Self-Sufficiency in Style
december 2002 diary
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Self-Sufficiency in Style december 2002 diary
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| December sees the wind from the East. | |
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Every part of the world has its own kind of notorious weather, when the locals all compare notes about just how bad it is in comparison to last time. "When I was a boy, the Mistral would send people so mad..." The older ones shake their head and recite incomprehensible pieces of folk-law, recalling '47 or '63. "When the mickle bird hatches its young before Truckle Thursday..." "When you can see the top of Trundle Hill before noon after a wet night when the wind is in the West..." "If you get three days of rain..." Here, it is the winter wind from the East. When the normally benign Gulf Stream deserts us and an Easterly wind howls in across the North Sea, straight from Moscow. It always arrives when the writer has 'flu, and our electricity company erratically deserts its post. |
The flag moves to an unusual quarter and, as if in surprise, threatens to fly to the next county |
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Gladys keeps to her stable. |
It does not arrive to any set pattern, and on many years does not come at
all.
This year it is early and vicious, not the kind of vicious that a New Englander will get after Thanksgiving - nothing like that, but unpleasant and sneaky never-the-less. Any Canadian or German would snort at it as a mere invigorating breeze, but here it is the Hammer of the Gods. This is not the friendly Westerly gale, uprooting trees and stripping the tiles; this is the wind that detaches the East of England from the rest of the Kingdom. We feel lonely, isolated and persecuted, just a hundred miles from London as the frost crackles, the cold seeps in and we "hunker down" in our misery. It is cold and dry, sometimes even sunny. |
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We wait events, knowing that the attempt of the Gulf Steam to force its way back into East Anglia may well bring snow. If the normal South West winds fail to reassert their authority quickly, there may be a lot falling, until eventually normality is restored. Milking is a quick unpleasant operation conducted in the gloom. The sheep are thrown their hay quickly, checked and abandoned to the shelter of the hedge. Even writing is undertaken in a cold study, in between bringing in load after load of logs. |
Log jam outside the back door. |
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Even the leafless Damson hides behind the wall. |
Gardening is now abandoned, for seed catalogues by the fire, and a Christmas shopping trip in a nice warm motor car. |
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Then just as we settle into the chairs, the weather breaks, the wind
swings.
It is back outside to a gloomy wet winter world, but one without the bitter wind from the east. |
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Chickenfeed too. |
The cold weather has warned us that winter is really here - and it is time
to lay in extra supplies in case we are cut off by snow.
The pick-up truck is pressed into service for a trip to the mill. Six bags of this and four of that. Enough to keep the animals fed in addition to the hay already in the barn. |
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The lack of night-time frosts gives a window of opportunity to plant the
remainder of the trees within the walled garden:
Two Pears, Two Apples, Two Plums, Two Acid Cherries, Two Sweet Cherries, an Almond and a Peach. There is also a Quince to replace a lost Chinese Peach in the orchard and a male Kiwi Fruit to join the ladies. This unfortunate lad had an accident with the lawn mower. So, off to the nursery in the pick-up... |
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...the trees are mostly potted and a little older than I would have liked. Bare rooted and "whips" would have suited me better. All will have to be trained into fans and espaliers. But first an over-night lodging in a dark and gloomy tunnel, before planting out along the walls in the morning. |
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Avoiding the cold at the chillingly named Hangman's Cottage, just to the south of Misery Corner. |
