The Nook: A Garden Entering Winter
The garden lies in a scratch in the trees at the top of the hill, - though only a hill if approached from the southern side. There is the feeling of being elevated on the shoulder of the vast landmass that spreads northward. The sensation is emphasised by the deepening tree line that sinks south as the ground rolls away.
A quarter mile dog leg draws you up from the valley through the tallest trees, each a descendant of the woodland standing near; flanking the uneven stones besides the road that the Romans cleared through the forest. After a sharp turn at the top and a hundred or so yards you'll find the the small house hidden by ash, alder, conifer, beech, willow, oak and maple.
Away through the lanes the main road runs from the town to the country, and further out beyond the made landscape towards the true wilderness. This route has been used for at least a thousand years, and settled at several places - marked by gritstone mile posts and weathered dry stone walls covered in moss and lichen.
Eastwards, the land bows gently into the valley over ever rougher ground leading to the boggy heart of the wood, a surviving part of some of England’s oldest forests, split through the centre by the beck. While nothing stays the same, deep under the canopy time seems to stand still and only the sound of water is constant.
The Nook sits at highest point in the surrounding land but is well sheltered by trees, a hidden south facing bower. Along the most southerly edge, the footpath set in the understory is used by people and dogs in the day but is left to foxes and ghosts at night - the old track connecting the wood physically and historically with the settlement.
On windless nights, the owl is heard in the trees, ever vigilant in taking mice, voles and beetles. In the deepest parts of the undergrowth precious few hedgehogs are revealed only by their rustling. On rare occasions, a badger will be seen and occasionally a deer will pass through timidly, usually after taking a wrong turn while looking for water.
The garden is slowing down now, readying for winter. To sit on the step with a black tea and a touch of ice in the air is a good time to reflect on the projects completed and those yet to come. Some are finished, some left undone but the strong sense that the season is about to turn again is impossible to ignore - and why would we? Over the next few weeks new plans will form to be put in motion in spring. We'll draw plans by lamplight, read, cook and rest.
It is the start of winter, a true westerly is cutting through the trees and whipping at branches. A few still cling to their leaves; tawny brown, dry russet and bronze though they shall relent. Soon, all will be on the ground leaving bare limbs to lean and face the wind alone for another three months.
