Thankfully the cold fierce winds of the last few days have finally abated. And with them, the edgy disposition and allergic reaction to which I’ve been disposed.

The first condition isn’t too hard to fathom: a strong wind relentlessly gusting day and night with a background of crashing trees and branches is bound to be unsettling. And it seems there’s also a physiological reason for the wind-borne irrits: increased levels of the neurotransmitter, serotonin.

Much like the Santa Ana winds in the Los Angeles basin, and the Mistral in Provence, our prosaically named ’strong southerly’ produces positively charged CO2 ions. These ions are thought to prevent the natural breakdown of serotonin, hence its increased levels in the brain.

And then there’s the triumvirate of wind-blown rye grass, dust and pollen that conspire to make my life – and those of countless others – a misery. But despite the crushing pain in my sinuses today, dear reader, I’ll soldier on to apprise you of the district’s latest offering during this mellow-if-the-wind’s-not-blowing-a-gale season.

One of the first signs of Autumn is the bright red berries on Hawthorn bushes (Crataegus monogyna) growing along roadsides.

They’re reminders that early European settlers and transient gold prospectors introduced exotic species with the intention of making this vastly unfamiliar country seem more like home.

I’ve seen some old hawthorn bushes growing along the road to Kyneton, pruned into perfect hedges near an historic homestead. Left to their own devices, they become luxuriantly wild weeds.

Hawthorn berries, or haws, are eaten by birds and livestock, the seed is passed through the gut and arrives on the ground in a perfectly formed package of fertiliser, ready to flourish. When the plant’s roots are disturbed they form suckers, much like that other successful import, the blackberry.

While considered a noxious weed in Victoria and South Australia, in Tasmania, where it grows across the central and eastern districts, it’s not. That’s because the hawthorn has been there since Tassie’s earliest farming days when it was grown for hedges to fence paddocks. The great age of many of these hedges is now regarded as an important part of that state’s natural heritage.

I wonder whether hawthorn hedges are habitats for foxes in Tasmania. If you’d like to know more about the danger that the animal presents to the fragile ecosystems of the island, click here.

Crataegus monogyna is well named when you consider that the hawthorn’s pretty white flowers, produced in Spring, are hermaphroditic in their sexual orientation. One of the most prolific of our weed species, it’s not about to be controlled any time soon.

I’m just glad I’m not allergic to it.