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Deadhedge Number Six

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19th November, a Wednesday. On the very next hill it is cloud-dark and raining; our cheeks and fingers are bright, pinched by the wind, our eyes are squinting through sunlight. A layer of leaf mulch begins to gather over the track, and under the heap of cut branches taken from the overgrown boundary. The old hedge is being laid in: it will grow up to make a living fence. What is discarded is of use as firewood, or whittling projects, or the construction of semi-tidy deadhedges. Today we are building the sixth of these- we are not sure how many we will have by the end of the hedging season but in the top field the plan is to cover the upper swell of the hill. This will make mini microclimates, shelterbelts for shrubs that will grow and make more shelter, and for our (hopefully) showboating canopy trees. They will make shelter for wildlife, (wrens and robins jump through the branches before they are even finished) they will add options to games of hide-and-seek: they will be ...

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack:  Lisa Southard