Temperatures are dropping and the frost has returned. Time for the annual checklist... Drilling sorted. Check. Harvest Festival. Check. Pumpkin sale at Wiston Church. Check. Sweet chestnuts gathered. Chek - I'm typing through the pain. Who needs gloves? And I can hear a tiny violin....which must mean...Whoop! Autumn is back!
So, as the crops emerge and I tentatively dance up a rainstorm and play the weather game, it's time for another vintage photo. This Massey Harris seed drill courtesy of Grandad T's faming collection c. 1940s.
This year, I spent a frantic half hour in the role of the man on the back, running up and down the tailboard trying to eke out the little seed remaining, and inevitably running out with a few metres to go. But, crisis averted! After we'd got past Dad's "seasonal Tourette's" when faced with bags of seed corn - "It's Autumn! No Spring! ..Winter!..Spring!..Winter!", the correct grain was found and job done just in time for Humphrey to head off to play the flute in concert that evening.
Good news for us and for the pigeons, seagulls, rooks etc. that use the fields as an all-you-can-eat buffet to get fat for the winter. A flock of pigeons is for life, not just for Christmas. Fortunately, natural pest control in action - thank you to the farmer next door who's planted some far tastier oilseed rape. Plus, this year, they've got Humbug to contend with. And that dog believes he can fly...