2 November 2015
Autumn for me is a time for memories. It's the time that you start to look back over your experiences in the summer and they begin to look like golden days when the sunshine lasted until 10 o'clock at night and there seemed to be endless time to enjoy the garden. This is of course a construct, part of our attempts to process and file away memories, but I find that I'm far more conscious of it now compared to other times of the year.
I also find that the memories made at this time of year stay with me for longer and somehow seem more resonant. I think it's partly because I know the next six months are likely to be cold and damp and generally much harder than those which have recently passed. I find that every sunny day seems like the most precious day, and that each flower seems more miraculous. Perhaps that's why I love autumn so much. It allows time for reflection but there is also still so much to appreciate.
One of these really resonant moments happened a couple of weeks ago when I went to Apple Day at Cefn ila, just a few miles away from Allt-y-bela. I had had other plans for that day that had fallen through and was feeling distinctly disappointed. I walked to Cefn ila through the open countryside from Usk and as I walked, my mood slowly improved.
Cefn ila is a site, now owned by The Woodland Trust, on which a lodge house sat until relatively recently. The house has gone and the gardens, orchards and kitchen garden are currently being reclaimed from their dereliction. The Apple Day event was beautifully ramshackle, it felt like a true community affair, no corporate presence and no charge on the gate; just an honest celebration of autumn's bounty. Next to the old walled garden, on an undulating rough pasture, the orchard - semi-ruinous - stood. Gnarled, sometimes damaged, tree branches drooped under the weight of fruit. Amongst it a camp fire was smoldering neither fully alight nor fully extinguished with low simple plank wood benches arranged around. Sat with the orchard behind was a cellist accompanying a lady playing the harp while singing gentle folk songs. I sat mesmerised watching the scene, listening to the light chatter of happy people as they wandered through the little stalls of apple presses and local honey, all the time framed by the rough meadow, orchard and haunting music.
I took a longer route back to Usk through woodlands and open fields with long views collecting odd seasonal delights as I went; skeletal holly leaves, wild rose hips and larch cones. Who can fail to be awed by such beauty.
Back in the garden at Allt-y-bela the beech is changing colour and other leaves are falling, the ground is getting damp and brown and the air smells earthy again. I hope that your autumn is filled with as much magic as mine.
Words: Steve Lannin, Head Gardener at Allt-y-bela
Photographs: Britt Willoughby Dyer