When I describe our winter so far, as I soon shall, I have to say I am describing a winter in the South of England- that is to say by UK standards; not too grim. In fact the Scots would probably laugh long and hard at it, but for ex-Sydney-siders once outraged at an 8 degree winter day, it is a winter well and truly.
Autumn here ended in a layer of leafy, loamy compost- otherwise known as mud- so that when we had our first frost, it was a pleasure to walk on, not in puddles and to have the mud on our walks frozen in its tracks like cooled chocolate, but not as tasty.
I get terribly excited about the frost. You rarely get one where I'm from, and if it does it is an enfeebled relative of a good hoar frost.
When I had to read 'Frost at Midnight' by Coleridge in high school, it was as exotic an idea to me as describing the weather on Venus. I didn't even know what a hoar frost was until I saw one here covering every surface with a beautiful crystalline glaze.
Driving Fil to work through the countryside, everything had turned a pale menthol colour and the dawn lights everything through a citrussy gauze filter. I oohed and I aahed.
Fil just redirected my head to gaze back at the road muttering about it being 'bloody freezing'. To him it is called a hoar frost because 'hoar' is the sound of blowing warm air onto frozen hands.
I was so enamoured with this enchanted landscape I decided to go early one clear morning for a walk to the water meadows in Winchester. Being quite early and very cold, only daft people were up- that is to say me- and I saw no one about for a little time and felt like I had the whole beautiful world to myself.
Frost decorated every reed and branch and blade of grass. In the predawn, there was nothing but light birdsong and your breath on the air against the rosing sky.
The river itself was still, blue glass and early though it was, the white swans, like ice-sculptures themselves, were already gracefully dipping their heads beneath the surface for breakfast.
St Catherine's, the old iron age hill fort , made a beautiful dawn silhouette in the south east, the first fingers of the sun combing through the knot of trees at her crown. People, when you do come across them smile and greet you like a fellow secret holder.
I came back from that shortish wander with frozen fingers and several hundred pictures I wasn't quite aware I had taken. It really was Magic!
The onset of winter here has a distinctive 'prelude to Christmas' feel about it.
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| Country butchers ready for Christmas. |
Initially people are excited with the cold because it coincides with the streets and shops being decked out for Christmas. Buskers sing opera or play flutes and lutes and violins.
Chestnut vendors appear in little red and gold painted pushcarts. Celebrations and ceremonies begin. In Winchester this began with an evening dedicated to turning on the Christmas lights. A week later is the lantern procession, where people make traditional paper lanterns and walk them in procession from the top of the high street to the cathedral. This marks the opening of the German-style Christmas markets and the ice rink- all nestled in the western lee of the cathedral. A choir heralds everyone in.
The little cedar stalls with all their gifts and Christmas decorations look truly wonderful. The air smells of mulled wine and roast nuts. It is quite magical at night to wander around the stalls taking in all the sights and smells, pausing to watch skaters stay perfectly upright out on the ice.
I like it in the early morning too when it is quiet and the sun glints of all the shiny stall decorations and the stall holders squint in the light sipping coffee in preparation of a busy days trading.
Everybody seems pleased to be rugged up. You can feel the excitement. People wearing silly beanies or designer wellingtons wrap their fingers around a hot cider or mulled wine or hot chocolate with obvious relish. It is a happily administered salve to the first real cold. It does eventually disintegrate a little in the usual western pre-christmas panic, but for a time everyone enjoys it.
This being our first winter Christmas ever, we purchased our first real Christmas tree and a good sized goose for Christmas lunch. It doesn't snow as the boys would like, but we are not expecting it, people telling us that January is the usual time if we are to get any at all.
It's still lovely to enjoy our Christmas in the cold by our fake gas fire drinking mulled wine and eating mince pies. Gazing at our decorated tree, I am aware that this is the first time the Christmas cards we always receive match the real experience. The cold lends itself to hunger and we eat a beautiful Christmas lunch of goose and pork and roast winter vegetables, Yorkshire puddings and gravy. Not a drop of perspiration in sight. It is also nice to safely gain a few pounds and not have to get into a swimsuit for six months!
Christmas is followed by New Year and half the neighbourhood seem to have saved firecrackers from Guy Fawkes night. We fall asleep under a clear night of stars and fireworks, listening to some neighbours singing Auld Lang Syne with real Scottish accents.
Facebook is full of New Years greetings going for 24 hours over different time zones. Hot or cold, everyone is pleased to have a sparking 'new' year.
For my birthday in mid-January I receive the gift of snow- quite a good fall, and though we are snowed in and cannot catch up with friends or relatives, I still have a lovely time making a snow-lady and walking my neighbourhood, wondering at the different landscape it has become.
It is very strange to see the distant hills turned to snowfields and there is a quiet, almost post-apocalyptic hush everywhere. Most people are holed up indoors and cars are parked everywhere by the roadside. No-one is driving until the snow is cleared or the surface 'gritted'.
You can tell when the weather is about to turn- the shops suddenly empty of bread and milk, adding to the strangeness of this change in weather. People react as though they won't be able to get out, but I think it's more a case of not wanting to. A lot of people feel they want to hibernate.
For us of course it is a novelty.The boys enjoy snowball fights and Alex makes an impressive igloo after half a days work. We put out extra food for the birds and they seem glad of it. Every morning the snow is decorated with the little cross-hatches of birds feet. Our resident squirrel has disappeared completely. No doubt he is holidaying in Sicily.
We get a few days of sleet- nasty stuff that zeroes in on the tiny gap between your collar and your neck, and which ices up the road and pavements so that you have to walk very carefully- placing each step with a mindfulness knowing if you do not watch where your feet go, your backside with pay penance.
Though nights get quite cold, dropping down to -5 at times, we get some lovely clear days to go exploring. Many places close down in January for renovations and rest but the countryside is always open if you have gumboots and a warm jacket. I love seeing the stripped architecture of the trees in winter, pale green with moss and all carrying buds on their branch tips.
Though we still have February before us, the days are slowly lengthening again and the tips of a billion bulbs have already come up, with some blooms like snowdrops already flowering in places.
The yellow tassels of witch hazel and early gold flowers of gorse are a promise that winters end is drawing nearer, and I get a feeling that a spectacular show like I have never seen is just around the corner.
Hold tight your mittens, but spring is almost here.
