FEBRUARY - "Frost-locked all the winter..."

Frost-locked all the winter, 
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, 
What shall make their sap ascend 
That they may put forth shoots? 
Tips of tender green, 
Leaf, or blade, or sheath; 
Telling of the hidden life 
That breaks forth underneath, 
Life nursed in its grave by Death.

(first verse of "Spring" by Christina Rossetti)

Bluebells behind the pond

This morning's dog walk seemed wintry but a little milder. We walked up to the wind farm and passed a field of nervous sheep. After we had passed by them, they turned and watched us as we made our way back the way we had come. They accepted us on our homeward journey. It's such a nice feeling to be accepted.

 As they watched us, a female pheasant danced her way through their rearguard, not wanting to fly but not wanting to stay for long either. 

Pheasants punctuated our morning walk, sometimes running, sometimes flying a little above the ground. It's a bit pointed to be honest - I mean - don't they know that we are the last people to do them any harm!!

As we trundled along the winter-weather-beaten path, mice and voles darted out in front and alongside us.

The ditch was full and, where it met the burn and the two ran under the tiny bridge then southwards over the rocks, the music of it was so beautiful that I could have lingered much longer - but I had a blog to write!

Crocus by the roadside gate into the little wood

Close to home we saw the remains of some poor creature. Ginny said it had been a large toad and yesterday was quite complete. It must have been dopey so would easily have fallen victim to a motor vehicle.

We scrutinised the wild rose hedge and noticed how it was thickening at the back rather than the front. This is a good thing as it won't damage the paintwork on cars going up to the farm. Amongst its lower branches, daffodils are growing rapidly. With prolonged sunshine we shall see their yellow heads very soon.

Ginny and Judith pushed some off-cuts from the willows into the soil at the side of the hedge, knowing from experience that they grow so readily here. It should create a bit more shelter from the west winds if her plan works.

Home again and, after taking the dogs inside, we went back down to our little wood to pick up oddments of rubbish which had collected there after the winter winds - or perhaps had been exposed by the weather. We found a paint pot, a flower pot, a small bucket, a toy cauldron, some blue heavy gauge plastic and some corroded fairy lights!

Whenever we go into the wood, we always stay longer than we mean to. There is something about being surrounded by trees which feels so comfortable. And we absolutely always see or hear something which we didn't expect. Today I heard a thrush and we saw an elder tree growing in a most peculiar way. A part of it had broken off in the wind quite a year or two ago and now it appears to have pollarded itself - lots of slender branches growing upwards.

We were also delighted to see new green growth on a holly in the little wood. We wondered if we had harvested too much the first Christmas we were living here - December 2021 - because it didn't look great afterwards. Today though, we are much more hopeful for it.

Two clapper bridges - one over the pond here at Stempster, the other taken on our family holiday in Devon (June 1966) - my much-missed grandparents, Bob and Ivy Temperton

Walking back towards the house, there were so many signs of spring - including the leaves of marsh marigolds peeping just above the water in the pond. The pond divides into two with a "clapper bridge" over the middle - and there were a few marsh marigold leaves in each of the two parts.

New growth - yarrow, knapweed, angelica and Lenten Rose

There are tiny flowers on the witch hazel and buds on a number of Lenten roses. One teeny mauve flower graces the patch of honesty by the conservatory and the primroses which Clemency planted in Toad Hall are opening up as soon as the sun shines. She calls them primroses. They were sold as primroses. They don't much resemble the primroses which grew along the ditch sides behind our house in Belton-in-Axholme. Clemency and I have an ongoing skirmish of words on the subject of primroses! The area where they grew when I was a girl was called Primrose Hill and, before and during the first world war, some family members lived in the one remaining house there. When I used to go for walks it was just a shell but had seen births and deaths for many years before that. The Belton primroses were the palest of yellows and shone above the textured leaves like shy cherubs.

Primroses in "Toad Hall"

Witch hazel by the pond

Close to Toad Hall - a small raised area in our flagstone yard here at Stempster House, are some plant pots with cuttings and plants for moving on to other parts of the garden. One of these is a flowering currant which Judith rescued from the damage done to the currant hedge, by the snow plough, a couple of winters past. It has a small flower on it so we're very hopeful for its future.

Snowdrops have been opening up behind the pond, behind the swing and in smaller patches elsewhere in the garden. They have been beautiful little nodding white droplets of wintertime until now but with a little more sunshine they are getting braver!

Snowdrops by the swing

Purple crocus are very pretty by the rusty old roadside gate into the wood - but they too need a sunny day to be at their best. Don't we all?

Tulips are pushing through from nowhere in places I had forgotten were planted with them and the fresh new shoots of bluebells are coming fast and furious just about everywhere here!

I always think that February has a funny feel to it. It goes back a long way to when I was small and noticed the signs of growing things in the countryside around my Lincolnshire home. It seemed almost cruel that the frost and snow would return only to attack the growth around me. A strange month! Even stranger is the way the new growth seems to go into suspended animation while this assault happens and to come out of it quite unscathed! This is represented in folklore by the battle between the Green Man and Jack Frost. The Green Man always wins - something to remember when the powerful but unwise leaders in the world appear to be set on a course of destruction!

We had lots of snow this wintertime and then lots of mud. This made it unpleasant for the chickens so Ginny put down some off-cuts of spruce and also some logs and bits of wood so that they did not feel too much mud-misery. They seem to like it. Clem is very grateful - she worries a lot about the wellbeing of her chickens and quail.

She just wouldn't move on until I'd taken her photograph!

I noticed, as I was going through my diary, that I had written - and then corrected - January instead of February for the seventh day of the month. I wasn't surprised as the days still felt so cold then.

Yet the house has been filled with daffodils - the not-so-local-ones! Wherever in the world they come from they make me smile every time I look at them. Soon the Caithness daffydowndillies will burst into flower - until then I'm grateful for the imports! Sunshine in every room!

Daffydowndillies - almost there!

Recently, Clemency and Ginny have been busy building a wooden potting shed in the kitchen garden. Clem has wanted one for quite some time and she's very happy with it. I told her I would sue because she's stopping some of the light to my larder. The potting shed is quite tall and peeps above the wall. She doesn't seem too worried about the legal action!!!!

Clemency's potting shed built with help from Ginny

The heron has been spending a lot of time in our neck of the woods. He's mostly by the river but sometimes comes to do a lap of honour over the garden. The flying heron and the hunting heron look like two different birds. As he hunches up his shoulders, listening to the river, he's a square, solid bird and it's difficult to marry that image with the sight of him flying elegantly home to his roost.  

Similarly, Henny, the female hen harrier, looks huge in flight but, when sitting, she appears to be a smaller bird. With Henny, the wingspan is a major characteristic. We see her often here and like to think of her as one of Stempster's residents.

The snow has not been far away through February with small flurries every so often but temperatures are slowly creeping up. There were some bitter February days on the land for George North back in late nineteenth century Lincolnshire. He must have found some relief when he went on his regular trips to Gainsborough market. In his garden he was setting shallots while, on the land, he was ploughing, leading manure and dressing corn with fertiliser - probably nitrogen. He took part in "thrashing" - sometimes called threshing - and in setting hedges for local farmers. George was also employed in "picking wicks in warps" - which would clear the soil for crops to grow freely. Because of the deposited river sediment, warplands soil is extremely fertile - and the unwanted weeds, as well as the agricultural crops, do well in it!

George's attitude to animals was in line with other farmers and smallholders. He bred them for food. February was one of the months when it was considered safe to kill pigs. He recorded the weight of one of his pigs, killed in February, as ten stones. Opting out of animal consumption back in those days was considered unusual. 

George would take off to the countryside around his Trentside home in order to catch rabbits. Even though I am a country girl, I have never knowingly eaten rabbit meat but I remember a man who lived on our lane at Studcross in Epworth, regularly cycling home with a sackful of bunnies over his shoulder. I suppose that was before myxomatosis. I remember seeing the poor creatures when I was about nine I suppose but I am unsure how long it took for the disease to reach the Isle of Axholme from Kent where it began in 1953. We left Studcross Cottage in the early 1960s.

As a child I loved animal stories and now I find I'm unable to eat the meat which comes from mammals. Anything that cares for its young as a mammal does is too close to human for me to be able to eat it. I suppose I have failed the memory of my ancestors - many of them from farming backgrounds - but, where emotions are involved, we lack control.  

One last comment about George North in February - he was delighted when his three patented mole traps arrived. Nah! I love the little gentlemen in black velvet coats. They frequently tunnel under our land and, instead of putting down traps, we investigate their earthworks to find centuries of miscellany! This land has been inhabited since before Christ. We have a broch across the lane from us and the paddock, which we are turning into an orchard, shows up interesting lines on the LiDAR map. Old Moldy Warp helps with the archaeological investigation!

Keith's Eucalyptus in his greenhouse - grown from seed sown in April last year (2025)

Early this month I noticed a spike of green showing through in the pot into which I set the bulbs given to Keith and me by our friend, Ann, as our Christmas present. Today they are all well through the soil. At the beginning of this week we heard skylarks singing their little hearts out - and the buds on the flowering currant hedge which will grace our hillside in early spring, are fattening up and colouring more each day. And there are calves in the village. No lambs yet - but there will be soon.

When the rest of the world seems bent on self-destruction, step outside and listen to the birdsong - exquisite in the early mornings just now, look for budding things - and hope for the same pattern of the natural world that you've always known - Winter will warm into Spring which will colour into Summer which will fruit into Autumn which will daydream into sleepy Winter again.

The following little poem is a legend in our family -

When I went out

The sun was hot

It shone upon

My flower pot.

And there I saw

A spike of green

That no one else

Had ever seen!

On other days

The things I see

Are mostly old

Except for me.

But this green spike

So new and small

Had never yet

Been seen at all!

A Spike of Green by Barbara Baker 

"A Spike of Green" - tiny shoots from the bulbs given to us for Christmas 2025