Storm Dennis was brutal last night, rattling the windows, clattering the neighbours’ gates, sending wheelie-bins shuffling down the street like budget daleks in a cut-price, post-brexit, dismantled BBC version of Dr Who. Sleep was fitful, and when it came was filled with dreams of dark anxieties, of loss, of faceless shadows lurking in corners.

Imbolc, on February 2nd, was supposed to herald the period of early Spring, which lasts until the Vernal Equinox. A time of the snow moon, snowdrops and crocuses, of new green shoots slowly emerging through the forest floor, gradually lengthening days and the smell of new life in the air. The first, gentle touches of the new year. Ciara and Dennis, the gruesome twosome, have had other ideas; and we have been trapped under angry swathes of roiling sky, fierce winds and, throughout the UK, flooding on a biblical scale. My heart goes out to those who have lost so many treasured possessions, particularly those who have only just recovered from the horrendous storms of recent years.

Everyone is suffering from Cabin Fever, it seems. My fellow walkers at the Scottish Women’s Walking Group are starting to climb walls and chew through cables. Many of us have started the Walk 1000 Miles Challenge and, after a mild and benevolent January which racked up decent mileage, are now struggling to deal with shorter bursts between work, other commitments, torrential downpours, and the risk of being hit by a flying tree. My body and – vitally – my brain – are in desperate need of a good, long stomp in the countryside, a full all-dayer somewhere I haven’t walked before. Cobwebs need to be blown, muscles need to be stretched and tested. I need to unfurl.

I’m dashing outside wherever I can, visits to the hawthorn path or to the woods where these past couple of weeks I have mostly been assessing storm damage and continuing the volunteer bird recording I undertake for the BTO. The going underfoot is increasingly difficult, however, and I have had to begrudgingly consider my advancing years and how a nasty fall might curtail my walking and exploring for several months, scuppering my plans for later in the year. (Now that is a wake-up call of middle age that certainly deserves a post of its own, and one I have jotted down in my future plans diary should my menopausal brain forget it.)

Since giving up drinking and further developing my slow living, nature based philosophy last year (with huge thanks to Eleanor at Creative Countrywide for rewhetting my appetite); I have been staggered by how well I have coped with the winter months in comparison to other years. There is no doubt in my mind now that alcohol – even small amounts – had played a huge part in messing with my natural delicate chemical brain soup; but giving it up meant that I also ended up with a lot of time to fill. What would I do instead of boozy Saturday afternoon meet-ups with friends? What is a good movie without a bottle of wine? What would lubricate my late night social media ramblings? In short, what would replace wine as a way to calm my brain down and stop its incessant chattering?

I’ll write more about my brain chatter at another point too (*scribbles in diary, lest I forget this too*), as it has fascinated me to discover that not everyone has a constant internal dialogue rattling away in their head; but I will say that the following things have really helped me a) not miss relaxing with a glass of wine or six b) get through the long winter months and are now c) helping me cope with storm-induced cabin fever:

Meditation and yoga

Yes, it’s a total cliche but it really does help. I found that I had to look around to find resources that didn’t bug the shit out of me (there are a lot of ‘gurus’ who I just want to smack in the face with a shovel, which does nothing for one’s inner peace). TED talks are a great place to start, and you soon find out whether the proponents are talking sense or a pile of cash-generating juju. One of my favourites is Tara Brach, and I joined in her community online Radical Compassion Challenge recently, which gave me a lot to think about and introduced me to truly inspirational people like the amazing Valarie Kaur

I also have a fantastic app on my phone which originally I downloaded to help me sleep (insomnia being part and parcel of both my age and my new-found sobriety, no nightcaps to help my slumber these days!). It’s called Peak Sleep (it used to be called Rise, for some bizarre reason) and the subscription is worth every penny. It uses a number of approaches such as guided meditations, ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) and mindfulness meditations and can be used at any time of the day to help work through brain-scramble, mental fatigue and anxiety. I do, however, find their stats rather lacking but that’s only a minor niggle about an otherwise great product.

I’m still a big fan of the amazing Yoga with Adriene, mostly because she doesn’t expect you to be able to fold yourself into a clove hitch; and her quick meditations and winter blues yoga practices are a lovely way to spend a wee half hour.

Baking and general kitchen pootling

The youngest is still loving baking with me, and it’s something I really treasure. Everything, from looking through recipes to doing to cleaning up, is something I really look forward to each week – I know that at some point soon doing anything at all with me is going to become a massive bind, so I am really making the most of this. Next on my list is trying to cajole the oldest (who is apparently very good at Home Economics in school) into learning some basic meals. At the moment he seems to view meal creation as some kind of witchcraft, rather than something we all learn and develop.

Garden planning

This time of the year is gardening catalogue time. There are plans to be made, whether you have a massive garden or just a few pots. We have the raised bed at the community garden, of course, but a lot of our best gardening happened at home last year – we had phenomenal success with outdoor tomatoes and our beans, and we massively increased the amount and variety of pollinators visiting our garden by introducing a perennial border which we’re not overly fussy about weeding, and growing a number of herbs.

 

I am slowly drawing together this year’s plans, really thinking about what is expensive to buy from the shops and/or comes in lots of unnecessary packaging and whether it’s feasible to try and grow it organically ourselves. I have just started off some hot peppers – cayenne, jalapeno and chocolate habenero (pictured). If you want to float away in fantasies of gorgeous gardens, check out Pinterest (but be careful on Pinterest if looking up when to sow seeds or plant seedlings out – most of the content is from the USA where the climate is often much difference to ours. John Harrison’s Vegetable Growing Month by Month is still my absolute bible for growing in the UK, remembering of course that Scotland tends to have a shorter growing season with a later spring and an earlier autumn and lower temperatures than the South of England).

On that note, I have noticed that the morning is marching away with me. The birds in the garden are in fine fettle today, and the rather-too-friendly grey squirrel has literally come to the bedroom window to gently remind me that I need to refill their hanging feeders. The sun is trying valiantly to break through the cloud cover and I might – just might – be able to fit in a quick walk before it starts to pour down once more.

You can also follow my nature ramblings over at The Hawthorn Path , follow me on Instagram or, if you’re so inclined, follow me on Pinterest  where I gather all manner of pretty things, recipes and art (including my ‘Winterspiration‘ collection of art celebrating the colder months, which is the perfect panacea to these dark days) as well as programme ideas for my Beaver Scout colony which may be helpful to other leaders, home schoolers, childminders etc.

Until next time, dear hearts xx