Changing weather, water, and the meaning of community (26 July - 1st August, 2021)

*Up on the moor behind our house, stormy skies and yarrow, harebells and bedstraw in front of Ruberslaw*

This week we heard tell of horrendous floods up in Edinburgh and some even closer within the Borders, but the downpours seemed to skirt around us and I still found myself needing to water the garden twice. A few starry nights and balmy evenings meant it was definitely still summer, but a chill has crept into the air and you can feel the insistent surge of summer growth easing. Foliage is becoming dull - more like cooked spinach - and everything around us looks a bit overblown. Our little cottage has been subsumed by overly enthusiastic hedges and trees which will have to be severely pruned this year if we want to continue letting daylight into the house.

I’m never quite sure when the best time to cut hedges is and usually wait for the cue of the local hedge cutter patrolling the roadsides (likewise, it’s always a good idea to mow the lawn when you see farmers cutting grass, as they seem to always have inside information about impending rain), but our farmer neighbour Tom says that as soon as the beech hedge is showing different colours at its tips, you can cut. It may be time to once again risk life and limb grappling with our unruly hedge trimmer.

Even as rain showers cool everything down, warm harvest colours are creeping into the landscape as wheat and barley ripens. While walking Humphrey recently I’ve been relishing the contrast between those honeyed tones and the silver-blue hues of long grass heavy with rain. We’ve also enjoyed wading into the undergrowth by the path to pick wild raspberries which in my opinion are better eaten on the spot rather than harvested in any volume for processing. Wild raspberries are sublimely perfumed, and far more intense than cultivated berries, but they don’t keep, and even have a short life on the plant.

It has been a week for exciting wildlife in the garden. Our resident stoat continues to make meandering tunnels under the flower beds, though thankfully hasn’t yet killed or upended any plants. While I’d rather not have such disruption in my new borders, I understand that stoats are effective predators of rabbits, mice and voles - much obliged, Mr Stoat - though sadly they also have a taste for garden birds. I found two rather juicy severed wings on the pathway the other day, which must be down to him.

On Monday morning we were greeted with another unsavoury sight on the gravel - a long black poo, which on further inspection revealed many beetle remnants. This could only mean one thing; we have a hedgehog! And sure enough, his snorts and grunts were heard soon after at the edge of the paddock. I’m thrilled to be sharing our space with hedgehogs, having not seen one alive since I was very small. Back then we would leave out plates of milk and bread which has since been debunked as bad for them. Contemporary advice suggests leaving out dog food which our fussy hound is unlikely to interfere with as he prefers whatever is on our plates (particularly black pudding).

The most exciting sighting was undoubtedly a red squirrel, bounding merrily along our veg garden fence and happily ignored by Humphrey. They are such beautiful creatures but advice on how to encourage them is conflicted. Edible incentives risk attracting greys who live only a couple of acres away, so habitat devoid of predators seems to be as much as we can offer.

Recent dry spells and heat got us thinking seriously about the longevity of our water supply which comes of the hill behind our house. Our ancient, brick tank has been used as a scratching post and watering hole by endless sheep, and spouts water down the hill at an alarming rate. Mercifully it continues to fill, but when I learned that the springs which feed it are living and need to be ‘cleaned’ periodically to prevent them giving up and going elsewhere, I got into one of our spring tanks with a dustpan and brush to clear the silt. Two weeks later there was no sign of a spring bubbling up at all, which was unnerving to say the least. This week we were visited by a local water expert and his son; two rare people maintaining the old ways of countryside management, and whom have significant traditional knowledge about natural water systems. We met during a rain shower inside our polytunnel and discussed what was needed to secure our water system for ourselves and those who come after us. I felt deeply comforted talking with people who think of their work in terms of decades and centuries, rather than months and years.

Over the weekend we had two farmer friends around for dinner. My hosting skills are sorely in need of exercising post-Covid, and it was wonderful to be able to share some good local lamb from Briggsy’s while listening to them discuss the pros and cons of different livestock, the rise and fall of local cattle markets, and the antics involved in sheepdog training. I had huge admiration for these men who seemed filled with purpose and were clearly unafraid to face life, death and physical challenge. Our little dog was particularly enamoured with one guest, clearly being able to smell the farm and working dog on his clothing. It made me feel a little sorry for wee Humph, who doesn’t have the kind of occupation that might otherwise give him a sense of purpose like his working cousins. His great uncle Charlie lives on a farm nearby, and in his youth was celebrated for regularly depositing rats on the house doorstep. I would love it if Humph would keep our rodent population down, but he appears to be actively scared of mice. Dogs are no different from people in their need for a sense of purpose, so we will have to find some task that will make him feel useful - asides from being an excellent being to cuddle.

Our week ended with an impromptu visit to an open garden in aid of Southdean Village Hall. We are not strictly local to Southdean, but after our visit I’d like to be. Southdean Mill feels remote, and is at the end of a long, bumpy track. It was hard to fathom that such an appreciative crowd as we found there, could have materialised our of such a landscape. But bubbling chatter and a table laden with tea and endless cake made it feel like a welcoming hub. Linda Lovatt and her partner Brian have turned what was perhaps quite a bleak place with a ruined mill, into a dreamlike cottage with flourishing garden. I had to keep reminding myself that it has taken them 17 years to get there, as I stared longingly at romantic cloud-like borders filled with buzzing insects and butterflies. We have a way to go yet… We walked around the vegetable garden making mental note of her ingenious designs and watering mechanisms, and even my ‘I’m not into gardening’ husband swooned over the old-fashioned cottage garden to the front of the house.

But perhaps even more pleasing than the garden, was the bustle around the tea tables in their courtyard. Familiar pleasantries were exchanged, dogs and children greeted with affection, smiles and banter offered, even to strangers such as ourselves. A bright-eyed older lady leaned towards our table to recite a bit of Hairy Maclary in honour of our own scruffy wee Humph, making us giggle. It was a welcome hubbub in the wake of Covid-times, and signified something vital about rural living for me. In amongst just a handful of houses, surrounded by moorland and with the nearest town 11 miles away, Southdean Village Hall would be considered truly ‘out there’ by most city-dwellers. But somehow an energetic team of volunteers keeps it busy with quiz nights, movie nights, crop swaps and get-togethers. Bringing people together when they’re distributed far and wide, with open moors and possibly a howling winter gale between them and their destination, is a pretty impressive feat. But that kind of effort is essential, making rural living possible and pleasant when it could so easily be alienating, lonely and irrelevant in our urban-oriented world. I have to admit I’ve always considered ‘village hall activities’ to be the preserve of my grandma, but I’m beginning to see it very differently. If we want to really live here, to be of here, it will take more than making our garden beautiful. Like everyone we met that Sunday, we will have to take part.