BANG GOES THE SEASON

This weekend was the penultimate shoot of the season here in our corner of Lincs, so it was all hands to the pump yet again.  There were logs to be chopped and brought in; fires to be laid; cleaning to be done; beds to be made; food to be planned, bought and cooked – it was a team effort and once again, the family came together to do it.  There were fourteen of us for dinner on Friday, a houseful overnight and then a gathering in the yard yesterday morning.  I was on sausage and damson gin delivery duties at 11 off in a far-flung field; lunch in the middle of the day was at the front of the house with the firepit burning and food on trestle tables.  It rained of course, so we put our hoods up; the years when it really too wet we stand in the hall with our buns and soup, everything steaming gently.  At some point everyone, whether they admit it or not, will have been utterly frozen and quite possibly a bit fed up:  by the end of walking days here we will all be carrying about a stone of good old claggy Lincolnshire mud on each foot.  Yesterday we ended up inside, flopped by the fire, and finished off – as tradition dictates - the end of the Christmas cake and the last of the stilton: this year there are snowdrops out, and the green spikes of crocuses just starting to show through.  It’s all a bit early, but just for now I refuse to be worried by that.  I’m giving in entirely to the relaxed company of friends and family. To my mind, and ever more so, it is simply and absolutely what life is all about.