January ~ February "ish"

The steady ascent from midwinter to spring during another lockdown…

This hibernation has been going on for some time don’t you think? I like the premise of winter hibernation. The retreat indoors, the pickling, preserving and the jam making of late autumn comes to the fore. The kitchen becomes a warm, bubbling hub of slow cooked food. I am pouring over Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall and Gill Meller recipes. I am overcome with the desire to eat more healthily and more sustainably. Meat free weeks follow, weekends are more exciting as meat becomes their highlight and this elevates our meals somehow.

Candles are burned and fires are lit, warmth and light in the gloom. My eye is trained on a newly emerged daffodil spear in the garden beyond the kitchen window. I delight in buying seville oranges and the first bunch of supermarket daffodils. It feels like bringing home pure sunshine, they lift my mood.

Waking hours are shared between this kitchen haven, which also serves as work space, dining space and sitting gazing space, and the garden that blurs into the fields that yawn away towards the horizon.

I wake in the dark and wonder how early it is… too early? Perhaps, but then I think of the warm chocolate coloured body of a sleeping dog below. Perfectly curled into a doughnut shape, back shoved hard up against stove. I linger for a moment in the warmth, as soon as my feet touch the floorboards I know my arrival downstairs will be anticipated. I imagine the nose twitching, the whiskers flickering and one amber eye opening. He doesn’t get up when he sees me, a long established ritual established in puppy hood commences. I am greeted initially by a thumping tail and an extravagantly drawn out vocal yawn. Then a neat quarter flip onto his back is performed to present four paws in high five formation. The morning cuddle commences.

I don’t turn the lights on, fumble for the kettle, weighing the water contents before switching it on. Navigating in the dark, head to the back door and shove feet into husband’s wellies. Enter into the daily arm wrestle with an old oak latched warrior. Sometimes I can open it one handed but mostly I have to resort to a two handed yank.

The moon sets directly opposite this door. At this time of year it hovers perfectly above the old birch tree, a silvery winter echo of the bejeweled spruce we had indoors only a month ago. Sorry, where was I? Yes, we stand on the threshold side by side, he raises his muzzle and takes his first reading. So far this year we have had an array of variously, dank, wet, sodden, cold and frosty in different measure.

I like the winter. I like the inclement weather for the most part, as long as it is varied. The landscape is bare and visible and sky is cloud loaded and painterly. Pale pink winter skies, low cool light and dramatic weather shifts coming over the hill are some of my favourite things to watch. There is almost always mist here in the morning at this time of year. Living on a hill can feel like being set adrift on top of a small green island floating around in the ether. I like that too.

This hibernation is different to normal though. It is interminable, it is lonelier and is to be endured. It is quietly saving lives and killing livelihoods. More birthdays come and go, a sharp reminder of those we miss. It is hard to comprehend sometimes. The news is apocalyptic with a sprinkle of vaccination fairy dust to sweeten it.

I’m withdrawing from it. I read too much, I listen too much. I am turning my attention back to the kitchen and to the garden. I listen, instead, to all the quiet signs of life. To the soft burr of a snoozing dog, to the birds outside in the hedgerow, and I look for the quiet signs that life is returning to the plants. The mist is useful, I am learning! No need to crane my neck to see too far ahead. In other news, no snow yet!

“How lovely, the silence of growing things”