It is easy to worry about climate change desertifying Africa, flooding Bangladesh and melting the polar ice ? but very hard for us ordinary mortals to actually do anything other than be as careful as we can with our energy use. And when I go into the supermarket and almost freeze by the chiller cabinets, then overcook near the bakery, I feel that my little efforts are rather negated by this profligate squandering of energy over which I have no control.
So, for this blog post, I want to concentrate on something a bit more homely. Last Sunday, I walked down the lane and picked what will probably be my last bowl of blackberries for this year. Traditionally, we aren't supposed to pick them after Michaelmas (29th September), as the Devil spits on them - a busy man, obviously. I suspect the belief dates from colder times when blackberries would have been very pippy and bitter at the end of the season - but here we are well into October and they are still sweet and juicy, if a bit fly-blown in places.
And what about swallows? Until recently, I used to time the swallows by family dates: they always left for Africa around the time of my Dad's birthday (early September), and arrived again on the anniversary of his death (early April). Although I don't think they were early arriving, they were certainly late leaving this year. Mr W even saw a family of swallows (with young in the nest) at the Axminster farmers' store only three weeks ago. I do hope they were strong enough to fly south for the winter, though I fear not.
So, there is a snapshot of how climate change is affecting me. I am so lucky it isn't going to starve, bake or drown my native land.
