Musings on Autumn

Ode to Autumn by John Keats (1795 -1821)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

I studied Keats at school and have never found a more eloquent description of Autumn, so thought I would share it with you.

I have recently read a book, 'The Morville Hours' by Katherine Swift and I can highly recommend it as a beautifully described, inspirational read. It is about the creation of her garden at the Morville Dower House in Shropshire, but is written in the style of a Book of Hours, a devotional text popular in Medieval times, however, this is not a religious book, but it is definitely a spiritual one. She compares the work in the garden through the year with the work in the countryside of Medieval times and talks about the seasons, the celebratory feasts and important Quarter Days and how the year was divided up using Saints Days and older feast days as markers. I drove through Morville on my way from Banbury to Oswestry on a beautiful, golden autumnal day and fully understood her love for the area.

This year the autumn has been very much how Keats describes it: we may not have very many thatched eaves around which to grow our vines, but some people have an even better option – the greenhouse! Here in Moelfre, on the borders of Powys and Shropshire, the young grape vine is beginning to take over in the greenhouse and was covered in bunches of small, sweet red grapes that I grazed whenever I was up in the garden. Jasper, the Miniature Schnauzer, is also partial to one or two and we would share a bunch between us. However, Dawn had other ideas and, before they went off to Brittany to do battle with their almost-a-cottage, we picked nearly all of the grapes (about 12 pounds), juiced them and made them into wine! Its a very pretty pale pink colour – I hope it eventually tastes as good as it looks and that I will be back here when its ready to drink!

The plum trees and the apple trees have had a particularly good year and the variety of plum that grows here near to the driveway is delicious – again, Jasper and I have to sample one or two on our way past but they are all too high for me to reach now. And there are still a few blackberries to be had, too. The vegetable plot has suffered from the long dry summer in some respects but has still produced lovely beetroot, onions, garlic, runner beans, carrots and courgettes. If the weather turns wet I have onions to plait into strings, beetroot and shallots to pickle and beans to prepare for the freezer, as well as apple chutney to make.

I love this time of year with all the produce coming to full ripeness and, although the nights are definitely drawing in and the weather is getting more chilly, I don't feel depressed by the imminence of winter - in the summer everything is all about being outside enjoying the warmth and the light, but at this time of year it feels right to be withdrawing inside, creating a little haven of warmth indoors to retreat to as the days shorten, knowing that all the fruits and vegetables are safely stored against the winter's chill and that they will see us through to Spring: jams and jellies, pickles and chutneys, cordials and wines, all echoing the warm flavours and colours of summer to cheer our souls on damp and dark winter days.

I love the smell of woodsmoke and bonfires hanging in the misty air, and the work of putting the garden to bed for the winter. Clearing and tidying things that got neglected in the frenzy of summer growth, putting away canes and netting, checking tools for signs of wear and tear and cleaning them with an oiled cloth before hanging them up in the shed, collecting firewood for the store and then, on walks around the gardens, finding sudden and surprising gems – a rhododendron having a final fling with large red flowers punctuating the air and tiny pink autumn cyclamen peeping shyly between a tangle of dead stalks and leaves. It serves as a reminder that life is still there and, like us, the plants are only retreating into a safe, warm place to sit out the winter and emerge again in Spring. The Seasons turn and the cycle of life continues, and each season has its place and its purpose.