Goose grass, you might think would be the preserve of geese and I’m sure that your average goose would be pleased if you chose to present it with a handful. But it’s not just geese that enjoy this tasty morsel, most poultry, and horses pigs and sheep find it to their liking too. So why blame the geese?
This wretched plant sticks to anything and everything and now the seeds are starting to form, The Dog gets covered in small green baubles that are almost impossible to untangle from her fur.
Bedstraw it is and Cleavers and so on and so on, a great many names are recorded and it gets called a great many other things too when it winds itself round my legs if I should happen to venture onto the verge to look at something or other. Mrs Grieve (A Modern Herbal) says that many of its local names are derived from the Anglo Saxon ‘hedge rife’ – a robber or tax collector.
They had a problem telling the difference even in those days apparently.
Tree hugging reaches new heights. No cardboard boxes in sight – what to do with the handkerchiefs? Someone tell the three little kittens it’s alright now. Have a heart. Is this a hedge fund?
The man-who-can has been round our verges with his mower and most of the flowers we’ve grown to know over the past couple of months are gone in the blink of an eye.
We now have virgin territory to explore and in many places we can get closer to the hedge row now than we could before. We’ve taken some nice pictures of the wild roses that are starting to appear in the hedge and by standing on tip-toes with the camera stretched up as far as possible without over balancing, we’ve been able to get pictures of the honeysuckle that thought it was safe over the other side of the ditch, behind all that tangled undergrowth and at the top of the hedge.
But the prize has to go to this foxglove that we just hadn’t noticed before the verge had its hair-cut. If it had a speech bubble handy it would surely be saying “Don’t you just love hedges!”