The season of mince pies and full moon
Monday 13 December
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The flowers that bloom out of season always bring the most joy to me. Their rarity lends an extra layer of loveliness. In the trough with the fig tree, there is a single phlox crème brulee. I am not sure whether the weather is the biggest threat, or the fact that it is exactly placed where the girls wag their tails enthusiastically as they waiting to go through the gate for their walk.
Tuesday 14 December
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I rake some leaves. Not many, and only in very specific places. I am happy to leave many of them to add their goodness to the soil and to house and feed the most delicate parts of our ecosystem, but on paths, they are a problem. Slippy where there are flagstones, and where there is hoggin, they rot down to give a perfect medium for germinating weed seedlings.
Wednesday 15 December
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The cottage is full of cheese. Full. A box arrives from Westcombe Dairy and I unpack it with more excitement than is seemly. I was expecting it and I have already curated a selection of crackers, chutneys and condiments for optimal pre-supper snacking. I asked for ricotta especially because Westcombe Dairy ricotta is simply the most beautiful I have ever tasted. I have spent much of this week mulling over whether I should bake it with squash to do a festive stuffed pasta on Christmas Eve. I would love to include it in a very special occasion, but it does seem sacrilege.
[Note from Sunday: I still haven’t decided.]
If you have a little time spare over Christmas, I would strongly recommend this film about Tom Calver and the Westcombe Dairy cheesemaking. If only because I want you to get the joke when I say that Tina the Turner helped make my Christmas cheese.
Thursday 16 December
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Beautiful Beaminster. I seem to only ever visit at Christmas time and so in my mind, it is always glittering and magical. A perfect, Dorset square of shops, homes, pubs and restaurants. We unintentionally while away the daylight hours over a long lunch in Brassica Merchantile (I may have accidentally agreed to set up a whole new textiles arm to my business) and dusk is falling as we emerge. There are sparkling lights everywhere and I finally feel like Christmas has truly arrived.
Friday 17 December
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The swap of Christmas presents for charity donations means we are now the proud sponsors of a cocker spaniel called Mikey, courtesy of my mother and The Dogs Trust. Much discussion about why he may not have been able to be rehomed and whether he could possibly be worse than Hugo. He sounds perfectly charming in the Christmas card he wrote for us.
I have since looked up Mikey and he is now in fact available for adoption, although not with other dogs because he doesn't like sharing. If you have no other dogs but have the time and the experience for a complex cocker spaniel therapeutic placement, he is here.
We open the first bottle of champagne of Christmas and Maud goes mad for the cork. It’s a luxurious life that my dogs lead. I feel dreadful that Mikey is missing out. Hugo has no such compassion and he is thrilled that he will remain unchallenged as boss of the world.
Saturday 18 December
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Last minute presents from Collate. Ochre and Flax Christmas candles have proved an excellent gift for all sorts of people this year. A full moon. The ‘Cold’ moon. It rises and then we walk along the valley and it dips behind the hill so we can watch it rise all over again. First tangled in the tips of the trees and then clear and round and bright.
Sunday 19 December
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After last night’s glorious full moon and clear night, we wake up in a cloud. Only the trees in the kitchen garden are visible from the window, the field exists somewhere in the murk. Unusually, the mist stays in place all day, dulling the usual changing light of morning, midday and afternoon. The consistency of the gloom gives the day, like many days in December, an endless sort of feel.
I mark time with the putting in and taking out of trays of mince pies and turning bowls of bread dough. And with an afternoon nap.
