Sunday 12th August 2018

It is the 223rd day of the year, if my counting is correct, which means the year is getting old, fast. Around St Margaret's, most arable crops have been harvested. Harvested, bailed, much spread and ploughed. Except the two small fields at the end of our street, they are unharvested, missed out I guess when the rains came last week. In the hedgerows, blackberries are already fat and ripe; sloes are also ripening, and tresses of elderberries are turning from green to purple.

As I write this, at twenty to eight on a Sunday night, it is getting dark. Not helped by the low clouds covering the sky, but quite a change from just a few weeks ago. When we get up at five tomorrow, it won't be fully light, the sun only rising when I get on the train at six.

I am writing this now, as tomorrow I go on a five day trip to Denmark, not getting back until Friday night. And ahead of me is a road trip to parts of Denmark that I have not been to before. It will involve hours of driving, and a ferry ride too. And nights in different hotels each night. All exciting stuff, and I am quite looking forward to it too. Which makes a change.

A year ago, Jools and I were on a plane on our way to Denver, en route to Yellowstone and a date with an eclipse. Amazing where time goes. And yet, in seven weeks, we are off to the Stated again, New York, Boston and the Appalachians. All autumn leaf peeping glory.

Not much happened today. We slept in due to the late night, then after making breakfast of crispy bacon butties, I watch the first MOTD of the season, then we go for a walk, along new paths and tracks to Windy Ridge, then down to the butterfly glade and back home.

The idea was to try to find some new plants, and see what else was growing. I think the only think I saw that was new was a single spike of Spearmint, which I failed to photograph when I saw it, then couldn't find again. Ragwort has been at time the only flower able to survive the long hot, dry summer, and it is still going strong, lining paths and bridleways, and in some places, five feet tall. Aaron's Rod grows strong too.

We pass people on horses, others walking dogs, or some just like us, out for the joy of it. We greet each other warmly.

Back at the pig's copse, the trailer is in place, and the porkers have grown well, and will soon be off to market, and an uncertain future. The trailer is in their wood, and they are using it as a place to sleep.

At the butterfly copse, there is a plethora of blues, but so man brambles have grown, I could not get to the marjoram, which the blues feed upon, so I watch them from a distance.

We walk back over the fields, to home for lunch of leftovers, and then an afternoon of hobbies and listening to the footy on the radio, at least for me.

Now, I have packed, showered and shaved, all ready for an early night, and up with the larks, if not before, tomorrow.