Conkering Heroes

We went for a walk yesterday, around the castle grounds next to our house. Signs of autumn were everywhere, especially in the square of ancient beeeches where the leaves were thick underfoot. We were surprised to find several clumps of crocuses sprouting in the sheep-meadow – it set B muttering furiously about global warming putting all the seasons out of sync; later, at home, I checked in our invaluble copy of Roger Phillips’ Wild Flowers of Britain and discovered we had just come across our first autumn crocuses.
We took the path around the back of the castle mound, finding our way blocked by a big old tree that had collapsed from the cliff-edge above. It was quite a limb over and through the tangle of branches and thick ivy-stems (it was clearly the weight of the ivy, combined with weeks of root-loosening rain on the shallow rocky soil, that had finally bought the patriarch down), but we made it and walked along the edge of the marsh to our goal: three or four big horse-chestnut trees, each with a carpet of fallen nuts beneath them. We filled our pockets.
Today, we planted them in pots of compost and set them out in a shaded corner of the graden. Next spring, we’ll be the proud parents of a small forest, perhaps.