The sheep are looking rather pleased with themselves this month. The Shetlands have done a thorough job of stripping all the thistle and nettle tops - thank you, ladies - while the Ryelands have been more sensible, quietly grazing the grass. They’ve still got access to the Pond Field, which is important at this time of year. Even when everything else dries, there’s always running water there. Having just been shorn, they’re light on their feet and content.

The hedgerows are changing fast. Blackberries have come in early, and the sloes are so heavy on the branches that I almost feel guilty leaving them behind. I’m not much of a gin drinker, so I pick the blackberries for myself instead, and save just a few hawthorn berries for teas and breakfasts. The rest I leave for the birds. Though I do worry for them - the hawthorn and other berries are ripening far too early this year, and I hope there will still be enough left for wildlife when winter truly arrives.

Nature’s calendar feels unsettled. The geese have already begun to arrive, a good six weeks ahead of their usual schedule. I was picking apples in July, when once we’d wait until September. Everything seems a month early now. The ground is warm and, thankfully, still holding its moisture, but the pace of change is unmistakable.

For me, this turn between summer and autumn is a curious one. I enjoy autumn itself - the crisp mornings, the excuse for woolly layers, the sense of settling in. But these shortening days, walking Meg in the dark again, always take some adjustment. Meg doesn’t mind, of course. She follows every scent, chases every squirrel, and even picks blackberries for herself, daintily choosing the ripest ones.

I make the most of the season in the kitchen, too. Apple and blackberry crumble - my mother’s recipe - is a staple. And I preserve as much produce as I can, lining jars and bottles on the shelves as a kind of quiet insurance for the winter ahead.

The walks around the farm vary from quick checks to slow rambles, depending on the mood and the weather, but there’s always something new to see. August has that sense of being caught between two seasons - the remnants of summer’s warmth and the first signs of autumn creeping in. A reminder that nothing stays still for long.

Sally