Autumn lamb, beginnings and endings and the cyclical poetry of farming - Hawthorn Hill Farm
That moment when the end of things and the beginning of things melts and merges into each other. That’s Autumn. The bushes once bending under the weight of raspberries and rain are now bare. The last of the potatoes lifted. Cooked. Mashed. Served with glistening dark mutton stews. The blackberries are long gone. The sloes […]
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