The falling leaves from the ash trees swirl and tumble in the strong breeze from the west. Rain, heavy and insistent, drives against the window as the sky darkens – then the sound of gurgling in the downpipe is replaced by the anarchic splatter of unregulated water as the gutter overflows on to the path. As the rain eases, we begin the familiar task of putting things to rights.
The moss that grows on the roof in the clean coastal air is loosened by the summer heat, then is dislodged by the first heavy rains of autumn. The moss then catches in the downpipe against other organic debris and accumulates into a plug, which thickens and grows more dense as time passes.
Today the plug reaches right back to the gutter, and has formed its own modest ecosystem – including two small, red earthworms. These brandlings, Eisenia foetida to give them their true name, are of the same species that builds up populations in the base of good compost heaps, and were doing a similar job here on a miniature scale. I tap them out into a plant pot and then reassemble the pipework.
Other elements of our rampant ecology are the rooks and jackdaws, which gather around the village in increasing numbers. While they have an interesting elegance in small numbers, they are less welcome when they arrive mob-handed. They have a serious apple fixation, settling in the upper branches of the trees and systematically carving out the tops of the fruit.
From below the apples look fine, but then – at the very edge of your reach, with the step ladder wobbling freely – you grab a half-eaten apple that is now home to a number of wasps. The residents are generally not pleased by the disturbance.
Only a few cooking apples now remain to be picked. The recent rain has finally brought them to a respectable size, and they should soon be appearing in pies and crumbles, the extras being diced and cooked for freezing. Naturally, plenty of windfalls will be left for the benefit of the local wildlife.
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