In the midst of the UK’s worst drought in living memory, a host of unfamiliar experiences assault our senses in a Devon valley. Before us is a field of lush green grass. To one side is a bush of blackberries swollen huge by perfect growing conditions. Squelch, squelch go our feet through the grass. There’s sticky black mud! Hang on, I’ve got wet feet.
Despite a few drops of rain earlier in the week, the rolling hills of the West Country are parched yellow. And yet this small valley, where a tributary leads to the River Otter, is deep green.
