A Winter Gathering - From the Lost Blog

As I write this, I’m sat by a cosy long burner in one of my favourite spots by the sea with a coffee on the go and we’re in the dark and perpetually stormy part of January. I don’t think a winter goes by in Cornwall where we don’t lose a harbour wall or cliffside to a persistent storm and most nights I’m woken at four am by howling winds that sound like hungry wolves and battering sheets of rain on the window. Cornwall does winter in its own unique way; never particularly cold, frost is rare and snow is like the travelling faery market of Wall that graces us once every 8 years or so and those times are surreal, sacred and just like the travelling faery market of wall, send the locals into a sort of weird frenzy.

Although I love the bleak stormy winters of raw, colourful skies, early starry nights and pubs with merry fires – sometimes I long for what you would consider a real winter. The sort of winter that the rest of the island gets. The winter that is austere, gothic and frosty – one with bare stone walls and skeletal trees and misty valleys and flurries of snow. My wish was granted when I visited the Peak District in early January and experienced my first snippet of true Northern Winter – and oh my goodness this little Southern Girl wasn’t quite prepared for just how chilly it is.

Some of you may know that I have been known to write for the wonderful Creative Countryside journal as their resident folklore editor as well as contributing to their beautiful quarterly printed magazine. The magazine was launched last year by our editor in chief Eleanor who works tirelessly to produce this incredible journal inspired by nature, adventure, stories and folklore surrounding the countryside which has since attracted a beautiful community surrounding it. I was so fortunate to get to experience this wonderful little community of eclectic minds when Eleanor organised her first Creative Countryside gathering in the heart of the Peak District.

Jon & I packed up my little blue car Shelly and we headed northwards to the peaks, a place we had only glimpsed before when we visited Derbyshire in September and had always yearned to come back to.

For somebody who is supposed to have studied a degree in Creative Writing, words fail me to quite accurately describe how the Peaks made me feel. Perhaps I’m getting out of touch and rusty.

As the daylight began to dwindle and we left the main big roads to enter the peaks, the sturdy little towns of Derbyshire gave way to tumble down, dark stoned and wuthered farm houses and cottages perched resolutely atop stooping valleys. The route was one of my favourite drives that I’ve ever experienced next to the Highlands; a track snaking along ridges alongside valleys that seemed to go on forever and ever. Twisting and precarious sections that opened up to magnificent views of snow capped mountains and a spectacular view from Mam Tor. The trees were skeletal and monstrous looking and the blackened cottages puffing smoke out their chimneys like old smokers looked neither cosy nor inviting; it delighted that part of me that longs for the gothic and weird.

We arrived at the National Trust bunkhouse that Eleanor had organised for everybody to stay in at Edale, just as the last light vanished and a great log burner was already fired up and in full swing in the snug as we arrived. Although I’m an extrovert and I love people, I’m also painfully aware of how goofy and strange I can be at times. I’ve never really worried about this because I always figured that if people were worth being friends with, they’d accept me as I am, spacey-ness and all but for the first time I found myself worried that I would make a goofball of myself and that these people who were creative and cool and a part of this respected community might actually just laugh me out of the door. Being an extrovert doesn’t always mean being confident but Eleanor had wisely provided a delicious, seemingly bottomless (and possibly potent) cocktail for everybody to enjoy so it wasn’t long before I found myself stuck into those sorts of earnest conversations that merry folk tend to gravitate towards; you know, politics, world wisdom and philosophy etc. Somehow four special elixirs transforms me into a qualified philosopher and anthropologist who really thinks she knows what she’s talking about… Oh Sarah…

As it happened, everybody was ridiculously lovely. Eleanor and her sister had provided a delicious vegan dinner for us of Buckwheat Pasta with mushrooms. The next day, a whole host of activities had been planned so we got up early (I’m really REALLY awful at this) and we headed outside for a group walk around the area. The local area was heart-breakingly beautiful. We marched through little bogs and precariously climbed around even bigger bogs. I managed not to fall in any of them which really was a feat considering it was barely a week before that I fell spectacularly into a muddy puddle at Prussia Cove. Chelsea who is the owner of Loving Life in Wellies blog and is very knowledgable about all things outdoors and adventure related led our little expedition and we saw some really ramshackle cottages, completely falling down and gothic looking scattered about the valley. I felt reluctant to go back indoors after the walk because I was so mesmerised by the scenery – nothing like we have back home. I was lost in the wide world of my imagination, taking in everything like an excited child in the most incredible playground – the great outdoors. But the cold did beat me and there was a promise of a foliage crown workshop and lunch which won me over. Lunch always wins me over.

 

 

That afternoon we made foliage crowns and Jon made his all from Ivy. He was soooo proud of it, it was actually adorable and he looked for all he was worth like he wouldn’t be out of place in a Midsummer night’s dream. I always thought he was some sort of woodland creature with his eyes the colour of lichen and this only confirmed my suspicions. We also made wreaths and beeswax candles and the night before, we had a tea tasting where Mugdha from Kindred and Wild gave us a fascinating talk on the properties of herbs. She made us a delicious tea from a blend of rosemary, liquorice and lavender which we got to take home in the best goody bag I’ve ever received from anywhere.

As it got dark, we partook in ‘Wassailing’ which involved beating pots and pans and chanting around an apple tree and drinking mulled cider. For dinner, we had a ‘Twelfth Night’ themed feast at a candle lit table (the candles that we had made earlier that day) and it was so dreamy and delicious. It was brilliant talking to so many different people with fascinating stories and interests, the sort of people I yearn to be around and my soul felt soothed by the dreamy setting of the wintery valleys.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the stars emerged, we all drifted outside to enjoy the evening sky and although Jon and I had wandered into a higher field, we heard a collective gasp from those stood watching the night’s sky from outside the cottage as we all witnessed an enormous shooting star scudding slowly across the horizon. It was the perfect end to such a whimsical and perfect day. We loitered to see if we could see anymore but we had clearly had the best of it at the very beginning because clouds began to cluster so we headed back to the bunkhouse for more fireside chat.

 

 

 

The final morning, I woke up early and miraculously didn’t feel like the grouchy and grumbly old troll that lives under a bridge and torments billy goats. We drifted outside for an early morning meander and to my hearts delight, the world was painted with twinkling frost. It was a marvellous world and I was enchanted and fascinated, stopping every three steps to inspect the perfectly preserved leaves and blades of grass and moss, crystalline and bewitching.

Puddles were iced over – a rare phenomenon that we seldom experience in the south and crunching frozen puddles is one of those joyous, childlike pleasures of mine that I will always carry fondly throughout life.

 

 

 

 

Sunrise and the light touching the peak beyond Dalehead bunkhouse – it really was a spectacular sight.

 

 

 

Sunrise over Edale… half the valley still in shade

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our last morning together; new friendships had been forged and I was sorry to say goodbye to everyone. Although some had long journeys to make and got a head-start after packing up the bunkhouse, the rest of us decided on a hearty walk through the heart of Edale in the bright winter sunlight. We squeezed through curious stiles, walked over icy bridges and passed through idyllic villages – our quest for the perfect pub lunch held true in our hearts. Eventually we were rewarded and found a delightful pub that had a carvery running and finished off the trip in the best possible way; delicious food, great company and the satisfaction of a great adventure perfectly executed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was sad to bid goodbye to everyone but fortunately the nature of this sort of community is that it’s never really goodbye because you never know when your paths will cross again.

This winter hasn’t been the peaceful retreat that I was quite hoping for; working ridiculous over time and living in a very confined space and trying to fit a million things in was beginning to leave me weary and drained. This trip away was the much needed restorative dose of whimsy and balance of time outdoors, lounging around by the log burner on an exceptionally comfortable sofa (which trust me, when you don’t have access to a sofa is something you will never take for granted) and chatting into the wee hours with kindred spirits.

I sometimes like to believe that how we start the year sort of prophesies how we will continue it so to begin it with this dreamy winter gathering makes me feel hopeful for a year of creativity, exploration and forging bonds. I’m already excited for the next gathering (No pressure Eleanor!) – for ideas and imagination bouncing around a room is contagious as it creates more of the same.

Start as you mean to go on they say, and I certainly mean to go on in this way. I will push myself. Last year was the year for new things, for adventure and wildness and self exploration. This is the year for dreaming & creating & indulging in the things that make my soul happy.