Wintering in Harris

We're well into Winter now, the light is still short and often cloud laden skies obscure the sun's weak rays, storms have rolled in week after week swirling their mischief around house and croft, hurling and flattening anything in their path - the wise strap down sheds and caravans. Shrubs and hedges are flayed by wind, rain and salt, I watch them from the window as they are helplessly flung back and forth, roots rocking. The rain falls as hail, stinging exposed skin as the little balls of ice hit with the force of a slingshot. The sea is ferocious, huge waves crash on the shore pulling the sand from the beach to reveal the rocks below. Mounds of seaweed piles up on the upper shore, different Kelps from the deep, ripped from their holdfasts lie on the beach like a graveyard of shiny bones. This is an island to know your place, to really understand that the elements are in charge. 

And then there are the clear days, when the skies open up, bright blue, the horizon feels huge, the light pours in, the sea calms and walking over the machair, surrounded by the sea, even without the trace of a flower, is utterly beguiling. These are the days when whatever is planned should be abandoned in favour of a long walk with a flask of coffee and a coat long enough to sit on. 

I walk a lot, not fast, not with athletic purpose, but to let my mind and body relax. There is something so restful about an organic amble, it's a re-set, stress melts away, it's a time away from screens, away from people, just me and my dogs, one foot in front of the other. There is a beautiful rhythm to walking, I feel my shoulders drop, my pace lengthens and I am utterly absorbed by the detail. Over the years I've found special places to rest, particular rocks with the best views, patches of Thyme to lie on in mid summer, swathes of Meadowsweet to sit amongst, the flowers reaching my shoulders, the bees buzzing all around and the scent of honey sweetness.

Winter walks are different, they feel more like a craving, a need for air, light and sea gazing. I fit them in around the wild weather, dashing out when the sky is clear and the clouds lift a little. I stay closer to home wanting to be able to get back inside quickly if the weather suddenly turns, which it does, often.     

I've never lived anywhere with so many rainbows, they are often double and incredibly bright, the clarity of each colour can be breathtaking. There is a colour palette here that feeds the soul - the turquoise of the sea, so light at the shore, darkening as it becomes deeper, changing texture with currents and tides. The yellow/grey light when a storm is impending, that lights up the landscape making the grass glow. The rain on the rocks bringing a starry twinkle from the mica within. To see the hillsides literally turn purple as the Heather reaches full flower is wonderful. The rusts, ochres and russets of winter grasses punctuated by lichen laden trees is endlessly fascinating.

The beauty of living in a place so unpolluted is the night sky. At points in the winter the northern lights appear, there is nothing like standing outside on a clear night watching the greens and pinks dance across the sky, it is mesmeric.

I've been reading a book called Wintering by Katherine May, in it she talks about the Gaelic mythology of the Cailleach - the hag deity who rules the winter from Samhain bringing the cold, wind and storms until Beltane when the Brighde takes over to bring the summer. 

"As we so often find in ancient folklore, the Cailleach offers us a cyclical metaphor for life, one in which the energies of spring can arrive again and again, nurtured by the deep retreat of winter...We are in the habit of imagining our lives to be linear...all the while slowly losing our youthful beauty. This is a brutal untruth. Life meanders like a path...we have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us revealing our bare bones, given time they grow again."

I think we have lost our ability to 'winter', to allow ourselves to take our cues from nature, to understand the ebb and flow of the year's energy and how profoundly it affects us. Winter, and especially January is a time to find ways of keeping ourselves well, to retreat a little, to slow down. Our bodies are working hard to be ready for the spring, for the time of renewal, so we need to be gentle and kind to ourselves. The dash to the gym, the carb privation, the aggressive treatments for extra glow are literally the opposite of what our bodies and minds need - we don't have the energetic resources for that. Now is the time for love and care, it's the point in the year when we are at our lowest ebb but if we can nurture ourselves, we will feel the benefit for the rest of the year and all those that follow. 

Winter is the very necessary time of the year for rest and renewal. In plants it's the time of dormancy, when everything retreats, leaves have fallen, buds have formed, roots, plump from storing nutrients all summer, are carefully released to survive the winter. Everything is balanced and resting, ready for the year ahead, for the cycle to repeat. 

I love the poem Wintering by Carole Ann Duffy and especially this section...

"Another night, the smuggling in of snow.
You come and go,
your footprints like a love letter below.

Then something shifts, elsewhere and out of sight,
a hidden freight
that morning brings in on a tide of light.

The soil grows hesitant, it blurts in green,
so what has been
translates to what will be, certain, unseen,

as pain turns back again to love, like this,
your flower kiss,
and winter thaws and melts, cannot resist."

Wishing you a restful wintering and a bit of peace ready for the turning of the season.

I've put together a lovely Wintering Bundle which I thought would help us to get through these last weeks of intense winter - it seems especially prescient as storm Eowyn is currently battering large parts of the UK. It comprises the Wildflower Tea to soothe the mind, the mini Harmonising Cleansing Balm to feel deeply nourished and the Harris Rose Mist to remind you that the winter doesn't last forever.