Autumn

In England Autumn traditionally begins on 21st September and ends of 21st December. In Ireland, where the Celtic calendar is followed Autumn actually begins in August and ends in October. In England, at least until the mid 16th century, the word harvest was used to describe this time of year, that was replaced by 'fall' being used to describe the time of the year when leaves began to fall from the trees, the use of the word fall headed west with the great migration to the New World, also taking with it the great English cooking traditions. Whilst Dutch cooking methods replaced traditional English ways of cooking so the French word automne replaced 'fall' in the English lexicon.

It's that time of year when if out walking there will almost certainly be a bustle in the hedgerow and it won't be the May Queen undertaking a spring clean, it's more likely to be a rabbit, squirrel, fox or other small mammal looking for food and bedding in preparation for the winter. The hedgerows are bursting with colour, whether blackberries (as above), pyracanthas, or the myriad of colours as leaves change from green to brown and all shades between.

Autumn is also the great melancholic season, the shortening of days, the turning back of the clocks and the slow easing into longer nights and shorter days that will last until next February. It's the time of year when the air becomes notable more bracing in the mornings, there are warnings of frost on the television (albeit confined to areas in the northern parts of the old Empire) and on the drive to work you encounter fog and mist hanging over the river and surrounding valleys.

When I was a child Autumn always meant russet apples. The Egremont Russet was my Dad's favourite and the first appearance of a russet in the fruit bowl meant that it would soon be the time of year when Saturday afternoons were spent in the company of Frank Bough watching the teleprinter as news of the inevitable defeat away to Burnley would chatter loudly onto the screen. There would be Moto-cross from some ploughed field in the midlands where a bloke covered from head to foot in mud would battle the elements on his Husqvana motorbike and Sam Leitch would present the lunchtime football preview show, the predecessor to Football Focus. When I first got into gardening I promised myself that I would plant an Egremont Russet tree. The russet, like so many 'native' varieties of apple has fallen out of favour over the past few years as the English palette has fallen for the bland cotton wool flavours on offer from the supermarkets. It's a great shame because the nutty taste and rich texture of the russet are worth discovering and holding onto.

Autumn is when you can stare out of the window and be amazed at the strength and properties of double glazing, when you can watch the clouds speeding overhead knowing that rain is likely at any time, when the smell of freshly made coffee seems more important than ever and where weekends unravel slowly without any sense of urgency, even the lawnmowers are silent.

It is also the season of remembering and planning. Remembrance comes in many forms, the act of remembrance in November, the remembering of the glorious summer holidays and the planning ahead for the garden. When the first seed catalogue arrives through the letterbox you know that you must forget what happened this year in the garden and turn your attention to next spring and summer.

The blackberries were photographed at Winspit quarry, Worth Matravers, Dorset.