SEPTEMBER - "Behold the apples’ rounded worlds..."
Behold the apples’ rounded worlds:
juice-green of July rain,
the black polestar of flowers, the rind
mapped with its crimson stain.
The russet, crab and cottage red
burn to the sun’s hot brass,
then drop like sweat from every branch
and bubble in the grass.
They lie as wanton as they fall,
and where they fall and break,
the stallion clamps his crunching jaws,
the starling stabs his beak.
In each plump gourd the cidery bite
of boys’ teeth tears the skin;
the waltzing wasp consumes his share,
the bent worm enters in.
I, with as easy hunger, take
entire my season’s dole;
welcome the ripe, the sweet, the sour,
the hollow and the whole.
"Apples" by Laurie Lee
These lovely "back-end" walks are touched by sadness because Orlando cannot accompany us now. Or does he? It sometimes feels like he's just a touch away. The best thing is knowing that he no longer makes himself ill with the effort of a walk he's sure he can do. If he was left behind, he would be a sad dog. If he went along, he struggled with his breathing.
We miss him. I'm so grateful to those who sent messages of sympathy and understanding. Thank you.
There is, contrary to what you might think when reading the news, a great deal of kindness in the world. Our perpetual calendar says "Happiness is a perfume you can't pour on others without getting a few drops on yourself". That goes for kindness too.
Joie de vivre. This is the first flower from this rosebush in 2026. A late bloomer!
September is full of generosity. With apples still to harvest and blackberries ripe for picking, the plums brought to us from Culbokie make a delicious addition to our winter stores. They have all been stewed with a little white wine and honey and are now in the freezer - except for the ones which I used to make a crumble. Couldn't resist!
The colours all around us are stunning - not least the pink sunrises which happen often at present. On the twenty second of this month, the sunrise wasn't pink really - it was peach - and intensely bright.
Our neighbours
Today I watched the cows and their bull in the field next door and noticed they were framed by summer green leaves turning autumn gold.
The Swedish Whitebeam is covered in berries this year and, even though there have been takers from the finch families and the blackbirds and thrushes, there are still many left.
It seems that Swedish trees generally do well here. When we started planting our orchard, Clemency researched suitable trees for Caithness and found that the Swedish strains can be expected to fruit. Our “Katy” has done very well this year and we’re waiting for as long as possible to harvest the apples, getting as much as we can from the September sunshine.
James Grieve has done well this year too. This one is an old Scottish variety.
James Grieve
I love to store apples for the winter months. I may have been a squirrel in a previous life!!!
My granddad stored his apples in the barn which was attached to the house. He used to look them over regularly, discarding any which showed signs of deterioration. He knew the importance of harvesting them at just the right time otherwise the entire crop may have been wasted.
It’s possible to bulk buy British apples, from the supermarket, around now and keep them in the bottom of the fridge. I’ve done this on a number of occasions and we have British apples well into winter. We have three fridges however! This is simply because we need to keep plenty of food in for the winter months. Last winter we were cut off because of snow. With unpredictable weather patterns, it makes sense to have full store cupboards/fridges/freezer.
Johnny Appleseed (1774-1845) knew the benefits of apples when he planted apple trees from seeds he had previously sown across the Midwest of America and in Ontario. He saw this as his way of welcoming the settlers and of providing for them as they struggled in their new and very different environment.
The sight of an apple tree by the cabin door must have been a delight.
Red, green or golden, ripe apples make me smile.
Laden
I thought I had brought the last of the sweet peas indoors on the nineteenth but they just keep coming! The stems get a little bit shorter each time but they’re able to bear the delicate mauves, pinks and white with the occasional purple thrown in for good measure.
Even the five roe deer, who have come up closer recently, continue to wear their reddish summer coats. They will become a little more grey as the winter gets closer but for now they remain colourful.
My favourite season is Spring. It used to be Autumn but I changed my mind - still keeping a great love of Autumn.
The thing about Autumn is that we shouldn’t see it as an ending.
With its thickening root systems and its trillions of seed heads, Autumn provides for Spring.
Yesterday evening I saw two swallows. Today, the twenty sixth of September, I haven’t seen any yet. Every day in September I look for them. One year, when we were living in Wick, they were still lining up on the wire close by the house into October. I wonder what it is that tells them it’s time to leave us? We still have lots of insects and we’ve only had one very cold night so far. So, assuming they have left, why did they need to? And how did they know?
One thing I’m certain of is the absolute thrill I will get when, next springtime, I see the first pair skimming our River Forss for food after their incredible journey north to be with us while they raise their family.
Still cheerful! (Nasturtium)
The farmers are working their socks off at present. It’s always been the case. As we move through the autumn months the providers get very little rest. As soon as the harvest is in, the fields need to be prepared for next year. At least in September the cattle are still outdoors.
In September, George North, whose progress through the seasons I like to share here, was mowing oats, leading oats, wheat and barley, then harrowing the stubble in late Victorian Lincolnshire.
In 1917, a little later and a little further south, near Spalding, the harvest began on the eleventh of August and ended on the fifteenth of September. This was wartime of course.
Conflict may be in the theatre of war but its spin-off is felt more widely.
Also in September, 1917 the farmers of Lincolnshire were being asked to peg down the price of their meat - and told that, if they were unreasonably withholding fat cattle from the market, supplies would be requisitioned and competitive buying stopped.
Later in the month, “The Epworth Bells” reported on a meeting of farm workers, “Under the spreading tree in the centre of the village green at Finningley, last Saturday afternoon”.
The farm workers of the area had agreed to form their own branch of the National Agricultural Labourers’ and War Workers’ Union.
“The enormous profits which the farmers are making were touched upon, and the wage of 25/- per week was severely criticised, seeing that the value of the sovereign is now less than 10/-”
The newspaper also stated that meetings were being held at other places in the district.
Here, in Caithness, this year, 2026, the unpredictable and rainy weather has made bringing in the crops very challenging. It has been one of the wettest harvests in memory. Yesterday the noise of the combine harvesters and balers went on well into the evening, the sound of their industry bouncing around the valley below. Our farmers work very hard. Food does not just appear on the supermarket shelves.
Strawberry flowers
This year the weather and climate change generally have marked the harvest for farmers in Britain. The oilseed rape crops were generally high yielding but wheat, spring barley and oats are below average. Food prices will rise of course but there can be no free ride through the present climate disaster.
Surely people will now accept that change is not only desirable but that it is essential - and quickly!!
Another day has dawned with a rose sunrise - strong behind the black silhouettes of trees. Following this we have a mackerel sky - pink and blue pastels informing us that the weather will be changeable:
Mackerel sky,
Not long wet,
Not long dry!
In fact, today, Sunday, the twenty-seventh of September, started beautifully. Before the rose sunrise there was a full moon, high and magnesium-bright in the western sky. Last evening it rose like a tangerine in the east. These are moments to treasure. And, as I write this, it seems we still have stragglers amongst the swallows. I do hope they can play catch-up when they finally leave us for South Africa and Namibia. Their route will take them over our French family as they prepare for winter in their little village overlooked by the alps.
In West Caithness, we are thinking ahead to those threatened gales and wintry conditions to come. We’ve asked our friend and essential helper to come in October and put back the bits which have dropped off since his October visit last year! At least we can start the season intact!
The garden too is still recovering from last year’s Storm Floris. For example the horse chestnut tree is producing conkers in spite of the awful damage to it - but the conkers have not developed as they normally do. This can be caused by stress to the tree so we’re hoping that, by next year, it will be healing more successfully.
Judith's aspen tree
In front of it is Judith’s aspen, planted only four years ago. Its leaves are beautiful reds as it prepares for the autumn drop.
First family outing for Scruff
Little Scruff is now able to go on walks away from home. The inoculation process takes longer than it used to but it’s worth the wait - just to know that he is as safe on walks as he possibly could be. It was Scruff who first spotted the badger footprint by the hippo hole about a week ago. We didn’t realise what he had found there - just thought it was the smell of some animal who visited the previous night. Jess shepherded him away from the edge of the water. Later that day Ginny took Scruff on the same walk but this time without Jess and me, and she noticed then what it was Scruff had spotted earlier. She had neither camera nor phone so had to memorise carefully what it was. She explained it carefully and we looked it up in Bang and Dahlstrom, “Collins Guide to Animal Tracks and Signs”. Sure enough - it had to be Mr. Brock the Badger - known to his friends as Bill.
Badger print
Bang and Dahlstrom make the point that badgers tread heavily and I am reminded of the time we went badger spotting near Crowle when we lived there for about three years from 1995 to 1998. The children were brilliant at keeping quiet. They knew there was no chance of spotting the Brock family if they were noisy. We waited and we waited and we waited, staying on our tummies in the dusty grass. Just when we thought it was getting too late to see a badger, the earth seemed to move beneath us as Mr. Brock the Badger lolloped home after a night of feeding on earthworms and slugs. Once he knew we were there he put on speed and galloped the rest of the way. We caught just a glimpse but it isn’t something one forgets quickly.
To be out of doors and to share the countryside with our wild neighbours is simply wonderful. Last spring we caught a badger on the trail camera which is set up in our little wood at the bottom of the garden. We welcome them. Westfield was their world long before it was ours.
Apart from tourists driving the North Coast 500, the rest of the world pretty much leaves us alone here. Sometimes it means we’re left out - for example, there are many companies which will not deliver here and others who will but put up the price of that delivery so that the goods become very expensive. Those of us living in Caithness find ways around such problems. Some make trips to our city, Inverness, on a regular basis. Others find alternative goods or suppliers. Some come to arrangements with family or friends to share the delivery costs. Others - and these are mostly the older folk living alone - manage without.
Michaelmas daisies
There’s a lot to look forward to. And then another spring will come!
In the other gardens
And all up in the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over,
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!
"Autumn Fires" by Robert Louis Stevenson
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