All Fall Down!

While living in the suburbs, and being involved with work most of our lives, most folk are only able to devote little snippets of time to the aspects of nature around them. With urbanisation has come fewer trees and more concrete.

This morning, nature decided that the overlap between autumn and winter had been around for long enough, and proceeded with the final rushed efforts to complete the leaf-shedding process. Even as I walked around the garden, camera in hand to capture the colours and forms, I could see small batches of leaves being released and falling to the ground in the windless conditions. This was something I’d never really witnessed in such detail in all my years.

I would like to share some of the scenes with you, without further comment.

Little House on the Prairie

At Chartwell we’re rather far from the prairie. Or any other flat rolling country grassland, for that matter. As implied by the name Reikorangi Valley, hills, ravines and valleys are more our surroundings. But, if you can picture an isolated farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with smoke rising lazily from the chimney, then you will understand the picture I’m trying to paint.

(Above): This is Sprott Farmhouse, Alabama from many a yesteryear, when such forested areas were occupied by cotton fields – without smoke rising from the chimney stack. It is really more like the picture I’m trying to paint. But I digress. English literature lecturer would rap one over the knuckle for wandering off the subject…

In New Zealand, winter officially occupies the months of June, July, and August, although the country is not known as Aotearoa (‘the land of the long white cloud’) for its cuteness – the weather is very changeable, whatever the season…

With this in mind, you will understand that our leak-raking and gathering is petering off, as the numbers of remaining autumn leaves starts to dwindle. Winter is definitely on its way to us, when you feel the temperature of the long wet grass through thick rubber gumboots.

(Above): The piles of leaves are becoming progressively smaller as the trees convert to nudism for the Winter.

 

(Above): The trees through the pergola in The Snake are of the last to start undressing. The trellis seen at the far end marks the eastern boundary of the North Wing extension.

(Above): This weekend Clayton conducted a dress rehearsal of the kitchen fire to check the fire-worthiness of the different classes of firewood in the wood-shed and to evaluate the draught and condition  of the chimney flue (in case it needs sweeping). All went well, with the dogs promptly settling in to enjoy the radiant heat for the night.

So many of us associate the acrid city smell of wood and garbage smoke with the poor urban and rural settlements where any and all combustibles are set alight for cooking and heating. What we don’t remember are some of the aromas I experienced on Sunday evening: the rich aromas (as opposed to smells of burning rubbish) of pine, macrocarpa, eucalyptus and wattle – each with its own burning pattern and fire temperature range – and own distinctive aroma.

Inside the kitchen/ dining-room there was a cosy ambience with the orange of the flames flickering about. I guess that this will be most appreciated on the cold winter’s days still to come. Then I took a slow walk outside to enjoy the rich wood aromas, as the smoke gently wafted from the chimney and out into the pines, before dark set in.

It was simply quite invigorating. Stand still and close you eyes for a while and imagine…  its much like being near a House on the Prairie. 

A few steps towards the orchard part of the garden, and a brief gusty breeze rustled through the apple trees, like the hand of an invisible giant shaking the tree-tops. Platoons of dozens of variegated leaves came wafting down to the green carpet underfoot. Hmmm. The consolation is that leaf raking will soon be a chore of the past until next autumn.

But even a task as mundane as leak raking can be quite therapeutic, if you allow it.

Hobbits, Habits and Rabbits

The moon is hanging on to its dominance over the sky with the morning star in attendance as the sun rallies for control over the tree tops. One might swear Shakespeare is lurking here at 7:00am and 7ºC this clear April morning at Chartwell.

One might also be forgiven for thinking so, if one was standing next to me at this moment (with gumboots against the frosty grass), because the surrounds are indeed so crisp, quiet and Shakespearean.

The trees are all dressed in Autumn uniforms, with a huge proportion of their leaves having been shed in preparation of the imminent June winter. Obviously the evergreens are the obstinate delinquents, who have no firm beliefs in these things.

(Above): One of my favourites – an intricate pattern of branches: quite possibly a painting artist’s dream?

(Above): I have indicated that I am not much of a knowledgeable gardener, let alone anything resembling an arborist, but this tree has undergone an amazing transformation in the past month or so. You do not need to be an expert in tree matters to be able to appreciate the changing beauty of nature.

(Above): Not far from Goat Hill, I stumble on this small clump of field mushrooms. I have also seen numerous colonies of larger brownish-fawn ones on other days.

 
(Above): I am not a knowledgeable mushroomist either, but the neighbours have told me to stay clear of those with white undersides, and that brown undersides are Ok. These have white undersides, so I will leave well alone – I am not really that fond of mushrooms… By the way, an expert in mushrooms is known as a mycologist, but I didn’t want to appear too Shakespearean so early in the morning…

(Above): This guy growing nearer the pine trees, is silvery. Drat – white is bad, brown is Ok – what about silver?

(Above): I finally reach the object of my stroll – this is my proposed Winnie The Poo retreat. Why I call it this will become obvious at a future date. On the southern side of the driveway we have a small copse, which, up to now has only been used by the dogs as a hunting ground. Hunting for what? Who knows? Maybe hobbits or rabbits, but they’ve caught neither so far.

 
(Above): My Hobbit Tree, with its interesting brown bark. I have cleared a narrow walking pathway which goes past the Hobbit Tree, so that he is always close by.

(Above): It is almost impossible to walk anywhere in the property without a dog being within a few yards. Here Sophie is investigating whether anything untoward may be lurking in the undergrowth. No rabbits here, she reports. I want to cover the black soil of the pathway with chip and bark to give a drier and cleaner underfoot experience.

(Above): I was thinking of converting this little path into a sitting / talking / thinking / reading / doing absolutely nothing retreat. It will disturb the minimum of plant life, is cool and totally secluded, protected from wind and rain. A bird feeder would probably be much appreciated here – there are a few cute little fantails which frequent the copse.

If anything develops out of this idea, you’ll surely be hearing about it here.