Winterreise

And so to 2022. January is often viewed as a miserable month; still cold, still dark, slithery walks and endless damp. But whilst that is inescapable, there are some comforts and enjoyments that reveal themselves at this time of year. My younger self would have been beckoned to the city, with its steaming coffee houses, museums, theatres, music and culture of all types. Having children and latterly the pandemic however has meant that has been more challenging and expensive and - over time - less attractive. Living next to a nature reserve has drawn us more to the quieter, less frantic aspects of the winter; an opportunity to hibernate, cook, read, stay in and take walks closer to home. As Robert Macfarlane said in his book ‘The Old Ways,’ during that period around the winter solstice ‘…the countryside around felt halted, paused. Five degrees below freezing and the earth battened down. Clouds held snow that would not fall. Out in the suburbs the schools were closed, people homebound, the pavements pinky and the roads black-iced. The sun ran a shallow arc across the sky…’ Today has felt clearer and brighter than that description, but the pull towards really cherishing and noticing the seasons has become ever stronger with age.

As it happens, January is the month of my birth and until relatively recently I considered this to be an unlucky time to be born; everyone is either broke or on a diet and the optimism of spring still seems miles away. The appetite for festivities of any kind are depleted and the temptation is to grumpily wish the time away. Maturity however has made me wary of thinking too far ahead, besides, the present can be a cause for celebration. There are books to read, hopefully interesting work to think about and places here in Cambridgeshire that entice and are bleakly beautiful at this time of year. One of these is Wicken Fen. I like to drag the family out there to tramp through the mud, observe the skies, the waterways, the flatlands of East Anglia and earn our coffee and cake.

Wicken was the very first nature reserve owned by the National Trust and has been in its care since 1899. I gather there are more than 9,300 species recorded as living in this unique and special landscape and there is an ambitious plan for the next 100 years to create a diverse landscape for wildlife and people - stretching from Wicken Fen to the edge of Cambridge. Shockingly to me (though perhaps not surprising in this industrial age), less than one per cent of original fen survives in East Anglia, of which Wicken Fen is a fragment. The wonderful National Trust - a real force for good on these islands - says the following about Wicken ‘…By restoring natural processes, careful management of water and grazing will allow the land to evolve a mosaic of habitats for a wide variety of abundant wildlife. People will be able to enjoy access and recreation opportunities across a beautiful, tranquil wilderness, with opportunities for volunteering, education and interpretation.

I’m conscious however that all this reading about nature doesn’t really cut the mustard; it’s all very well thinking about it, but for me the whole point is to be in it. On the danker days, it takes a good deal of will power to get out there; much more tempting to stay in, eat, slob around and pretend there are good reasons to do almost nothing. I’m not a twitcher, or a species observer of any kind, and yet, the uplifting qualities of being out in the countryside, or even a decent park are unmatched. The light is always brighter and more energising outside - even on a very overcast day - and within minutes you can feel your spirits lifting. Reading about the outdoors is similar to music in that sense; it’s tempting, often a pleasure to hear the words in your head, but nothing can beat engaging with it. I wasn’t a scholarly music student - talking about the methods of composition and analysis didn’t really do it for me - but really having the opportunity to feel, play or listen made it all worthwhile and indeed is the point. Engaging on a visceral, physical and spiritual level is surely what matters most - and I am going to try very hard to do that in January. Happy listening and walking everyone.

Uplifting music of the day: Earth Wind and Fire - ‘I am.’ OK I’m cheating here; basically I want you to listen to the whole of the first side of this album. Actually, just saying that phrase makes me realise how old I have become; many wouldn’t know what the ‘side of a record’ is. But either way, please check out ‘In the Stone,’ ‘Can’t let go,’ ‘After the love has gone,’ ‘Let your feelings show.’ The point is, these tracks are meant to segue into each other and I hate to break them up. Other than that, there is very little to say about this musical experience except ‘Yeeeesssss!’ If this doesn’t uplift you in January then nothing will. What a band.

Contemplative music of the the day: Errolyn Wallen - ‘Of Crumbling Rocks’ or possibly ‘Oi Crumbling Rocks.’ There is too much to write about Errolyn here as she is literally the most broad, versatile and brilliant contemporary composer I have encountered to date. She is by turns, a great jazz singer, pianist, writer of words and music using almost any combination of instruments you can think of; orchestral, string quartets, concertos. She is the real deal, and if you haven’t checked her out yet this is a great place to start; inspired by Dido’s lament, this is simply a wonderful wintery piece. (And by the way, thank you to Radio 3 for featuring her as composer of the week; a superb opportunity to delve a bit deeper into her work).