Ledbury Focus October 2019 Ledbury Focus October 2019 v2 | Page 51

The Feast is Over
article & photos by Geraldine Woods-Humphrey
O
ctober, when the air is
scented with the soft must
of decay, when morning mists
creep up the valleys writhing
between the hills and cobwebs
hang from the trees in strings,
elfin pearls left behind after a
night of revelry. October, the
summer is over its harvest eaten
or stored away ready for harsher
times ahead, but there is glory in
nature’s swan song as the trees’
once green canopy is shed in
reds and golds.
In September I watched, from a
bedroom window, a whitethroat
enjoy blackberries made plump by
the rain, sweetened by the sun. The
bramble has entwined itself amongst
rosa Max Graf on a ‘rewilded’ bank
in front of the house. I remember
when I bought it many years ago
from a rose nursery now sadly closed.
The owner questioned my wisdom
at such a purchase. ‘This rose is a
Ledbury Focus
thug,’ she told me, ‘Are you sure you
really want it?’ I assured her I did
and true to my expectations, Max
Graf rushes down a bank and over
the gabions festooned in single
white flowers in summer making a
glorious display loved by me and
the bees.
The bank is steep, the soil thin, it’s
difficult to cultivate and keep tidy,
impossible to mow. I could plant it
with dwarf conifers and juniper,
create a tapestry of greens but where
would the whitethroat be then? Not
in front of my window for sure. I’ve
left the bank to go native, planted
things like Max Graf and Michaelmas
daises that will stand up to the
bullying wild grasses and ‘weeds’
and the reward has been wildlife,
up close and personal.
The whitethroat, one of those little
brown warblers so difficult to identify,
chose the plumpest blackberries, as
it flitted through the rose and
brambles. This though is easy to
recognise, its name gives it away.
It’s a bird of scrub and to hear its
song from the hawthorn in spring
thrills the soul. I’m full of
admiration that such a tiny bird
made the epic journey from sub-
Saharan Africa to arrive here in April.
It certainly needs all the energy
those blackberries could give it for
the long trip back in October.
The blackberries are hard,
unpalatable withered things now,
neither use to man nor beast and
darkness is closing in on the world,
shortening the days, heralding winter.
But before then, Halloween, the
time ancient Celts lit bonfires
warding off evil spirits (the ghosts
of the dead returning to earth), and
celebrated Samhain.
With luck my little whitethroat will
arrive safely in Africa where it will
stay until, hopefully, it will return to
my wild bank next spring.
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