Watch Out.

Now I'm trying to get back to my usual routine and today was the annual heather picnic for the beekeeping club. There was a time when these moors were covered in purple heather but, it needs to be maintained; every five to ten years it should be burnt to clear out the old and dead wood to encourage fresh young growth. The pheasant obtain improved nutrition from the fresh shoots, and those that they miss blossom for the benefit of the bees. Although pheasant shoots still take place here, it is now a long time since the hills were managed properly - hence, as you can see, the hillsides are a dirty brown colour.

Beekeepers rarely bring their bees here any longer, the forage is poor and the risk of spreading disease is now so high that it is not worth the candle. However, we carry on the tradition and meet every year for a picnic and a gossip and, like any farmer, complain about the weather and the honey crop.

This sign has been here as long as I can remember, I've never seen the shepherd so I have no idea about the form of wrath that results from running over his lambs; many years ago, driving slowly over a rutted field nearby, with a car full of occupied beehives (only an idiot would do it quickly), a rabbit ran into the car and killed itself. I do like a nice rabbit pie, particularly when there's no lead shot in it.