I HAVE an addiction. I scythe grass. Every year, I scrabble around for a bit of meadow that is, putatively, ‘too steep’ for the tractor-towed mower, where the corners are a ‘bit tight’, and only scything by hand will do.
This year, my eyes narrowed on the end of the orchard, awaiting planting-up with fruit trees in the autumn. A quarter of an acre. A pathetic fix. It’s something. I need to hear the swish of the blade through grass, sniff the honeyed scent of it all—clover, vernal, sorrel—and feast my eyes on the gorgeousness of full-grown grass. This will do.
Small can be beautiful. That little plot is a mini flowery mead, Pollocked with the red, white and blue of summer blooms. The air is dense with butterflies and bees, the stems of the glistening grass—waist-high!— run with rove beetles and wolf spiders and interesting insecty things.
A meadow pipit nests there. I have waited frustrated for her three fat little offspring to leave the family den. They did so on Monday. Today is Wednesday. I gave the titlarks their chance. Now, at last, is my time to mow.
My scythe is the grim-reaper sort, although made of lightweight tubular metal, rather than traditional ash wood. The peasantry of Olde England had musculature the gym loads at David Lloyds would swoon for.
There is a certain amount of rigmarole: attaching the blade to the snath, checking the hafting angle... but the terminology is a compensation, full and satisfying as it rolls around the mouth, like Kentish ale or Welsh farmhouse cheese.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة June 24, 2020 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 8500 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة June 24, 2020 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 8500 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
Every picture tells a story
As the National Gallery prepares to celebrate its 200th anniversary in May, Carla Passino delves into the fascinating history of 10 of its paintings, from artistic triumphs to ugly ducklings and a clever fake
Flying between extremes
Revisiting the Norfolk of his childhood bright, but not as early as planned on an April morning, John Lewis-Stempel is entranced by the wildlife of the Broads and spots a crane so large it renders his binoculars redundant Illustration by Michael Frith
Satan on six legs
The prowling embodiment of Beelzebub, the Devil's coach horse beetle could absolve you of all your sins, says Ian Morton
Sometimes, less is more
FASHIONS in gardening come and go like those on the catwalk, they simply take a lot longer doing so: sometimes decades.
Dropping down to Derwentwater
The gardens of High Moss, Portinscale, Cumbria The home of Peter and Christine Hughes Non Morris visits a much-loved, Historically fascinating Arts-andCrafts garden, which has been imaginatively brought back to life
A Georgian legacy
Down in Wiltshire and Somerset, two country houses and estates have been well tended by their owners
Processions, proclamations and punishment
The wayside crosses that were once beacons in the British landscape have seldom survived the forces of Nature and iconoclasm. Lucien de Guise follows a trail of destruction
A sparkling collection
Guided by the nose of wine expert Harry Eyres, the COUNTRY LIFE team tasted some of England's finest sparkling wines and found elegance and finesse, with notes of hedgerows and seaside air, to compete with any fizz from across the Channel-surely, this is what we should be drinking now Qu
Hampering after summer
Lifting the lid on a sturdy hamper to find cold ham and ginger beer is a summer joy. Julie Harding meets the wicker weavers who make the dream come true
Life's a picnic
With picnic season fast approaching, it's time to elevate your alfresco feast to Michelin-star levels of deliciousness. Here, Paul Henderson asks a selection of the finest chefs to open up their picnic baskets and share some of their top tips for culinary success