The prevailing easterly wind that has accompanied us through October so far has swapped direction for a south-westerly. With it has come rain and squalls. And many fallen leaves. Very many. After the long dry spell with three slight frosts and nothing to shake the ready-to-fall leaves, it is all change. The newly mowed lawn at the Big House is littered with gold and green and our path to Wattlebury is under a carpet of freshly fallen leafage. Fluttering, twizzling, dancing leafage. And lots of nobbly, poppaly acorns.
​"Nothing like the Great Storm of '87 though Gordon." Mum shook her head and sighed. "Can that really be 29 years ago today? By jingo Gordon, that did blow."
By jingo?
​"The severity of it hadn't been forecast on the radio and television. More in the way of rain than wind, I think they had said. I do remember tapping my trusty barometer that night before going to bed though - and was horrified to see it had gone back past 'Stormy' and up into 'Very Dry'! The storm hit the south coast in the early hours of the morning and did the most dreadful damage. 120mph gusts were recorded Gordon! Dad and I woke at 4 am as the wind hit the side of our house. It roared - a loud, fearsome bark of a roar - and I jumped out of bed, thinking a bomb had gone off at the very least - to see our dustbin lifted 30 foot in the air! Lots of people lost whole chicken houses - they simply took off over neighbouring fences - with the chickens still in them.
​"Huge trees laid across every road, path and garden; cars were crushed; houses, fences and walls flattened; rivers flooded. And we had no electricity for two weeks. It was estimated that about 15 million trees in England fell during the Great Storm.
"We were very lucky that we were all safe - in fact at that time in the morning, it is probably the quietest, and who knows - if the weather forecaster had forewarned us of a violent storm, more people could have been outside battening down the hatches instead of being tucked up in bed. And we had enough wood for the fires to last us two years! Even to this day when the Barometer drops very low - I say to Dad - don't worry - not as low the hurricane!"
By Jingo! Gordon xxx

It's not every morning that you look out of your window and see about 200 Geese wandering past. But it was one such morning for Mum! After the maize was cut, the soil has been raked and agitated and is obviously a culinary delight for all passing souls (particularly geese and corvids).  Canada geese have a diet of grass, roots, cereal leaves and spilled grain. The occasional small insect does not offend either. How we should have liked to have been there sorting through the bug-life at first light with them!

With much honking and grottling the Canada geese dibbled into the earth and walked systematically across the field. Some stood tall and proud, scanning the surroundings - on the look out for danger. Others argued amongst themselves and chivvied slow-coaches along. With their striking white cheeks and chin-strap on their jet black heads they made a stunning picture.

But as one party neared the garden gate it became apparent that a pair of geese were definitely in charge. A male and female Grey Lag! Although quite a big smaller than the Canadas (but very stout and chunky) they were most certainly the bosses and stood no truck at all. By comparison their yellow beaks shone brightly, although their coats were far less  striking than their bigger companions. Gordon xxx

There have been the strangest of clouds wafting over Wattlebury recently. A pair of Unicorn horns drifted past on Monday and the strangest of creatures have taken shape high in the sky. We have had a predominant easterly wind for well over a week now. Could that be the reason?

And today a rowdy group of teenage Starlings descended on the bird table at Wattlebury Cottage. With bodies grown-up, but heads still young, their spotty mis-matched coats look very bizarre. At this age they keep together in flocks, not pairing off in the first year, but living in adolescent communities until next April or May. In a month's time we should see them flock together in huge numbers - the murmuration - although because Firgus has cut down the big trees - they will have to find somewhere else to roost! Many of the smaller birds appear at the food table at the same time. Chaos! Sparrows, chaffinches, tits on the feeders - a real example of safety in numbers.

Starlings have been observed feeding on fermenting over-ripe fruit, which has led to the speculation that they might become intoxicated by the alcohol. Perhaps this wild and rather raucous visitation this morning might have been fuelled by too much fallen autumnal fruit! Gordon xxx

It was a perfect autumn day. The path to Wattlebury Church was dry, albeit somewhat nobbly with fallen acorns. The sun rose through the mist over the downs like a fiery golden ball, ablaze with expectation. Yes - it was to be a very exciting day! The day of the Harvest Festival!

The young cockerels and pullets looked excitedly out from their stable as Mum bustled about making sure everyone was ready for the walk into the village.
"We plough the fields and scatter" she trilled as she swept vigorously in no particular direction. Mum was very excited.
​"You know Gordon, Dad and I had that hymn at our Wedding! We got married in the autumn many moons ago and I sang so loudly - it was one of the happiest days of my life!"
​Mum still sings - most of the time actually. Well, if you can call it singing. 
​"And - you'll laugh at this Gordon - our friend Peter Graves was the Vicar!"
I managed to crease up one side of my wattle in acknowledgement.
"I even had autumn leaves on my wedding dress - not real ones obviously - just in the pattern. Although there were a lot of leaves in the Churchyard when we had our photo taken. I'll see if I can find you an old photo...."

"Enough of this Gordon! Time we set off or we will be late. Can you just finish that tidying over there for me please? Thank you!"
I napped a wayward fly.

As we walked along the path to Wattlebury with our gifts Mum told us about the Harvest Festival Suppers that she used to go to when she was a young pullet. The local farmers in Ridgewyck would cook and wait on the tables for local villagers. Much ale was consumed by the sound of it - and a merry old time was had by all. The money raised from the  tickets went towards the upkeep of the village hall. What a good idea.
​"Sadly those farmers who dressed in aprons and hats and worked their socks off to make it a night to remember all year are old now Gordon, and the Harvest Suppers haven't been held for many a year." 
​There was a note of sadness in Mum's voice as she thought out loud. I gently brushed her leg with my beak  and together we put our best foot forward towards the Church.
​Sammy Squirrel joined us from his drey, his little arms full of the shiniest, plumpest acorns that you have ever seen. Harvey bounded across our paddock to meet us at the gate - a large Bonio gently resting in his mouth - and little Honey galloped behind with a Salami Chewstick. Fluffy the ewe and her friends appeared out of the mist to join our party and Martha, Farmer Richard's cow waited for the rest of the herd at the top of the field. The Church was going to be full.

"Keep up please" Mum called to the loitering cockerels who had espied some tasty morsels in the hedgerow.
​We had brought with us an assortment of nibblings that we had saved. A few sunflower seeds and some crusts. One or two Daddy Long-legs and a couple of worms - a little uninspiring-looking now, but they were okay when they were still wiggling.
​Mr Fox could be seen on the far side of the Big Field - fortunately not carrying one of Peter's kin, but a basket of blackberries, which he gently placed down at the Church Gate and then disappeared back into the wood. Robin fluttered overhead as he joined us and we could now hear the Church Bells ringing out over Wattlebury.
​"All of your gifts will go towards the older creatures that are unable to catch as much food for themselves now." Mum told the eager young pullets who had caught up with us as we climbed the path. And as an afterthought added "And there will be gifts for those dear Farmer Friends too."
​And we quietly and respectfully filed through the cool darkness of the Church porch to be met by the most wondrous array of colour and autumn gifts and flowers imaginable! Sheaves of corn, baskets of produce, flowers of every colour - almost too bright to look at - apples by the plenty, fruits and vegetables of all kinds. We put our rather modest gifts by the altar and waited for the service to begin.
​But what was that noise? A gruffing, grunting, scraping noise. And there was Peter Rabbit reversing through the door dragging the biggest cob of maize in his teeth that you have ever seen. With a yank and a tug and a huff and a puff he pulled it all the way up the aisle, until totally exhausted he flopped on the cool stone floor - and we all burst into applause! Well done Pete! Gordon and Sylvia xxx

Dappley, appley autumn shades
​Vibrant reds and rusty bays
Lowering sun, your golden rays
​Light the ever shortening days.

The Holly and The Ivy
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
​They provide the safest home

The skies over Wattlebury have periodically been filled with swallows over the last two weeks. Diving and soaring - practising for their epic journey once more. The hedgerow where the dainty Chiffchaff uttered his rather monotonous and incessant tones is now silent. There will of course be our winter visitors - we look forward to that - but of our resident birds we all love the Thrush family. The Blackbird with its beautiful song,  the loud and rather harsh song of the Mistle Thrush and the clear and tuneful Song Thrush.
Mum, undecided even as she reached Wattlebury Village Hall where the EU referendum was taking place in June,  says she made her mind up about which way to vote  in the car park.
​"The Song Thrush said 'Vote Leave, Vote Leave' Gordon" she told me. "And so that's what I did"
But our favourite of the family is the Robin. With his clear, high and very varied sweet notes and twitters, he brightens the darkest of winter days. Who can be miserable with such unrivalled enthusiasm for life and with such a bright and cheery redbreast! No wonder everyone loves the Robin. Mum once told me that her favourite Christmas card has snow, a postbox , a robin and a liberal scattering of glitter on the front of it.

As others leave, you still remain
With cheery song, come sun or rain
​Hopping, bopping, flitting through
​Dear Friend Robin, loyal and true.

We have a Rookery in our tall Ash Trees that overlook our little farm. In  spring  it becomes the noisiest place imaginable. The rooks squabble over the best stick and the trees bend and sway as the nests are re-furbished for the new year. I must admit they do a pretty good job of entwining twigs and branches in such high and exposed trees. I have never seen one collapse - even in the strongest of winds. Harvey's favourite time of the year is when the youngsters leave the safety of their nest for the first time. They topple and cling precariously to any available branch as they get lower and lower. Their parents must be holding their breath! Especially as Harvey is waiting expectantly as the fledgling gets closer and closer!
Young crows leave their nests at around a month old. Jackdaws are fed by their parents for a further month until they are left to their own devices, while young rooks and crows stay with the adults until the late summer. Carrion crows sometimes remain in family groups through the winter.
​However it is now autumn and with winter approaching, the rooks are joining up with the crows (normally more solitary and aloof fellows) and the jackdaws. We had several jackdaws in the top of our Water Tower in the yard this year. They are a real nusience as they think they can help themselves to our food. Sometimes the young ones weasel into our outside pens and we take great delight in sitting on them and dragging them around - that is until Mum tells us off and rescues the offending thief.​

Multi-species flocks of corvids gather during the winter months, especially near open farmland and grassland and pastures where invertebrate populations (morsels to you and me!) are highest. Generally, numbers will peak around Christmas time with the birds returning to their breeding areas around February. There is the occasional magpie or jay to be seen, but they stay mainly separate from the black flock. One particular roost that we heard of in Cornwall numbered 200 carrion crows, 2,500 rooks and 7-8,000 jackdaws!
Outside the breeding season, daytime flocks form from early afternoon. They gather around these abundant food sources, particularly liking the  freshly ploughed fields on the Wattlebury estate, and large numbers improve the chances of locating sources of food. Across the big field when the trees are bare in December, sometimes the gang will alight there and for all the world it looks like a tree completely covered in black liquorice. How do they all fit? More pairs of eyes mean safety in numbers, too: predators are more likely to be spotted and the flock can ‘mob’ them and drive them away. Mind you poor Mr Buzz and Kit and Kate Kite are hardly likely to want to predate them - but they certainly do have a hard time if they venture too near.
​Just this morning on the way to Wattlebury Green we noticed an assorted corvid clan picking some of the remaining maize and carrying it to a communal feasting place. Each spring every species keeps itself to itself, but  come autumn they work together for their survival and well-being. Gordon xxx
​

Pauly Turkey is a good old stick. Well not so much a stick, really. She has been broodified for several weeks now and her loyal chum, Lucy the Aylesbury Duck, lays an egg each day for her to nestle down on. They can be found in the back of the stable with us, snuggled together and as warm as toast. In fact Pauly takes the opportunity when Mum gets the hose out to nip smartly into the yard and have her toes bathed so that she might cool down a little. Then she will usually zip along to the feed trough, clicking to herself as goes and search for tasty morsels.

​For a turkey, Pauly is remarkably agile. So as not to waste a second she moves as if treading on hot coals - lifting each leg high in the air and rolling slightly as she speeds along. We all like Pauly. And she is very useful for cuddling down with if we get chilly.

​​Lucy has bad legs. She wasn't made for walking great distances. Her destiny was, like Pauly, for something else. We never speak of this. So Mum lifts Lucy into her pool for a bathe in the morning, which she loves.

Good friends and the strangest of companions. In fact as we settle down at night I look around and think that we are a bit of an odd bunch. At the moment there is Big Bob, Buff Bob, Brighton Bob, Broody Bob and Black Bob. Reuben and Irene, Dainty, Sylvia and me. And whoever else wants to join us are all most welcome. Gordon and Sylvia xxx

Golden Maize - your end is nigh
​By Friday week you'll be a pie