A steely blast of bitter cold has swept over the land. Folk walk their dogs with shoulders hunched and faces screwed up. All sense of fashion is dispensed with and bobble hats and gloves are the de rigueur of the day. At work I am wearing so many layers of clothes that I would bounce back up again if I ever fell over. The wind tears mercilessly at exposed skin and I am smothered in skin and lip protection.
Heavy snow has affected the north and east of the country and the weathermen speak ambiguously of the chances of snow coming here. On Thursday morning, one peep out of the window is enough to confirm that a good three inches of pristine snow has fallen in the night.
The village school has been closed for the day. Just behind the school is a small hill where brothers and sisters throw snowballs at each other and bicker at whose turn it is to hurtle down the hill on the sledge.
Cook Jenny takes pity on those working outside and we are invited indoors for coffee. The warmth of the aga makes our frozen cheeks all rosy. We have the first mince-pies of the season and we talk of television singing contests, holly berries and preparations for the coming festivities.
Bones met Grumpy George down the pub last night. Since forecasting this ice-age he has worn such a smug look on his face. Even his long-suffering wife is finding him unbearable.
The question is often asked of what we get up to when the weather gets like this. In days gone by the gardeners would have stone walls to repair and the hedges to lay. But these days we have fewer stone walls and the hedging has always been done by a chap in the village.
Charlie and Bones have the machinery to fix and their workshop is a blaze of lights and sounds with Lady Gaga singing at her loudest to the backdrop of a cacophony of clattering spanners.
Much of my winter work is taken up by pruning the fruit trees and coppicing the hazel but not in these freezing temperatures, and besides, I try to keep these jobs for the first two months of the year when the work really dies down.
The path from the kitchen to the bird tables and to the stables is kept clear of snow and gritted. The cars and vans are kept behind the stables and everyone including the postman uses the back entrance to the estate. The front drive must look a pretty picture from the upper windows of the house with its unspoilt virgin snow.
The primary job of the day is to knock the snow off the hedges and small trees lest the weight of the snow causes damage. The green-house roof is cleared as well. Then I devote my day to clearing up the potting shed which always gets so untidy no matter how disciplined I try to be. I afford myself the ecological luxury of a small bonfire at the back and stand around it warming my hands from time to time. The Duke and Duchess are in residence but they turn a blind eye when the weather gets like this and never come down to see what we are up to. They know that we all work hard when the weather allows and they are happy to let us be.
I’m glad to get home in the evening. My daughter phones from up north and tells us of our grand-daughters and how they are loving the snow up there. We spend some time making ginger marmalade and brandy truffles for presents for the family. It seems that Christmas is just around the corner but we have three weeks to go. The weather forecasts are at ten but I am already in bed and snoring and ‘what will come will come’ as they say in these parts.
The snow is truly beautiful but the wildlife must use all their wits to get by. The innocence of summer has passed. The lullaby of the song-bird has been quietened. The strict blue cold has straitened the countryside. This is brutal survival.
I think you should spend more time on taking great photos and make a (second) fortune! if your fingers allow that is – what time did you get up to take that wonderful sunrise? And can we identify the bird’s foot? If it’s anything with a bit of fat on it I have little doubt there would soon be a foxey footprint following behind.
hello Marian, thank you for your encouragement but i have a long way to go to take the quality of photos that i aspire to…
Another fab atmospheric post. I am develop a real fondness for Grumpy George.
hello Helen yes he is quite a character in the village…
Amazing how brutality can be so beautiful…
hello Cat, yes there is an irony here….
Hi Mike lovely and nostalgic – thank you for Crumpet comment too.
My pleasure Catharine….
It makes me cold even to look at these pictures. When I hear about snow coming, I remember running to my palm trees at night to brush the heavy white stuff off them.
Stay warm!
thank you Tatyana…we are certainly having a cold snap over here….