onionbagblog

And so finally, finally, the estuary winter appears to be in retreat (um, hang on…)

I really shouldn’t complain. Experiencing the extremes of each season is all part of the cyclical way of appreciating a bit of everything. But I’m very much a summer boy. I didn’t move to Wivenhoe to count the icicles hanging from my garden shed.

So yeah, it’s been a bit of a brute of a winter. A walk out towards Alresford midweek, and the early signs that spring is soon amongst us started to show.

The rosehips buds from last autumn are long gone; very early growth spurts for the new crop are starting to poke through. The daylight is lasting until around 5pm. It will be White House Beach BBQ’s before Valentine’s Day.

Blimey.

I am treated each early evening to a stunning sunset, looking out across my office and towards the grand old tree that stands proudly in place by the postal sorting office. It looks back in silhouette, a symbol of the change in the season that is about to change my daily routine.

I’ve far from hibernated in Wivenhoe over these past few months, but I do feel like something of a hermit. We are presented with a social landscape that cries out to be explored. I don’t feel too adventurous though on a dark wintery night with the temperature dipping below freezing.

There’s still no sign of the daffodils that I planted just before the first big freeze. I blame the dodgy bulbs that I bought from B & Q (or possibly even a very naughty boy who is still digging around my borders most mornings.)

So yeah – not long now. There’s even fighting talk of a trip to Clacton coming up.

Cripes.

Winter in Wivenhoe: harsh, but fair.

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