Two Springwatch veterans recount a year in the long life of a Herefordshire orchard still managed the old-fashioned way, with animals rather than chemical solutions used to deal with pests, and no thought of arranging the trees or selecting varieties towards an overriding goal of efficiency. Which should be absolute catnip to me, but for all that I love a ramshackle old orchard; for all that I am myself prone to bemoaning the fucking state of humanity's treatment of the environment, not least the destructive urge towards 'tidiness'; and for all that I understand the urge to rebalance nature writing away from an excessively fluffy approach - even the pessimistic husk of a self with which the 2020s have left me found this one so relentlessly moany that it got a bit bloody much. I don't doubt that this orchard and its region are lovely; hell, it's one of the areas I sometimes daydream about escaping to. But to read this you'd think the whole rest of the country was one miserable monoculture. "From the meadowland orchards of Bromyard to the rich cider orchards of Much Marcle, woodpeckers and bats, owls and beetles, all thrive side by side as they once did across the whole county centuries before." Yeah, and as they still do in the little wood behind my London home. Although you'll never look at woodpeckers the same way after some of the revelations here, I can tell you that much. Set against the excoriation of Britain is a dreamy chapter in praise of the orchards and villages of the Carpathians, which may well be true as far as nature goes (though if so I'd love to know how they've recovered so well from the determined, demented modernisation drive under Ceaușescu) but is so insistent on suggesting there are no possible downsides to this situation for anyone in any walk of life that it does rather beg the question of why so many Eastern Europeans decided to come to despoiled and denuded Britain that it led Britain to shoot itself in the face by way of registering its concerns over the matter. Nor is it only regarding this that one gets a sense of the authors reaching for effect, as in this passage on migrant birds: "But if these fieldfares hadn't hopped the North Sea, these birds would be now experiencing the full force of a hyperborean winter". Leave aside the odd sense of translationese right after the comma, but that's a bloody odd use of 'hyperborean', which I've only ever known to mean *beyond* the North Wind, not 'very North Wind'. The disappointment of the reading experience is encapsulated when the orchard year comes around to October, and the cider press comes out...only for the chapter to talk far more about the horror that is perry. Though I suppose they at least deserve points for calling it perry, rather than propagating the inexplicable notion that 'pear cider' is a thing.
Despite all of which, it does sound like a truly delightful orchard, and I would like many more of its kind to come back, and I enjoyed finding out about its animal inhabitants (except for those bloody woodpeckers). Hell, even bears make an appearance in the prelude, having played a surprisingly important role in spreading the apple from Kazakhstan. Such helpful fellows.