The fruit cage is the last tidy up job that I do each year.
It’s relatively easy but this year I found I had to first pick the last of the
raspberries. Mid November and half a large yogurt pot of raspberries wanting to
be picked! Maybe I tidied up a bit earlier in other years and so missed this
last few, or maybe the mild weather has just tricked them into giving up a few
more this year. Irrespective, they will top up the bowl of rhubarb crumble and
custard tonight.
The cage itself had a major refit this year so both the
netting and stakes in good order and only a couple of supports required a bit
of gaffer tape.
It’s strange you weed and fork over any part of your plot
and if on cue you get the wildlife that comes not to watch, but to sit like vultures
and hunt down exposed worms and food. Robin always has a sixth sense of when soil
is being broken and turned and food is exposed. He appears from nowhere. Often
the next day the plot of turned soil is covered with little footprints from Freddie
Fox and his gang, who either like dancing on the soft soil at midnight, or just
want to examine your work. Sometimes they dig a little hole, just to check your
work and how far down you have gone. So there is not only no dig and dig but
also Fox dig.
I am awoken from my thoughts by, ’What do you think you are
doing?’ It comes over my should as I am on my hands and knees weeding and
forking the soil.
I turn and behind me are not one but a small troop of squirrels
standing on their hindlegs, arms folded across their chest and staring at me
with those little black eyes.
I reply, ‘what’s it to do with you? Which I thought was a responsible
question to ask.
‘What’s it to do with us?’ exclaimed the big one at the front
immediately. The others were clearly egging him on.
‘Iam just tidying up the plot for Winter.’ I reply.
‘You are disturbing all our hiding places,’ comes the
response. ‘We love this area as it is free from that squadron of pigeons, is
hardly disturbed and Freddie Fox and his gang can’t get in. It’s our larder
cupboard and a bolt hole.’
I felt guilty for one minute and then remember that so far I
haven’t seen any sunflower heads or stashes of hidden food or even signs of any.
The second squirrel at that point starts to dig in the soil as if he is in
search of a pot of gold, but on finding nothing lets out a audible tut and goes
over and whispers into the leader’s ear.
‘Look we know we buried a load of your sunflower seeds here
and they have gone,’ the leader declares.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask.
I remember squirrels have a ‘spread betting’ way of hiding
food all over and forgetting where they put it, but safe in the knowledge that
they will find some. The squirrels go into a huddle, arms around each other’s
shoulders like a team about to go into extra time and listening to their captain’s
words of wisdom.
Next minute one by one they scamper off and start to
disappear their bushy tails going under the netting by the tree.
‘Ok we may have got the location wrong this time, but if you
come across a pile of sunflowers seeds or the odd flowerhead can you mark it
with a stick?’ the leader asks rather meekly.
Before I could answer he too has gone and his bushy tail
scoots under the netting.
I look over towards Lottie, but remember he didn’t want to
come today and complained it was too cold to sit out on the bench. Even with a
dog bed and blanket whippets can be nesh. It’s a good job really as she may not
be happy seeing me talking to her arch enemy the squirrels and especially whilst
she would have been tied up and unable to chase them.
Time to go home and have those raspberries and leave the
netting as is so they can enjoy the fruit cage and keep digging for food and
turning the soil over for me.
