Nuthatch, frozen bird baths and the last of the tomatoes

It's six am on a Sunday morning and still very dark outside. A thought has just occurred to me, the clocks may have gone back an hour and if so I am totally unaware of this. We are always forewarned of this twice yearly but as I don't tend to read the newspapers or watch TV I have no idea if British summer time has now ended. The outside conditions tell me it is no longer BST though. The leaves on the oak are rapidly drying out and their varying shades of amber and brown are the last colours they will be turning before they sail away on a brisk, nipping wind and tumble gracefully to the ground. Soon the mornings will be frosted with white and the trudge up to the hen houses will be noisy with ice snapping underfoot.
As for the chickens, they will be loath to venture out, preferring to stay cwtched up (Welsh for cuddled) on their warm bed of wood shavings. The bigger girls will stay huddled on the perch and will only appear when they are hungry. Winter is definitely on it's way.

I was working all day yesterday and missed out on the glorious sunshine that was inviting me to go and play in the garden but I have enjoyed seeing a lovely torpedo shaped female Nuthatch darting about close by the conservatory window earlier this week. I'm always delghted to spy the common but shy Jenny Wren or the camera-inviting Robin Redbreast and already I've seen one handsome Goldfinch that so delighted Luke the first time he ever saw one in our garden.
Whilst I mourn the passing of a frankly non existent summer there is still such a lot to be got from the seasons in Britain. I won't yearn for the slippery mornings or the biting cold that seems to pervade every part of my body, turning my fingertips numb and making my feet feel like ice blocks, Likewise I shan't be welcoming the icy road conditions or scraping the windscreen and then waiting for the condensation to clear before I can set off on a journey anywhere but whilst the roses lie dormant (a great time now to plant new rose stocks whilst they are not disturbed by the upheaval) the bulbs will soon be reawakening and, hidden from view, will begin to build up their stores and push upwards and eventually out into the light for next year's colour.

Today we are visiting family so there will be no gardening but I am longing to get my fingers dirty and my back aching again. A hard day's digging is pretty therapeutic even if it's tough going and standing back to admire the crumbly soil after it's been dug over is one of my secret (not so secret now) joys. The winter sky, bright blue with mere wisps of cloud, is always a delight to stare up at whilst I am stretching my back out when it locks up. A steaming hot cup of tea to wrap your hands around and feel the warmth seeping back in is another simple pleasure. Having the 'ladies' around my feet, looking for any fat worms I may have unearthed with my digging always makes me chuckle too. They are so industrious and when we both spot a wriggling body in the clod of soil I have just dug it's a race to see who can get to it first. Me, to hide it back safely underground or the hens to make a tasty meal of it.
Last night Luke picked me up from work and had difficulty getting the two littlest back into their run so ended up shutting them into the safety of the greenhouse. When we arrived home at dusk they had already perched, high up on the metal framework, in amongst the tomato plants. We quickly hooked up a chicken each, much to their obvious and noisy displeasure, and popped them deftly back into their hen house. Much happier to be back in their dark and comfortable sanctuary they immediately stopped their protestations and, peeking through the window of their house, we could see them snuggled up together ready for a good night's sleep.
Oh to be a chicken in our little flock.



Talking of the tomatoes. it's now obvious that we won't be getting any more ripening and the ones that have started ripening have now split their skins and have an edging of mould running along the split. They look like they have fur lined bomber jackets on. We will have to consign the plants to the compost bin but at least I saved a few last ones to freeze for stews later in the year. Luke is thrilled that finally we had success with our greenhouse tomatoes and I hope this means that next year we will have rows of dark green bushes with fat red globes hanging off them. Yum.