Country Life
BY IAN NIALL
THERE comes a day in July when all the black- currants are ripe, the last of the gooseberries have been picked and even the mare's-tail torn out of the ground, and one marks a change, particularly if one has a passion for fishing, for fish suddenly lie low and insects drift on a glassy surface without being sucked down and devoured. I have marked this day already. It is true that the swifts scream about the sky and blackbirds can still sample a morsel of fruit, but the blossom has gone from the rowan tree and now the fields are almost bare of hay. An old man stopped me on the road the other day and asked me what I thought of his 'tater' crop. I had rarely seen a poorer lot, but these were second earlies and there is time for a better main crop. There is, neverthless, some- thing conclusive about the harvesting of soft fruit and early potatoes. One cannot help the thought that such things will not come again until next year. The sun climbs up the sky and then crawls down again. The longest day passed some time ago and consolation lies in the fact that we have still to see corn stubbles and hear partridges in the roots.
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