And why shouldn't we always be talking about the weather? Some people come from the Continent, wonder, when they first settle here; they soon learn. Back in mid-Germany, say, they may get it harder in winter, but even then it's more steady, predictable. But here we are out in the Atlantic, buffeted and battered; every day different. In school we used to hear a lot about the warming effect of the Gulf Stream in winter. What has happened to it? But town or country, the weather is still our staple of conversation. Out beyond the city you may have a field which borders the road, and you wonder if these winds may fell one of your trees onto the public highway. Worry, worry. In the city you miss the lovely leaves of the maple, yellow as sunlight, and the beech - stripped before their time from the trees and clogging your gutters and the drains. The sound of wind in the trees is not romantic at times of high velocity, such as we have had recently. And you worry about that branch which is too near your roof for comfort. The beech is a lovely tree, graceful and sinuous in the wind, but it is notably shallow-rooted. You begin to think that trees are lovely only as long as they do not overhang your house, or are tall enough to reach you in falling. Nerves, imagination: courage, they are our friends.
This was a poor year, in many parts, for fruiting and flowering trees. You don't think of the oak as particularly a flowering tree, but this year, one at least blossomed as never before. It was covered with delicate, yellow male tresses, an unusual sight. Then bang, down came the frost one night and blitzed the lot. Not one acorn to come from a massive old tree. Maybe it's as well, said one sage. It will give the tree a rest. If there is moss among or under the grass in other trees, there is more than a fair chance that some fallen acorns are already sprouting. Given that one is covered by moss or leaves it may dig itself in now and in Spring send up its shoot.
Big story in one suburban garden recently was that the nightly visits of badgers to the laid-out nuts and bread were interrupted for a short spell. After three or four days were resumed. Good news: in spite of storm and rain, the arbutus has a fine crop of berries in its safe corner. They look marvellous and doubtless will taste so when they mature into a deep red. Get out the cookbooks. Y