On thursday morning the snow arrived. The primary job of the day is to knock the snow off the hedges and small trees lest the weight of the snow causes damage. The green-house roof is cleared as well. Then I devote my day to clearing up the potting shed which always gets so untidy no matter how disciplined I try to be. I afford myself the ecological luxury of a small bonfire at the back and stand around it warming my hands from time to time. The Duke and Duchess are in residence but they turn a blind eye when the weather gets like this and never come down to see what we are up to. They know that we all work hard when the weather allows and they are happy to let us be.
I’m glad to get home in the evening. My daughter phones from up north and tells us of our grand-daughters and how they are loving the snow up there. We spend some time making ginger marmalade and brandy truffles for presents for the family. It seems that Christmas is just around the corner but we have three weeks to go. The weather forecasts are at ten but I am already in bed and snoring and ‘what will come will come’ as they say in these parts.
The snow is truly beautiful but the wildlife must use all their wits to get by. The innocence of summer has passed. The lullaby of the song-bird has been quietened. The strict blue cold has straitened the countryside. This is brutal survival.
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