The countryside in... October
Sarah Ryan takes in the colours, scents, textures and sounds of autumn on a sensory October walk
THE WOODEN GATE is damp and soft with recent rain. I reach over, lift the cool metal latch and step through. The gate swings back with a thud, and I half turn to tug it and make sure it has clicked closed. It responds with a short jolt; the metal bar secured behind the clasp.
The path wends slightly right ahead, between fields grazed by cattle. The fences between me and them, track and field, are tangled with old man’s beard, Clematis vitalba. The summer green of its leaves are turning a blotchy yellow, but they are barely noticeable behind the tangled swirl of fluffy seedheads.
ÔSweet Suffolk Owl’
At the centre of each is a cluster of dark, round seeds. Although they are sometimes a more youthful green, blushed with red, these have darkened almost to black. Each seed sends out a long, whippy tail, rather like a tadpole, but covered in fine, silky white hairs. The tail does not propel them forward, but pulls them out into the waiting world to find the fertile earth. They might be nibbled at by goldfinches or become the soft lining of a mouse’s nest, but, for now, the sight of them, downy and light, and the touch of their silky tendrils, brings to mind their other common name: traveller’s joy.
Further on, there are haws, dark red, shrivelled and hard, and a few of the last soft elderberries. And then, the track turns into the cow field and becomes a flattened trail in the grass. The browsing cows flick their ears, and a couple lift their heads to regard me with a steady gaze until I move up the hill and away from the herd.
Scent from the dairy
As I climb, I lift my face to the sky. It is blue and brushed with high, white cirrus clouds, as light and feathery as the clematis. There is no rain forecast today, and the wind from the south is soft and mild. As I walk, I am met by a buttery, nutty fragrance and, sure enough, a few yards ahead is a Western gorse bush, Ulex gallii, its prickly branches studded with yellow flowers. I walk up close and, taking a bud gently between my fingers, inhale a deep breath of the mellow almond scent. It is as rich and satisfying as a gulp of fresh cream.
From up here, I can see the river. It has swelled over its banks, so both the water and the flood plains gleam in the sunlight. One tree standing clear above it, maybe an ash, has already dropped its leaves; others are only just starting to yellow. After cresting the hill, the path leads down to a wider track. The verges have been recently mown and the hedgerow flailed, but behind the cracked and broken stems is a tangle of clematis and bramble. Taller trees and shrubs curve over the track, nearly
“Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight With feathers, like a lady bright” Thomas Vautor,
enclosing it. Looking ahead, it has almost created a tunnel, a burrow-shaped passageway to pass through.
Home to roost
It is not quite 5pm, but the light has already started to wane, and it is darker still under the trees. Soon, the reds and oranges are flushed out, and only the blue of the evening sky remains. I walk along, hearing just the scuff and thud of my boots on the path, and the occasional ruffle of my jacket. Suddenly, in a clattering, chuckling racket, a flock of feathery shadows swoops overhead. The moment I properly look up, they have already gone; the noisy ‘tchak, tchak, tchak’ fading over the treetops as the jackdaws, Corvus monedula, fly noisily off to roost. It is only later I discover that they are one of the grouping of birds, along with the cuckoo and chiffchaff, which are named onomatopoeically after their distinctive call.
The quiet soon settles between the leaves and upon the undergrowth. When it is interrupted again, it is by the soft, quavering ‘hoo’ of a Tawny owl. I smell woodsmoke on the cooling breeze before I see the houses ahead, and I search in my pockets for the bus fare. Time for home.
“The wild duck startles like a sudden thought, And heron slow as if it might be caught. The flopping crows on weary wings go by And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly”
John Clare, ÔAutumn Birds’