Season of mellow fruitfulness

John Keats called this the 'season of mists and mellow fruitfulness' and that is the very best description of English autumn I have ever heard! Today my garden is bathed in glorious, golden sunlight. The chickens are happily free ranging while our old dog dozes and Wurzel is up a ladder harvesting the last bunches of grapes from atop the pergola.

I say the last of the grapes because we've been picking them for weeks now and there were so, so many! Little flower has taken a bunch to school each day, we've given great bowls full to family, friends and neighbours. I've juiced mountains of grapes to make jellys and jams.





and of course, I hardly need say,
there is a gallon of red wine bubbling away in the kitchen.


And Wurzel is out there, picking yet more! Even the chickens are growing weary of grapes now! (They are fickle those hens, shortly before the grapes ripened they had begun turning their little beaks up at cherry tomatoes!) and we will know soon whether there is enough for another gallon of wine.

I love this time of year.