The alarm clocks were set at Ten to Four this morning. Coffee was drunk and the flask and throat lozenges were packed into the car. Our friends were on their way to The National Poultry Club Show! The sky was clear and the stars shone brightly in the cold north wind - but no snow here (yet) - although I think they have it further 'up country'.
Dad is at the helm and Mum is going to look after us, which is always fun as she lets everyone out to play. Besides there was no room for Mum in the car. Prudence, Martha, Campbell and Sebastian, the four Buff Orpingtons are on the seats. The younger members of our family are snugged up in the boot!
Mum bade Dad farewell. 'Hasta tarde' she called as she waved him off.

All should be safely gathered in -- but the maize on the Wattlebury Estate was planted late and when the time came to gather it in, the ground had become so wet that many acres were left unharvested. The tractors may be able to return and cut the crop when the frosts come - but it will have to dry out a lot before that can happen. As a result we have heavy tyre ruts through the fields, now filled with water and a good many interesting visitors to meet up with!  Even King Canewt arrived on the doorstep of Wattlebury Cottage one evening last week, waving his arms in a jaunty fashion. But we will surely get birds of many and varied types. There is the corn too - some is starting to look weary and blackened, but it will provide sound meals for hungry creatures if the winter is severe.
In 1827 The Shepherd of Banbury's Rules stated: 'If the latter End of October and beginning of November be for the most Part warm and rainy, then January and February are likely to be frosty and cold, except after a very dry summer.' which is probably suitably fitting for our year so far. That corn on the cob may come in handy!
And the Harvest Suppers are eaten and packed away for another year now, too. A feast of great merriment, enjoyed traditionally by farmers and fellow villagers. Mum recalls such evenings when she was a young pullet as being filled with laughter, wine, splendiferous food and excellent company. The wine of course may have quite a lot to do with it.

Then comes the harvest supper night
Which rustics welcome with delight
When merry game and tiresome tale
And songs increasing with the ale
Their mingled uproar, interpose
To crown the harvest's happy close
While rural mirth that there abides
Laughs till she almost cracks her sides.
John Clare, 'The Shepherd's Calendar'

The wind still blew. Was it the tail end of Storm Abigail we wondered? It pulled with jerks and tugs at the small bushes as the tall trees swayed and dipped. The clouds were high - a patchwork of cream and grey with the occasional splash of blue seemingly ferried along on their westerly quest. Every so often a thin ray of sunlight illuminated the fields and far-away downs, painting the lofty branches and earth yellow in it's wake, made even more dramatic against the dark sky.

The birds love it of course. From the relative peace of the bird table where the seed and peanut holders rock rhythmically back and forth to the bare tops of the tall ash and the high firs. It might be fair to say that the Corvus Clan are in their element. Gathering high in a mass and separating away in smaller groups to  momentarily reconvene before flying up and up and out of sight. Then they are back, falling, soaring, wheeling, pausing and then alighting on the highest Ash, which from a distance makes it look as if the tree is in full leaf again.

A lone gull passes over, soon followed by four more.
"Stormy at sea." Mum says.
A woodpigeon flaps on his way and a pair of magpies fly low and direct across the bare field behind him. Suddenly the sky is filled with the crow family again - their black wings fanned out like stretched fingers as they face into the wind, seemingly stopping in mid-air, then gliding speedily away as if on a whim of flying anywhere - just for the total enjoyment of the blustery day.

Still the clouds move resolutely on their way, but there is less blue to be seen now and fewer rays of sunlight peeping through the quilted sky.
"I think that rain is on the way, Gordon." Mum says.

Today started off well enough - the first rays of the morning sunshine lit up the side of our barn and after all of the inclement weather of recent days, we were very upbeat and to be frank - jolly excited.

However it was not to last. Soon the clouds darkened over Wattlebury Down and a quite ferocious westerly wind gathered pace, driving slanty rain across our little farm. Then the sun came out and a patch of blue sky - enough to make a sailor's suit - appeared. The 'suit' was trimmed in ermine and calico as the flustery birds skimmed across it like tiny buttons. But then the trees started nodding and bowing again and all too soon another squall passed over. Very unpredictable. No sooner had we shaken our feathers out, than we had to dive for cover again.

Farmer Richard got his cows in this week and Smoothy the Ram met his designated eight wives last Saturday (November 7th). He told us that if you put the ram with the ewes on Guy Fawkes Night, they will lamb down on April 1st. We have just 20 left in our assorted flock now - plus a pot of goo. "Molasses." said Farmer Richard. "They love it!"

With all the rain and wind of the past days, the trees have quickly shed their autumn colours. The Ash is bare, apart that is, from it's black keys dangling and jingling in the wind. The pretty Beech has dropped most of her yellow and gold gown too, but the Oak is always the last one to hang on to his golden brown cloak. Dad often stares up at the big oaks that we have in our lane, debating whether to go for the 'final' leaf clear-up or wait a bit longer, hoping that a strong easterly will denude the stubborn leafage and send it scattering into the field instead of our yard. The Oak always wins - whenever Dad decides to go a-gathering. Gordon xxx