There are over 60,000 townlands in Ireland and, honest to God, you would swear there was a different climate in every one. Just go by the trees and bushes, for a start. One magnificent old oak in the south of Dublin produced this year the greatest bloom of male flowers seen in two-score years. Came the frost. Complete blitz and they were all reduced to dust, practically. So now we see that a tree which in good years can produce two barrelfuls or binfuls of selected acorns has not one. It does have a great crop of parasite marble gall with its comfortably tucked-up white grub. Not 200 yards away, on another old oak, the result seems to be similar. Yet in an hour's drive, a planting of young oaks is brassily flouting its first good crop.
And in that same plot, only the horse chestnut shows signs of autumn. The red American oaks are green as ever. No brilliant scarlet leaves. You plant that odd bush liquidambar for colour. Two of them, 100 yards apart, are still green, one showing only a couple of purple leaves. Best joke of all: the mulberry, its few measly berries long taken by the birds, is now putting out the equivalent of the Lammas Spurt, much seen in oaks. The huge, glossy, dark leaves of this tree are now set off by two-foot shoots of exquisitely light green leaves. Berries: the elderberries were good, now often gobbled up by the birds and taken for jam by humans. Hardly a sloe on a decent planting of blackthorn. A John Downey apple tree had some of its blossom burned, but shaded branches gave a few dozen fruit. Hardly any blackberries. Everywhere haws, the bushes learning down under the weight.
Rowans quite productive: the old-time equivalent of chewing gum and likewise spat out after mastication. And the Meath grass keeps on growing (reservation: in this townland anyway). Fungi of odd appearance come up in a cluster of willow trees. Do not let even the dog near it. Lawyers' Caps in the drive. Grey squirrels at the bird-hangers have now a rat as rival. Get out the airgun. But no mice in the house, while you have bought a box of 20 traps. Hazelnuts, a well gnawed under every clump.
Shelter, east or west-facing, mixed quality of soil, all play their part, but you can say without fear of contradiction that every autumn is different, every tree and shrub is working its own way. This is the most fascinating of all seasons. (The arbutus is still doing fine.) Y
Correction: The visiting game angler to this country spends "an impressive 57 per cent more than the average visitor," said Dr McDaid, Minister for Tourism, Sport and Recreation, quoted here yesterday. The figure appeared as "an impressive 5 per cent". Sorry.