints. Proof of the arthritis which is slowly claiming his mobility was thrust from the car window in the form of a hand, held in a half grip position and swollen round the joints. But despite it all he’s still in the woods daily and with a laugh and a wave he was off to work with a contented air.

Aaron  arrived with a few pints of fresh milk the other day which had been begged at a dairy farm where he had been doing some building work. Today I finally started it on its way towards being a couple of rounds of brie.  Having cultured the warm milk with starter and inoculated it with Penicillium candidum mould, in went the rennet and I left it on the back of the Rayburn to form the curd. Before bed I sliced the curds and put the small cubes into the moulds. This morning the fresh cheeses were tuned out and salted and have now begun the maturation process. They will be turned twice daily until the white mould appears, then left for a week or so before eating.

Cheesy wave - first cut of the curds

'Mouldy' cheese - curds in the mould

Fresh cheeses turned out for salting

Outside, the persistent drizzle that isn’t quite rain, makes the horizon indistinguishable from the sky in it’s greyness and the currant bushes’ yellowing leaves hang limp and dripping. As predicted the wet has bought on the field mushrooms and I picked a first handful.  I had intended on taking a photo for this blog, but no sooner were they over the threshold than Em had them in the frying pan beside a few rashers of bacon – I didn’t complain too much!

The crops continue to come in from the garden; borlotti beans, dried runners and haricots are piled in adjacent crates over the rayburn to dry and for the first time they are accompanied by cobs of popcorn. Gabriel enjoys a bit of expanded maze germ (well who wouldn’t) so we’ve dabbled with some  ‘brit pop’ this season and despite the worst summer in living memory for growing corn, it seems to have done alright. Once the kernels are dry, I’ll give them a go and report back.

Swallows and house martins still remain in good numbers around the cottage, although migratory groups can be seen drifting south on most days. In the mornings when the  cattle come to graze opposite the cottage, a couple of dozen of the small birds can be seen swooping and turning about the feeding beasts,  gathering the insects pushed up by their gentle ambling. Gabriel loves the cows and on rising (or being risen) insists on gazing out of the window at them, before emitting a low noise accompanied by a ridiculous grin, which to the doting parent is clearly a ‘moo’.

'Brit pop' popcorn