Monday 18th January. The studio flicks between seed store and zoom office so often and so fast that sometimes I do not have time to have it wearing its correct attire. I accidentally take hellebore pictures on my work phone and attend a team meeting with a background of shelves and shelves of pumpkins. Boundaries? What boundaries? The studio has double glazing and a heater though so it is definitely winning as workplace of choice. I manage a stock take. I am out of the big Niwaki Kenzans but have lots of the little ones, and I still have the most beautiful snips for the harvests to come. The seed shop is currently open for members of Gather and will be open for everyone on 5 - 11 March 2021. (Although please do see below.)

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Tuesday 19th January. We walk out into a gale this evening. I have to knot the dog leads around my neck to stop them being whipped away in the wind. As we lean into the air, a sharp crack sounds in the woods. A branch has fallen. I start to worry about the greenhouse. 

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Wednesday 20th January. The storm rages on and now brings rain. It runs down the lane and across the old cobbles at the front of the cottage. I commented last week that this was the first winter that I had not had to buy new boots. Clearly a mistake because a wet sock this evening suggests they have sprung a leak. This is the last photo of Hugo with his full winter plumage. He has been shorn and now looks half the dog he was. He is going to have to wear his indoor coat until the weather turns milder next week.

Thursday 21st January. As the storm blows over, we do the walk up to Netherclay. As I turn around to close a gate, I see the sunset. It had been burning behind me as I hadn't seen it. The point of dusk is getting later and later and this one is as dramatic as they come.

Friday 22nd January. Flowers in June are about abundance and generosity. Flowers in January are about details and noticing. The wreath falls off the studio door in the gale and it is only as I am retrieving it that I spy that a pot of Muscari neglectum is starting to send up navy blue buds. I feel slightly fragile and pathetically grateful. I didn't realise I had needed a sign of hope quite as much as I do.

Saturday 23rd January. I have tried to eke out the kitchen garden produce as long as possible. I think you are either the sort of person that eats your favourite chocolate out of the box first, or the sort of person that saves it until last. I am the latter and I have held out this long to start the leek harvest. And now I have started I can't stop. I sneak out in the dark with a spade to slice them out (doing this means that you leave the roots in which preserves the soil structure, much better than digging them up). Leeks need cooking gently and slowly. Thyme. Lots of butter. A splash of cream. A crumble of stilton. I have plans to make a leek quiche but I never get there. A bowl of soft leeks topped with flakes of the thinnest bacon is just as good and much less effort. If you have the time for quiche though, I can highly recommend Gill Meller's recipe. And if you are in the baking mood, feel free to make me some of his bay, rye and chocolate brownies. 

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I do still have a lot of squash left, and today I document them for the summer seed shop. Queensland Blue was absolutely excellent in texture and flavour, much better than I expected and has stored the best of all may squash varieties. A keeper. This slightly bizarre looking Triamble is next.

Sunday 24th January. My instagram turns white. Everyone has snow. Everyone except me that is. It is cold enough but not too cold (is it only my mother who always says that it is too cold to snow?) and I am in three jumpers, socks and with fire lit by 8am. The sky is blue but over the day, leaden clouds roll over in front of the hill. That quality of light that heralds snow. It arrives when we are out with the dogs, swirling and wet. Not settling, but the fattest, whitest flakes and I can barely see. A disorienting, fore-shortened world where pheasants spring unexpectedly out of the hedges with a squawk and Hugo turns from white to black with mud and then to white with snow again. 

I can confirm my boots are definitely leaking.