Autumn in the Ardèche

Okay, okay, enough with the endless photo essays. We have had a surfeit.

But my camera roll is burgeoning at this time of year. It’s the magic hour of sunshine and low light that just lifts everything.

Even walking back from the letterbox is a delight.

And everything in the garden seems to be backlit.

The ornamental grasses are flowering like mad.

There is barely a vase without a handful shoved full of wafty fronds.

But our main toil (delightful work) is in the forest right now.

Cutting more wood for winter.

So many fallen pines to clear. And the oaks to cut which were brought down by these huge shallow rooted ‘weeds’.

There are parts of our chestnut and oak forests that haven’t been touched for a vital forty years. The forty years when a self-seeded little Douglas pine will grow and grow.

Unheeded, unchecked and then down they all come.

We’ve lost dozens these past two years. Coming to the end of their lives and taking down our precious slower growing oaks as well.

Luckily Romain needs a pause in the hefty tree felling work with David. So he can strim in the afternoons.

And haven’t I been lucky?

I now have access to the vineyard which has been a no go zone of bramble rampant surging.

Bless him. He loves to leave his favourite broom plants in situ.

I used to hack them down.

There is plenty of room to spare in this former vineyard for some other ideas.

An orchard? Watering is tricky.

And I have to rebuild the steep stone steps down to the last terrace on our agricultural section of the farm.

But for now it’s a dream to have a meandering path that leads me all the way to the road for flower delivery.

I don’t have to go the long way round via the letterbox which adds another five hundred metres onto my route.

It’s a shame that the Creature insists on following.

She ought to be home guarding the courtyard.

I suspect my recent bout of mowing bothered her. Or she is just thrilled to be able to extend her hunting zone without getting lost in the bramble jungle.

Look how lush and bouncy that grass is. The ground is so soft from all that rain I don’t dare lower the blades and go for a closer crop.

The tyre tracks in the grass are bad enough.

But for now it’s time to admire the autumn colours and sights.

Far better to stare up at migrating geese than fuss about mower heights.