A season for stillness
A gentle sort of newsletter this week. Early January is not the sort of time for rushing about or leaping into action. Just observing and enjoying, keeping warm, and staying safe.
Monday 3 January
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Hellebores. The first ones are always the white ones and it seems so cruel to have them emerge so early when they are the most vulnerable to being marked by the elements. Every year at this time, I have to resist buying more slate varieties. The darkest of dark. Infinitely more dramatic.
Tuesday 4 January
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Did I mention we took our kitchen floor up? Layers of tile, broken underfloor heating, and the most horrendous layer of screed. I have been preoccupied with it for many years and we* finally did it. The bricks are absolutely beautiful and, miracle of miracles, go all the way across the room. There is nothing more satisfying than peeling back a layer of ugly modernity from a lovely old cottage.
*we in the loosest sense. My husband did it really.
Wednesday 5 January
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Suddenly, there are birds. I stand in the falling darkness, surrounded by walked dogs, trying to locate the source of the sound. Even with the trees bare and skeletal, they are hard to make out. I cannot work out how anything that can fill the air so fully could be so small.
Thursday 6 January
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A time of year for bakes and soups and for finishing up the Christmas cheese. Leeks, slow slow cooked, mixed with a swirl of cream and a generous slice of stilton. I did not grow enough squash last year and I am now feeling the lack. This part of Somerset is not renowned for its food culture and I cannot get a squash that isn’t a butternut for love nor money. And once you have tried a Marina di Chioggia, a BNS is just not the same.
I do have beetroot, and there is always chard. Always.
Friday 7 January
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Why is snow in December so magical and snow in January so incredibly grim? I venture into town and regret it almost immediately. I splash through puddles trying to keep the sleet out of my eyes.
Just as the darkness was falling, the couriers arrived with half of the delivery of books. No, I don’t know why only half arrived either, but they’ll all arrive eventually, I’m sure. The delivery men sheltered under the thatched eaves at the front of the cottage for a moment before heading off out into the chilly storm.
Saturday 8 January & Sunday 9 January
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A weekend of my favourite activities; packing orders and packing books. I have brown paper, stamps, printed postcards, fully stocked shelves, a lit fire, and endless tea and it could not be more blissful.
