The Changing Seasons ~ November In Wenlock

Scenes in old gold: the Priory parkland above, then the Linden Walk and Field and a view of Windmill Hill:

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The Cutlins path, sheep and parish church:

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And now the townscape as seen from the allotment:

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And a touch of green: winter wheat sprouting in Townsend behind the house (you saw it being sown HERE back in October):

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And in the garden: Evereste crab apples, Hesperanthus, and Foxgloves (still flowering today):

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And on Remembrance Sunday, Much Wenlock marked the centenary of the ending of WW1 with the lighting of a beacon on Windmill Hill, an occasion (on my part anyway) coupled with the fervent wish that here at least was one lesson from history that the ruling elite might learn from, though it’s showing few signs so far.

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The Changing Seasons

59 thoughts on “The Changing Seasons ~ November In Wenlock

  1. Your region has the golden look we usually see here in November. We started out that way, but everything changed as the rain kept pouring down and the temperature went from bitterly cold to mild, from snow to rain, from wind to calm and every day is a new day. It has been a completely CRAZY month. There really ARE no more seasons.

    1. It’s indeed a pretty sleepy sort of place. Except for once a year – this Saturday in fact – when the whole town centre is given over to the annual Chrismas Fayre, and the wide world pours in.

  2. Beautiful photos Tish; the light and landscapes have such a sense of peace. Sadly I’m also of the view that we are condemned by those with the power to keep repeating the mistakes of the past. It seems so much was gained in the aftermath of world wars, and it’s being lost so quickly.

    1. Thanks, Su. And yes it does feel as if good ground is slipping from under one’s feet. Even our MP – in his column this month in our parish magazine of all places managed to slip a bit of war mongering amongst his apparently thoughtful comments on the 1918 centenary. Along the lines of never fear. Our armed forces are well set to see off those who would threaten our shores. Now where did that idea come from? And who are these invaders?

  3. I’m missing autumn! Maybe I’ll need to change Warsaw plans for next year. The colours are magnificent, and your territory feels familiar because I’ve visited it so often in the blogosphere. Thank you

    1. Oh Meg, how lovely. I actually popped over to your old blog today, but the house was empty! So brilliant to hear from you. And of course I was thinking of you again when I included the windmill photo. Tx Email: tishfarrellwriter ‘at’ gmail ‘dot’ com

  4. Such lovely colours. We never see the likes of it here. The price for having no seasons to speak of.
    Winter wheat? Is that an English thing? 🙂
    And like Arkhenaten and you I am somewhat pessimistic…
    Take good care of yourself memsahib.
    🙂

    1. Hello Brian. Ah now – winter wheat. You may regret asking. In the past we English used to sow our wheat after ploughing in January for spring germination. It’s much kinder to the soil and apparently causes less degradation. In more recent times farmers plough after the summer harvest, and sow in the following autumn for the next summer harvest. I’m not sure if this means that the harvest is slightly earlier, but anyway the habit means the soil never ‘rests’ and having been ploughed and the crop scarcely rooted, there’s the tendency for much soil erosion during our increasingly wet winter season. In the past the harvested fields were left in the stubble, which supported many birds and much wildlife too over the worst months. We do not make the progress we like to think we do.

      1. Stubble… Interesting. In Brittany and Normandy, in the 60’s, a general trend started to rearrange agricultural lots. A farmer may have had 15 lots all separated (heritage and all that) by hedges. So in the name of efficiency, lots were rearranged, hedges were cut to allow tractors to pass through. As a result, all small predators, from hermins, ferrets, to small owls and the like lost their nests and hideouts. Then rodents began to multiply… No, we do make the progress we like to think we do… Tsss.

  5. The Linden Walk is beautiful in all seasons, but I think I have fallen in love with it in its gorgeous golden cloak of autumn. You have caught the light at its most mellow time. Is the allotment all tucked up for winter?

    1. I love the Linden Walk in autumn too. It starts to become mysterious, and the leaves smell nice too. But as for the allotment, it’s betwixt and between. Still quite a lot of veg up there, and winter greens coming along for next year. Have got some cover crops over empty beds, and am piling compost up on others. But I notice the overwintering broad beans have started to sprout, and there are still lots of jobs.

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