Cold Snap

I don’t know why I should be surprised – cold weather in Scotland in November,* shock horror – but even given the fact it has already snowed this month, I wasn’t expecting to wake up to temperatures of -5C this morning and neither was the poor olive tree which I still hadn’t got around to moving to the warmer climes of our porch last night. Hopefully the olive tree will wake up from its cryogenic adventure – apparently they are tougher than you might think, especially if they have been watered before they get frozen which is not a problem around here. And nor have I put the ice tyres on my bike yet, so stop asking.**

This lunchtime, once the road had safely thawed out, I headed off for the paper to discover the OTHER big disadvantage of living two-thirds of the way up a long hill, which is that when you don’t need to turn a pedal for the first ten minutes of your ride, you get very, very cold. As in cold enough to make your eyeballs ache, which is a new one on me. Looking on the bright side, I also arrived home considerably less sweaty than I usually am after tackling the chief disadvantage of living two-thirds of the way up a long hill.

I do remind myself every morning to take a moment to appreciate the views (when we can see them) because I suspect that this winter I will be regularly paying the price for our wonderfully exposed position. Even as I write, the latest weather warning is rattling the windows, but the woodburner is doing its stuff and the olive tree is safely tucked up in its winter quarters and so, for now, am I.

*especially as the Met Office has already predicted a colder than average three months, in this genuinely interesting if somewhat cagey article – I’d heard of El Nino and La Nina, and the polar vortex, but the Quasi-Biennial Oscillation was a new one on me. No mention of the weather gods, though, for some reason

** Although come to think of it, that may be the very thing we need to reverse polar vortex and unleash the Quasi-Biennial Oscillation, and return us to milder winter weather.

Hurry Up Spring

Cycling along with a companion the other day, we both remarked on how cheering it is to see the first flush of colour on the bare trees as the buds thicken ready to burst into leaf. It’s something we neither of us noticed until we moved up here; whether because living urban lives we weren’t as attuned to the passage of the seasons, or simply because we’ve got longer to stare at the leafless winter trees up here and try and imagine spring into happening, who knows.

You can see it, can’t you?

We woke this morning to a surprise dusting of snow, with hard frost forecast again for tonight, so I suppose we should be grateful for any presentiments of spring we can get our hands on. And in the interests of full disclosure I should note that shortly after stopping to take this photo (and having a chat with the cyclist you see approaching in the distance, who turned out to be a neighbour who was combining triathalon training with the joys of utility cycling by dashing up the Col du Doctor’s Surgery to pick up a prescription) it began to sleet…

It is not Spring

It will not be spring for some time (calendar dates notwithstanding), there are still pockets of snow lurking in the lee of the dykes, the north wind can still deliver a sharp nip when it gets up and there is undoubtedly more weather coming our way.

And yet

The trees are starting to show that first fuzz of colour that promises leaves.

And in the sunshine, you can almost feel the warmth.

Bit of a contrast with the last pictures of trees I posted, anyway

A Tale of Two Climates

This afternoon I headed up to the greenhouse for a little pottering in my own pet Mediterranean climate (my random perennial experiment is still going strong, amazingly), trying not to let time’s winged chariot breathe too heavily down my my neck, whatever other gardeners in the village might say.

And then I walked down the road where a nice temperature inversion was keeping everything in the depth of winter, in the fog. Normally it’s us who gets the fog while everywhere else basks in the sunshine, so it was nice to be able to walk back up the hill and into the sunshine again.

 

In other news, the gardening neighbours are moving out (I don’t think it’s anything I’m doing, but who knows). We’re hoping the next set of tenants will be a little more slapdash in their gardening approach, although the current lot have given them something of a head start…

Must get my seed order in.

Falling Behind

I hardly dare mention this, but we’ve had over a week now of clear skies and bright winter sunshine. Of course, clear skies also come with hard overnight frosts – but also a brilliant full winter moon that was a welcome companion riding back from the village the other night, with only a rather feeble battery-powered lamp to guide me home. The snow is still sticking around but that just makes the sunshine brighter, and in February we are none of us going to turn our noses up at a bit of extra light, wherever it comes from.

Cold though it is, even February marches on. I was reminded this morning that time stops for nobody, and gardeners least of all. I haven’t got my seed order in yet – hell, I haven’t even thought about it – but my gardening buddy in the village has already got his first tomato seeds in, and his onion sets sprouting on the windowsill. Time to get myself up to the greenhouse and get back in gear. Just as soon as I can find my vegetable beds under their blanket of snow…

It’s not often…

… we sit up here and listen to the South East of England getting all our weather. I used to live in Maidenhead so the news bulletins have been a bit of a trip down memory lane, albeit one where memory lane has required a pair of chest waders and/or a rubber dinghy to negotiate.

We were forecast all sorts ourselves today from sleet to heavy rain to ice, but so far apart from one short snow flurry it’s actually been (whisper it) sunny, if cold. It only promises to be a brief respite between storms but I took the opportunity of a free afternoon after my epic work bout to go and see whether anything was going on in the garden – looks like the snowdrops have recovered from last year’s harvest, anyway.

Whether you’re flooded, soggy, or just anxiously watching the waters rise, hang on in there. Spring *is* on its way…

It has to be.

Signs of … Something

I was a bit startled, when cycling through the village, to be accosted by a fellow gardener and asked if I was planning on going to potato day again this year. Already? I thought. It’s not even as if winter has properly started yet, and here people are planning for spring. And then I was startled again as I stuck my head out of the door to chat with a passing neighbour and found not just sunshine but – out of the wind, anyway – actual warmth. Looking around there are snowdrops everywhere, daffodils poking their leaves up out of the swamp that passes for the countryside, birds going bananas in the hedgerows. Time to start panicking about the garden again

The problem is that, with storm after storm marching through, we seem to have had nothing but an endless October this winter. It’s been so mild, I was picking caterpillars out of my kale the other day. There’s been no sense of anything going properly dormant and hence no sense of the impending spring. And I’ve barely been able to touch the garden because even if I wasn’t too busy, it’s far too wet to do anything but plan out where to construct the rice paddies…

Still, she says, recklessly tempting fate, at least the broad beans are hanging on in there…

Anyone else still feel they’re waiting for winter to arrive?