Too quick to judge
Last week, down a lane near work, I saw a tractor hedge cutting. I cursed to the person I was walking with, growling at the clipping of all the berries, decrying the farmer for taking the birds’ winter food.
I went to yoga at Treflach Farm that night where the owner told me he was going on a hedge-laying course. I’ve seen his hedges and they are works of art, but he wants to learn some different styles. But, he said, I won’t get round to doing it until after Christmas, February, before the nesting starts and so the birds have the berries through the winter months. How I love his consideration of all things, how I love regenerative agriculture.
Then I walked down the clipping strewn lane again the next day, and yes the overhanding trees were trimmed, but there, over the field edge, glowing, remained a bush bright with berries. The farmer had taken no more than was needed to clear the lane for cars. Shame. Sometimes I am still too quick to judge, when I just don’t know what I am talking about.
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