Winter wet, summer dry. Winter wet, summer dry. No matter how often you chant this little ditty, it always amazes me how much rain can fall out of the sky in autumn.
The sun has come out at last. But boy, have we had a drenching.
Inches and inches of the stuff. Daily visits to the rain gauge to stop it flowing over and then promptly forgetting how much fell overnight.
An inch a day for a week? I wish I could embrace the millimetre as a measurement. It just doesn’t have the same oomph when you announce to neighbours that we had 26mm a day for days and days.
The ground is soaking it up nicely.
Naturally in between showers you have to find jobs that will satisfy but not involve laborious drying of work trousers in front of the fire. I’ve already tidied my office, labelled my jams, sorted by sock drawer, almost done my income tax return…
Branch collecting. Getting ahead with the kindling pile for our winter fuel. And tidying the entrance to our farm.
Our lovely friend Fenning brought down two dead cherries on his hols last month. And I have finally cleared away the fiddly bits that were piled neatly beside the road.
And I built a little stone cairn on top of the dead cherry stump. As an aide visuel for the snow plough driver when he comes up the track this winter. I don’t want him barking his blade by the side of the road and conking out before he has ploughed to the door.
Snow? Winter? We are far from that now – despite the clocks changing this weekend. The weather is still mild. And I have more projects to do in the garden before there is any snow covering the mess.
So many bald bits of lawn to attend to. Anon, anon.