24th August 2014
The morning was fine, chilly and a little misty; perfect hopping weather. And hopping will begin next week; always the first week in September. Beyond Oxen Hoath, a minibus arrived and unloaded fruit pickers who immediately set to work in the orchards. I took an apple from a tree and munched as I went on my way through Hurst Wood, wondering how the chestnuts will be this year. Along by Doris's bench, some damsons from the hedgerow were ready and they went down a treat as I watched the swallows performing their aerial acrobatic feats, fattening themselves for the coming journey. And in anticipation I looked forward to the Bramley orchards.
Some of the apples were huge and I selected five, popped them in my rucksack, with a plan to pick blackberries on the morrow to make jam. The Sun brought butterflies out, and dragonflies and bees; the air was dancing. All the wheat was in, and all the barley; bails of straw were scattered about the fields and just stubble remained. Pigeons were picking up any remnants. This was the scene right across the valley and a bailer was working over at Shipbourne, kicking up a fearful amount of dust.
As I sat against a beech in Dean Park Wood drinking tea, I watched a pair of speckled wood butterflies fluttering, encircling, round and round, in the the warm dappled sunlight of the glade. People were by now out and about, and families were enjoying the calm sunny walks of the Kentish countryside. Time for me to make myself scarce!
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