Winter's last throes

On Monday, I took a little drive to Todmorden. There were overdue library books to return, and a few provisions to buy (either forgotten when we went grocery shopping, or written on the kitchen blackboard during a sudden craving for dry roasted peanuts).

You may or may not know that the blackboard is actually the drawer from our old kitchen table on Skye. The table itself was too big and rickety to bring back down with us, so we repurposed the drawer as a reminder of our old home. It’s useful, because you can just scribble down things to buy, and then take a photo of the list with your phone before heading out to the shops.

So: a little excursion. It was still wet and grey, and the wind strong enough to leave the roads scattered with fallen branches. A day for staying home maybe, but I tend to get an idea in my head and have to then follow it through. I had vague plans for calling at the library, a few charity shops, one of the little supermarkets for things like ground almonds and dried oregano and a jar of honey.

The verges on the main road were confetti-strewn in purple, yellow and white: crocuses growing so closely they seemed to all merge together into a crocheted blanket of spring colour.

Todmorden itself was quiet. Mondays must be the day for shops being closed; most of them were. I returned my library books, browsed the shelves (but spotted nothing - I’m after Every One Still Here by Liadan Ní Chuinn) and headed to the charity shops. A lucky find: a striped yellow sweatshirt, size Small but it must be a large Small. If that makes sense.

I went through the market hall but, other than the coffee bar with its beautifully ornate tins and jars of beans and teas, the stalls were all closed and draped with cloths. The coffee bar, incidentally, is always popular. All the stools were taken and their occupants watched me curiously as I walked up and down the eerily quiet aisles.

So I went out, bought most of the items on my list (forgetting the peanuts completely - probably for the best) and decided I may as well come back home.

My car was parked on a steep hill, and halfway up there was a man trying to roll his car forward and jump start it. He asked me (I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not) for a push, and I gave it a shove, and it spluttered into life. He was most grateful, but should probably think about replacing the car. I got the impression this was his usual method of getting it moving.

The afternoon required my switching on the heating. I had a cup of tea, and a slice of the baklava Joe made with his Gran, and watched the sporadic rain showers. And did some writing.

The hellebores are now in full bloom. A deep, bruised purple with an almost metallic sheen to the petals, they recede into the shadows and are best viewed up close. My little fig tree’s waking up - hopefully it’ll be happier than it was last year. And the flowering currant is smothered in little buds. It’s almost as though it’s excited to burst into flower.

J planted the climbing hydrangea out properly on Sunday. It’s in a big terracotta pot, so won’t blow over, and we’ll fix some wires onto the shed so it can clamber up and fill out.

Other little late-winter glimmers:

• Homemade baked cheesecake

• Bigos for dinner

• A new coffee for the cafetiére (Italian blend)

• Basil and geranium oil in the burner

• Donating all my back copies of Gardens Illustrated to the village gardening group

• Rediscovering the joys of ginger nut biscuits - perfect for dunking

• Stumbling across Moonlighting on TV, which I’ve been pursuing for years: the nostalgia fest continues

• The meditative process of preparing vegetables and cooking them slowly in soups and stews

• Fresh daffodils on the kitchen table

• Spending time browsing The British Culture Archive’s website: iconic photography of everyday people

• Finally starting Nigel Slater’s A Thousand Feasts properly. And staying up too late, because I have to read just one more page…

The next morning, I walked through the park to work. The air was loud with birdsong; blackbirds flying low from hedge to hedge, wood pigeons perched up high holding twigs for nesting.

On the opposite side of the canal there’s an old mill, renovated and now an established children’s nursery, and beside it was a tree covered in deep pink blossom. Thousands of small flowers on bare branches. It was having its moment - nothing around to compete with just yet - and it was mesmerising.

Further along the towpath, a narrowboat with a clay pot either side of the little door, each planted with willow which was tied together to form an arch. I found this simple but clever idea completely beguiling.

The day went well. Quiet, but punctuated with visits from a colleague and the little non-verbal boy who calls in on a Tuesday for a hug. He had new wellies on, which I mistakenly thought were supposed to be frogs, but he made a snapping motion with his arms to explain they were actually crocodiles…

Not too long before closing, a German visitor came in for a look around. He was dressed in walking clothes and was maybe late twenties. His manners were exquisite, and he complimented the shop, and wished me a pleasant evening.

Which it was. I walked back to the car in daylight, and drove home just as the sky was turning to sherbet, the trees and birds silhouetted against a backdrop of powder blue and apricot. Climbing the hill to the village, I could see the sun setting in the rear view mirror. Ahead, the windows in all the farmhouses and cottages were briefly illuminated, reflecting the light back in bright squares of gold.

We’re going to Cheshire on Saturday - it’s J’s mum’s birthday and we’ll have lunch at Kenyon Hall Farm. The landscape there is so different to ours: vast plains, a patchwork of wheat fields and acres of arable crops. We’ll take a look around the farm shop and the plant nursery outside.

Interestingly (but not surprisingly) it’s supposed to be wet here all weekend, but sunny in Cheshire. February has been the month of All That Rain. But still, spring’s knocking at the door.

I’ve used some archive images for this post: photographs taken, over the years, when winter’s melting away to reveal a new season waiting behind. Today I was up on the moors, and took so many pictures that they’ll require a long editing session. But that’s for next time.

This evening, Joe’s at the dentist and then we need to get the week’s groceries. There are things I’d rather be doing. But we should still get home in time for a few hours’ relaxing by the fire.

Thank you for reading.

Sarah.