Autumn reflections and the wonder of nature

I’m looking out of my conservatory on a bright autumn day and marvelling at the wondrous shades of ochre on the falling leaves. I’m surrounded by apple, plum and pear trees, and an abundance of plants and bushes I can’t name. I can hear crows cawing and pigeons cooing, and a sense of calmness sweeps over me.

Nature has a powerful effect on our minds and bodies. Its sounds, fragrances and wonders heal and soothe. We must do everything we can to protect it.

A losing battle

In the cul-de-sac where I live, there’s a large patch of green where dogs and children play. This summer, a Grow Wild sign went up. The council made sure to mow a path around the edge, so it was still walkable.

One day, as I set out on a dog-walk, I stopped to chat to one of my neighbours who on this glorious summer’s day was working in his pristine garden.

“I see the council are saving money again,” he said.

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“The sign.” He indicated the no-mow sign.

“Ah, yes,” I said. “It’s designed to protect the wildlife.”

“Haha, no it’s not. It’s just to save the council money. Look at all those dandelion seeds blowing into my garden. I’m trying to keep it nice, but it’s impossible!”

“Oh,” I said, a little disappointed at my neighbour’s attitude. “But the bees and hover flies love dandelions.”

My neighbour looked at me as if I had two heads, then shook his one head and tutted, resuming his pruning, or whatever it was he was doing.

The persistence of nature

I carried on with my walk. I took my favourite route, down to Davie Park and along past the Loon Braes pond. A pair of swans are nesting there with their four cygnets. Over the summer, I’ve loved watching the offspring grow from fluffy babies to almost adult. They still have their grey feathers, but it’s a joy to see them gliding over the water as a family, rummaging around the reeds for food.

Balsam grows in abundance along my route. Its perfume and pink flowers are glorious, but I’ve since learned that this plant is non-native and classed as an invasive species. It still flourishes despite valiant efforts to clear it by local volunteers.

Heading back home, I hear a loud buzzing sound in the distance. As I get nearer, I gradually realise where the sound is coming from. Another of my neighbours, no doubt encouraged by the others, has taken it upon himself to mow the green. Over the next few weeks, he’s out there every day, pushing his garden mower up and down, back and forth, determined to clear the whole patch. And he succeeded, by Jove! Now there remains a tiny tuft of long grass left in the middle of the green, with a dejected no-mow sign at its centre.

Bees, butterflies and buddleia

On another hot day, as I returned from my daily walk, my neighbour on the opposite side was working in his front garden.

“You need a gardener,” he announced.

“Good morning to you too,” I said.

“Your garden is out of control,” he said. “And because of the heat, the broom seeds are popping all over my garden.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what I was apologising for. After all, isn’t it good for nature to spread itself as widely as possible?

“And that purple plant there. That’s a weed, you know.” He was pointing to a beautiful buddleia bush. It needs to be pulled up.”

“But the bees and butterflies love it,” I ventured.

He looked at me as if I had three heads.

“You need a gardener,” he grumbled again, and shuffled away to carry on edging his lawn, or whatever it was he’d been doing.

I stood on the driveway for a moment and watched a bumblebee land on a large dandelion growing right in the middle of the mono-blocking. I sighed contentedly.