An Early Autumn

There's a heavy dew on the grass on clear mornings, even a hint of ice on the metalwork of cars. The nights are drawing in, the early mornings dark, with the sun not showing his face over Ben Hiant until well after six in the morning, and dropping below Druim na Gearr Leacainn, the ridge that runs along the back of Ormsaigbeg, soon after 6.30 in the evening. It's almost a month until the equinox, but it feels as if autumn has already arrived.

The swallows sense it. They're lining up along the power lines near the junction of Pier Road, twittering excitedly while they preen their feathers. They'll be gone shortly. There are still a few sand martins swooping over the fields and lochans, but most have already begun their long migration to Africa. Our house martins never came to Ormsaigbeg this year. They didn't come last year. All we can hope is that, next year, some new ones will move in.

The other day, the first skein of geese passed south down the valley which the Portuairk-Kilchoan road follows, calling as they came. After flying across the face of Ben Hiant, they settled noisily in the fields near Mingary for a few hours before continuing their journey.

The crofters are hastening to get the last of the hay harvest in. It's been a very uncertain summer, cool, with few long periods of hot sunshine, yet, judging by the number of bales of silage lining the fields, the harvest has been a good one.

It's been a strange summer for the deciduous trees, blasted as they were by the gale in May which stripped many of them of their leaves. Some recovered, putting out a completely new batch of foliage, others did less well. Look carefully at the trees at the top of the field below Meall mo Chridhe, and some of the trees show a brown tinge. They haven't recovered, and it will be interesting to see how they fare through this coming winter.

There are other effects of that gale. Some of the rowans have a normal crop of berries but many have few if any. There are no hazel nuts along the Ormsaigbeg hedgerows, so the mice will be going hungry, and the row of damson trees along the road from us have produced only a single fruit.

For many of us, as the countryside slips towards winter, the coming weeks are the best of the year.