winter

With a week to go before we leave winter returns bringing to end the full cycle of spring, summer and spring since I have arrived. The winters in Weymouth are not usually severe. While the rest of the country comes to a stand still at the first sign of snow, it is the early morning frosts that mark winter here. In the morning as you step out side your senses know straight away it is winter. The feel of the crisp frosty air on your face; your breath visible in front of you; the sound of ice crunching under your feet; and the smell of wood smoke from the nearby hamlet. Gloves are a must as a strong northerly wind cuts through 4 layers of clothing.

Different seasons each have their own unique light and winter is no different as the sun hovers on the horizon, trying unsuccessfully to get itself in to the air. As a result, the light is muted and subdued. The sky is a light pastel of blues with sunrise and sunsets being infused with streaks of pale pinks and yellow. With the sun struggling to get up in the morning the daylight hours are restricted to just a few hours which you manage to see outside your window during lunchtime.

In the winter months, when the leaves have fallen, the landscape takes on a strange sleepy state with the bare silhouettes of the beech trees against a grey sky. The light gleaming from thousands of frozen drops on all the branches gives the countryside its own Christmas decorations. Hunting season is has started and the faint sounds of gun shots echo out across the valley.

Walking around the villages, towns and along the many paths there is no sign of the thousands of tourists and visitors that have descended on the place in summer. The peace and tranquillity encourages you to linger longer and explore but the cold pushes you to the nearest pub, preferably one with an open fire.

It has been a great experience being able to see England in all its seasons. But, like the many birds that have decided to migrate for the winter, it is our time to join the flying birds on a path to warmer lands. I wonder if they have a nice cold beer waiting for them at the end of their journey?

Autumn

The flowers are dying, the berries and fruits are appearing, the leaves are changing colour and dropping. It must be autumn. One thing about living in England is you really do know and appreciate the seasons. The chill in the early morning air is crisp and clean and provides just a glimpse as to how cold it is going to get in Winter.

Unlike Australia with our many evergreen trees, the vegetation here knows that winter is just around the corner and the entire countryside begins to prepare for its three month hibernation. Even the hedgerows, that were once a flush of green reaching out across the narrow lanes, appear to have been defeated and retreat back to the edges.

Most noticeable is the beautiful yellows and oranges that splash across the landscape as the oak, ash, maple, blackthorn and guelder rose reveal their autumn hues. The woodlands become a mystical place as the sunlight streams in through the broken canopy and the grounds crunch under your feet in the fallen leaves. One of the oddest wildlife arrives hidden among these fallen leaves - the fungus. Weird and wonderful shapes and colours emerge in the strangest places.

Out the back our resident grey squirrel is busily collecting all manner of nuts and berries and burying them in the lawn for the winter ahead. I sat and watched her (I am guessing it was a her by the way she was so indecisive as to where she wanted to dig) busily run from the tree to the ground and back again for what seemed like hours.

As the days get shorter, getting up in the morning is getting that little bit harder. While it does mean that you get to see the sun rise and the beautiful streaks of colour in the early morning mist, it also means heading home from work in the dark.

The benefit of spending an entire year in a place is the opportunity of experiencing the sights, sounds and smells of all the seasons. Only a couple more weeks and even Autumn will be behind us as we march towards the end of the year and the chance of hopefully experiencing our first ever white Christmas. Something to look forward to.

Summer?

Summer in Australia is all about the smell of smoke in the air, a hot westerly sucking the life out of you, scalding your feet on the blistering road, the sound of crashing surf, getting sand between your toes, the deafening roar of cicadas, a 38 deg Christmas day and the big southerly buster bringing welcoming rain.

The only common thing to an English summer is the word itself. As some of you may have heard we are suffering from one of the wettest summers on record. There has been severe flooding in the midlands (about an hours drive north of us) with some houses submerged under 2m of water. Luckily for us we have missed the worse part of the rain and even have a little bit of sunshine this morning.

So what is summer really like here.

As the last of the spring bulb disappear, the garden becomes less colourful but with more shades of green. Green dominates the landscape from the lush pastures to the dark green trees that still remain interspersed between the urban footprint. One thing that has managed to win the battle is the overgrown hedges that expand out across the narrow lanes in a desperate attempt to consume any passing vehicle.

But where the more flamboyant daffodils and tulips have settled in to their hibernation, the wildflowers make a subtle but still spectacular entrance. With shades of purple, pink and white pastel, their delicate flowers dot the landscape like an artist would paint a watercolour. There may not be the noise of cicadas but an abundance of insect life emerges - butterflies, damselflies, dragonflies – and most noticeable the large bumble bees.

Despite the rain and clouds, many still brave the beach, all wrapped up in jackets and wind breaks. The ocean is empty apart from the lone dog braving the cold water. The other telling point that you know summer is here is the long days with the sun only deciding to call it a night after 10.00pm and the children still bouncing off the ceiling not wanting to go to bed.

I must admit I am missing the warmth but it is early days yet. You never know – Summer may still occur on at least one day in August.