All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551
or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser. There is a space between my name and the minus sign and NO space before 'caldwell' to eliminate the name 'caldwell' in the Google listings
I am not on YouTube or social media
Cadwell NOT Caldwell
Early Nuts
[ 2 minute read ]
Opinion
There will be a lot of young walnut trees in my garden next spring. The squirrels have seemingly decided that the early fruits are a boon and should be buried right away. It is only September and I consider that they might forget where they have put them by the time they periodically wake from their hibernation unless they intend to gorge on midnight banquets when snow is thick on the ground. in any case, there is no hurry and I suppose they will manage to bury the whole tree before they get cold.
If they are using the rusty bike with no saddle leaning against the ivy-covered fence as a marker they will later be disoriented. The fence is falling in slow motion with the added weight of being damp and mouldy from decades of inattention. It sags against the peeling dark blue paint with duck-egg blue undercoat that was once pristine coats covering the shed. If the squirrels are familiar with this they will lose the nuts to the soil. Six years ago, a charitable and creative person might have described the shed as 'shabby chic'. Today it is wet and smells of fungus.
I am only waiting to hear a bell or a cry from the street, 'Any old iron. Any old Iron' and the bike will be gone. No-one calls that anymore. The only people who collect unwanted metal from households are Roma trying to make what they see as an honest living. The English, though, just drive to tips now. Nonetheless, the flaking rough textured bike with shades of orange at its welded junctures will be gone before the year is out, and the pull of gravity will draw the shed and the once black feather edge fence down. The longstanding green and white furry texture of the fence will help to camouflage it in the long grass; the grass that no-one cuts anymore. It is the same grass that in summer hides the forgotten, soil-filled terracotta plant pots, some of which are broken, stacked against the slippery shed walls; the same grass that withers in winter, its stalks too long to cope with frost
On the other side of the garden, furthest from the walnut tree that is two neighbours gardens away, I feebly dug where the brambles had been. At least I have applied some effort and focus there, but only for tomato plants to grow. The squirrels buried acorns there last year; the acorns I left in a bucket for the Muntjac deer to eat when the ground is frozen. The small oak trees were lifted, and died in plastic pots in the drought, and the tall tomato plants bear a late display of green fruit impatient for the same searing sunlight of just a month ago. It is an incongruous and confusing combination for the experienced squirrels. If they navigate by the now abundant and leafy dark green leaves after the recent rains they will lose their treasures to the soil. In October the frost will strike down the plants and the scene will be different. Only the Giant Winter Leeks will signpost where the middle of the garden is and steer the drowsy and cold squirrels to their hoards.
There will be a lot of young walnut trees in my garden next spring
