In the January Garden

“Born from winter dreaming, life stirs and the first tender shoots emerge from the earth. As the wheel turns, we feel the promise of spring and the dawning of a new beginning.”

January in the garden is more about dreaming, planning and looking at seed catalogues than doing too much outside, although it’s good to get out there and turn the compost, admire the seedheads and spot the green shoots but whatever the time of year there are always some easy-to-grow, cottage garden plants doing their best to cheer us up. They are good for bees and other pollinators and often native to the British Isles and I will be featuring one plant every month during the year ahead. This month’s flowery garden hero is a European native and there’s no flower more evocative of the British winter than the humble snowdrop or Candlemas bell, so called because they are flowering prolifically by the feast of Candlemas at the start of February.


Clumps of these beauties are popping up already, their hardened leaf tips helping them to poke through the frozen soil of gardens, woodland and churchyards. In my youth I remember them blooming later but, you know, climate change. Symbolic of innocence, purity and hope, they really are the perfect flower for January. When all the excess of Christmas has been cleared away, there’s an innate need to pare back and simplify and the snowdrop is a great poster flower for this.


In January the urge to embrace the green shoots, shake off the winter blues and start new projects, spring clean, clear clutter in the house and in the garden is strong but be patient. In the garden it’s probably a good idea to wait for warmer weather. Pollinators are often wintering in dead leaves and hollowed out stems so it’s best to let them bee (sic). Just enjoy the reminder that you’ve survived the darkness and reflect on the way something so delicate can tough out the coldest month of the year, adapt to freezing conditions by producing an anti-freeze-like protein, drooping their flowerheads down and open up again when the temperature rises. It’s a lesson for us all.


Snowdrops are native to Alpine regions and do well in the partial shade of a North-facing garden, especially in terraced gardens because they don’t like permanently wet soil. Some say snowdrops were introduced to Britain by the Romans – along with ground elder. (I know which I prefer in my garden.) Others suggest monks are the most likely ones to have introduced them, but this may be more to do with their popularity in monastery gardens where their medicinal properties could be exploited.


There’s folklore attached to the snowdrop. Legend has it that they were formed after the fight between the Winter Witch and Lady Spring, symbolising Spring’s ultimate victory over Winter. Alternatives are that they sprung up from Eve’s tears when she was banished from the garden of Eden or connect them to Persephone’s return from the underworld. Whether you believe one or none of these narratives, there’s no denying that they are a welcome sign of life in the depths of winter. The Victorians thought of them as a sign of death however – probably because they grow prolifically in churchyards – that they shouldn’t be cut and brought indoors, believing they brought bad luck to farmers, affecting cow’s milk and discolouring butter. I don’t tend to cut snowdrops for the vase. Maybe it’s the influence of my deep agricultural roots or just a feeling that these flowers are better featured in drifts, nodding their heads outdoors.


Plant the bulbs in partial shade, pointy side up in drifts, about 3 inches deep. Wear gloves, because the bulbs can irritate skin. I prefer to plant in the green in March, rather than from dry bulbs as I’ve had more success with them this way. When established, allow them to die back (letting the leaves go yellow) before cutting them back. When uber-established you can dig them up and divide them, spreading the love around your garden or giving them away to friends and neighbours, particularly if you notice a clump which hasn’t flowered. Lifting and dividing will give them a reboot. It’s a good idea to add some grit in the planting hole and to top dress with leaf mould and more grit. Top dressing the whole plant when it dies back will also deter the pesky narcissus fly laying its eggs in the middle. And if you have several varieties and don’t want them contaminated it’s best to deadhead so that the seed doesn’t spread. They do particularly well under trees in our garden before the leaves form a canopy.


If you don’t have snowdrops in your garden this year, mark a place where they could go and order some from a reputable dealer to plant in the green in March. Never dig them up in the wild (it’s illegal). This time next year you’ll be watching them poke through the soil, a harbinger that the days are lengthening and spring is on its way.


A recent episode of Gardeners’ World featured a galanthophile (snowdrop collector) who has accumulated between three and four hundred varieties in her substantial, impressive garden so if you are looking for some recommendations, I’d suggest watching it on catch-up if you missed it. It featured my all-time favourites Galanthus elwesii ‘Grumpy’ and Galanthus plicatus ‘Percy Picton’. Some people are obsessive about snowdrops – and I could easily succumb if I had a bigger garden but for now, I’m going to enjoy my few clumps from the kitchen window and maybe plan a snowdrop walk around nearby Lacock Abbey.


If you have a favourite snowdrop walk, why not post it up here? It would be lovely to see your recommendations.

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Glimmers

Although I don’t go in for any of the ‘New Year, New Me’ malarkey in January, I do choose an overarching theme or intention for the calendar year ahead and try to aim my arrows in that general direction. 2025 was all about simplifying and this year I have decided to focus my attention on glimmers. Glimmers are those micro-moments which give you a warm feeling inside. Taking time to spot the glimmers in your day shifts the focus away from the negative, builds positivity and fosters a spirit of gratitude. It’s the antithesis of watching the news, scrolling through social media or reading the newspaper, which does tend to dwell more on doom and negativity. Something I found myself doing on more than one occasion in the year that’s gone. Of course we can’t ignore life’s difficulties altogether but by collecting glimmers we build the capacity to illuminate the darkness.

I work with folks who are grieving and have found that for many, the start of the calendar year to be even more difficult to negotiate than Christmas. The thought of shutting the door on a year – sometimes one where their special person walked the earth – and launching themselves into a new year without them is heartbreaking. You cannot put a time limit on grief. We’re still in the depths of winter. January 1st is a false threshold. Nothing really starts then. There’s time to go slowly, to adapt gradually; finding glimmers provides a manageable and structured way of doing this.

So whether it’s that clump of snowdrops on a walk, a cloudless starry night when the moon is bright, a friendly wave when you give way to someone on the road, the last piece of Christmas cake, your favourite film or a new book, glimmers make a difference and matter. They won’t fix pain but they will make it more bearable.

I hope you find some glimmers this week and perhaps you’ll make some for other people too.

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Wintering Part 9: Gateways and Doorways

It’s the final entry of 2025. Here I am standing on the threshold of a new calendar year, and yet, it doesnt feel like a significant moment. New Year is and always has been a bit of an anticlimax for me, with the exception of two significant occasions – the one when we got married and the one when we discovered our first child was on his way.

When you lean into the belief that life is cyclical and that nothing really begins in January, this ‘doorway’ seems to be illusory. In fact we are in the middle of so many things – the Winter, the school year, the tax year, the agricultural year. It’s no surprise that this new start seems rather manufactured. Just when the world around us is in hibernation mode, we are encouraged to adopt the ‘new year, new me’ vibe. To (mis) quote old Frazer in Dad’s Army ” it’s doomed; it’s all doomed”.

Far better to take our lead from Janus, the Roman god of thresholds (he of the two faces) and to pause awhile. Reflect on the lessons learned in 2025 and set some intentions for 2026. Go slowly. Plan but don’t execute just yet. By the time the light has properly returned, the sun warms your back and nature has thrown up more shoots, you’ll also be ready to make those plans a reality.

December is full of doorways of course.

There are the tiny cardboard doors of advent calendars holding a surprise – chocolate or otherwise; the doors of shelters, hubs or food banks being thrown open to provide support for those members of the community who are struggling; church doors welcoming worshippers to carol services and the revolving doors of shops which are far busier in December than at any other time of year.

Many of us decorate our front doors with holly wreaths and throw them open to family, friends and neighbours. Whilst others lock them and retreat inside for some peace and quiet.

Some doors are heavy – hospital doors or those of care homes when we visit loved ones who are poorly or facing the end of their lives. Some are only in our memory and will never open again to us and December has a knack of drawing attention to this; some slam without warning and there are others we stand at which are simply not meant for us and which will never open as a result.

Whatever your own experience of December doorways, I hope that you find the ones in 2026 to be points of connection, protection and opportunity. As I step into January I’m drawn to consider whether I want to continue with this blog or start a new one on my website. But I’m taking my own advice, reflecting and waiting until Candlemas in February, which seems more appropriate as it will be the anniversary of when I started it seventeen years ago.

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Wintering Part 8: Nourishment

Nourishment in Winter isn’t just about warming soups and stews, steaming mugs of hot chocolate and the odd cinnamon bun. It’s opening the pantry to pop a spoonful of chutney on your Christmas cold cuts or cheese, a glass of homemade sloe brandy and an elderberry cordial when you feel that cold starting. It’s also sharing food, taking your time to make and enjoy it and rekindling memories.

In Winter more than any other time of year I turn to the old family recipes, the traditions, the safe space of tapping into happy memories of Winters gone by. When the darkness descends there is a comfort in the weight of tradition that is nourishing for the soul. One of the interesting observations of my interactions with bereaved clients is when they start to prioritise self care and nourishment, it engenders a change. The repetitive chopping and stirring is an act of mindfulness; the sharing of food with others is an act of connection; the choice of a family recipe is a way to honour your past and rekindle memories; all three are important ways to navigate grief.

At this time of year, memories of Christmases past are never too far away. There are memories attached to Christmas decorations, carol services, activities, places but it is in the holiday food that my memories reside – my mother-in-laws mince pies, my mother’s Christmas cake, my granny’s chutney, my aunt’s pickled onions, my Dad’s trifle. We honour them all by recreating their recipes and have added in a few of our own so that in future years our own children and grandchildren will nourish themselves.

How are you nourishing yourself this Winter?

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Wintering Part 7: Singing

I like a good singsong at the best of times but at Christmas it’s essential. Put it down to my Welsh choral roots but the evenings in the run-up to Christmas should be filled with song, as we rehearse for all those Christmas concerts. I haven’t sung in a choir for years – it’s something for the retirement list – but I’m not averse to singing along to the John Rutter Christmas album or my carefully curated Spotify playlist of Christmas songs during Advent. Yesterday I attended the aptly-named James B Partridge‘s Big Christmas Assembly 2025 with one of my teacher mates. It was joyful, nostalgic, freeing and so much fun.

Like dogs, singing is not just for Christmas however. There is plenty of evidence to support my own view that it is good for you on many levels – physiologically, psychologically and psychosocially. So if you are looking for an activity which supports respiratory strength, lowers blood pressure, increases oxygen saturation, boosts your immune system, lowers stress levels and manages pain, singing is it. Add in the benefits of better self-confidence, teamwork, connectedness, community and creativity and you have the perfect wellbeing activity to do in Winter.

I’m particularly interested in ways choral singing in particular have brought benefits to specific groups of people – hard to reach boys, NHS staff and prison inmates. Gareth Malone is the poster boy for initiatives such as the Military Wives Choir, The Great British Home Chorus, during the COVID pandemic and the KAA Choir, students from the school next to Grenfell Tower whom he coached in the BBC series The Choir: Our School by the Tower. But there are hundreds of choir leaders up and down the country providing opportunities for singing and the benefits it brings. I’ve worked with quite a few grieving clients this year who have taken those first small steps to join a choir to grow their lives around their grief. I’m a fan.

So if you find yourself singing along in the shower or in the kitchen over the next few weeks, maybe that is a sign that in January you should find an outlet for your voice.

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Wintering Part 6: Embracing ritual

When life is uncertain or we feel anxious there is a tendency to turn to the safety of routine. I swapped the fairly rigid routines and structures of being a school teacher for the freedom of being at home with three very small people and soon discovered that creating a routine was the key to getting through the day relatively intact. We walked the same route around the village lanes and across fields every morning, come rain or shine. The same fields that a friend, Simon Howell photographed recently on an early morning dog walk. When COVID swept away our daily lives as we knew it, we soon established new routines to break up the day – walking routes, family quiz nights on zoom, time in the garden and kitchen. But routines can feel mundane. Rituals are quite the opposite and it’s interesting to see the difference they can make to the way we navigate the potential stress of the holiday season and the darkness of winter in particular.

Rituals can be defined as having three main components – intention, attention and repetition. Lighting a candle on the kitchen table seems pretty routine but where it is done mindfully to mark the transition between the working day and a relaxing evening, that’s a ritual. Many of us have rituals around Christmas which elevate the ordinary into something special like wrapping our presents in front of an open fire with a glass of mulled wine and Christmas songs playing or making a fresh batch of mince pies on Christmas Eve whilst listening to the Lessons and Carols on the radio. One of mine is to spend time looking through the seed catalogues on one of the slow afternoons between Christmas and New Year. Some family or community rituals are deliberately designed to strengthen connections, preserve tradition, reinforce values and mark transitions. But individual rituals can reduce anxiety and bring comfort and meaning

Keep some of the magic of the holiday season flowing through the dark days of January and February by engaging in micro-rituals, tiny, mindful actions done consistently like a pimping a cheap bunch of supermarket daffs with some foraged greenery on a Friday. Or a Wednesday evening bubble bath. Even starting more slowly in the morning by establishing a coffee making ritual.

What will you do?

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Wintering Part 5 : Seeking the Light

I saw this week that amateur photography enthusiasts have descended on Durdle Door in Dorset for that iconic shot of low winter sun shining through the archway. Winter sun shining through the trees or, as in the case of the picture above, illuminating the end of a cobbled pathway near York Minster is one of the sights that makes me catch my breath and brings me joy. I’ll never tire of it. What is it about light in the darkness that is so welcoming, that quietens the noise and gives us hope?

Whatever it is, we all do it, or so it seems. Christmas lights, fairylights, firelight, candlelight, bonfires, fireworks – they all bring joy to millions.

I remember one off my colleagues who was supporting someone in such a deep depression that they were housebound for months. The tiny step that helped to shift their perspective and begin recovery was opening the curtains and letting in the light.

A client I worked with navigating a significant bereavenent had set up her home to make the most of the morning sun, which made beautiful patterns on her bedroom wall and allowed her to wake up slowly and painted her living room in dark colours, acquiring lamps and using candles to make it a cosy and reflective place in the evenings.

The short days and low light levels of Winter can be an uncomfortable place for some and it is perfectly natural to want to bring in more light. But darkness invites intimacy and coziness, ritual, creativity and reflection. It’s much more difficult to be vulnerable and honest in the glare of the Summer sun. If you want to connect to yourself and to those you hold most dear, turn off the lights and light the fire. Some of my most powerful insights have arrived alone beside the woodburner. My deepest connections with my children have been sitting around our garden firepit under moonlight. For anyone working with a group, campfires are rich resources for building community.

In the darkness, beneath the earth right now connections are being made, dormant plants and bulbs are putting down roots, preparing for their time to send up shoots, grow and bloom in Spring. If we can lean into the same vibe, embracing the darkness of Winter, we too will be in the best place from which to grow when the time is right.

But there’s always room for one more candle.

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Wintering Part 4: A change in routine

‘A change is as good as a rest’ was one of my granny’s mantras. As the mother of twelve children, I don’t suppose she got much rest at all but I have taken on board her advice about switching things up to give your brain a rest, working from different parts of the house, varying the tasks I do or altering the shape of my week especially in Winter when it’s not unusual to go to work and come home in the dark and for one weekday to look very much like another.

This week however I managed a change AND a rest on one of the few breaks I have ever taken during school term time – which made it even more delicious. We skipped the summer holiday this year and booked a few days away in November, breaking up what is usually a really busy time at work. Who wants to approach Christmas on their knees? And so a Winter break was just the job.

We stayed in this cute, comfortable and extremely toasty rotunda on the Ickworth Estate in Suffolk. There were leisurely pub lunches, plenty of reading, catching up with old friends in Cambridge (Fitzbillies’ chelsea buns are way too sweet for me now!), time spent with all three of my children at the same time and walks in the woods in late Autumn. All in the middle of a working week. I returned home with one or two ideas for the expansion of the Grief Cafe and having broken my habit of rewatching detective drama on the tellybox in the evening, picking up a good book instead.

The dark months of Winter – especially after Christmas can be difficult but change interrupts a mentally draining routine. Some people book a week of Winter sun or a skiing holiday but a more affordable option might be to rearrange a room or take a different route to work. Either way, we awaken our senses and spark curiosity by making a change to our usual routine. This mental stimulation can be as refreshing as a holiday.

Change also pushes us out of our comfort zone – essential for building resilience, increasing confidence and bringing a sense of accomplishment. We’re alive to new perspectives and possibilities, fresh ideas and generally more creative.

And who wouldn’t want that when you open the curtains and look out on another dark, rainy day?

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Wintering Part 3: Something to look forward to

As we hurtle through November at an alarming rate, thoughts inevitably turn to Christmas – both present and past. Back in the dark ages of the seventies (quite literally, if you remember the Three Day Week ), one of the great excitements of November was when my mother went to the bank to get the Christmas Club money and distributed it around the members. For the uninitiated, a Christmas Club is an informal but organised way of saving up for a Fortnum and Mason-style Christmas hamper.

Distribution day was special. A coffee evening with home baked cakes, a basket of beautifully gift-wrapped envelopes of cash, a dozen or so mothers and a combined vibe of unadulterated joy. The simple act of putting aside a few pounds for eleven months of the year meant that you could treat yourselves to some luxuries at Christmas, without going into debt. Simple economics but so much more than that. With every pound note ( yes, it was a few years ago) club members handed over in January or May or September they were investing in future happiness. They were also providing themselves with a dopamine boost there and then, which had a number of positive benefits. Dopamine affects the areas of the brain that govern motivation, energy and mood. It is a positive, future-focused workout for the brain leading to a more optimistic outlook. In essence they were giving themselves some Future Directed Therapy.

Having something to look forward to (anticipatory pleasure) prepares us to get the most benefit from something good, like a holiday, a meal out, a new book or a new item of clothing. In fact, it turns out that the anticipation is often better than the actual event, free as it is from real-world imperfections. By giving yourself something to look forward to you are improving your emotional regulation, setting goals, practising gratitude and mindfulness and engaging in visualisation. So next time you wait until Sunday to watch the next episode rather than binge-watching a box set, you are giving yourself some free therapy.

To turbo boost the effects even more, there are three key takeaways. With all of them my mother’s Christmas Club were fully on board.

  1. Plan experiences that unfold over time. If you are planning a holiday, take your time to research places to stay, sightseeing opportunities, great restaurants, activities. It all builds. If you want to enjoy a bumper Christmas, put a little aside every month and visualise in detail how you are going to spend your December windfall.
  2. Create rituals around positive experiences. If you are an exhausted teacher, get up early and drive the long way round to work on a Friday and stop off at the coffee stand. (My personal win for years).
  3. Practice anticipatory pleasure in small ways. Schedule them. Clean sheets on a Saturday, the next chapter of a book before bed, a Monday night bubble bath, the first coffee of the day, a Sunday morning walk with a friend.

It all fosters an air of optimism and optimistic people respond differently to stress, approach problems with a more positive mindset, expect good outcomes and are better at regulating their emotions. There is a wisdom in waiting. It doesn’t just make you happier; it also makes you more effective, more resilient and more creative. We may be heading into the depths of winter. Instead of instant reward, opt for anticipatory pleasure and get double the benefit.

Like the famous marshmallow test but for grown ups.

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Wintering Part 2: Movement

I write about the wellbeing benefits of movement, in particular of walking on a regular basis in this blog. Walking is particularly helpful for the groups of people I work with most – those who are grieving and students who are required to remember large quantities of information and creatively manipulate that information to solve a problem, to write an essay or craft a pithy answer to an exam question. When I was a teenager, if I was wrangling with any sort of difficulty, Dad would tell me to sleep on it. There’s plenty of science to validate his belief that sleep does help the brain to problem solve. I am just as likely to tell my own children to walk on it. And I too am following the science.

This week’s reading has been 52 Ways to Walk by the appropriately- named Annabel Streets. We all love a 52 ways book, don’t we? The neatness of one activity for every week of the year appeals. As well as this, Street has created something highly readable, well-researched and evidence-based. Did you know that we remember more if we walk backwards? Or that hiking in new places keeps your brain youthful? And that just two minutes of silent, phone-free walking is enough to reset us? I admit to having lived experience of the latter from years of working in schools and having to calm disregulated teenagers. I soon discovered a silent ramble around the school field for a few minutes was the best way to start any restorative interaction.

In Winter of course our walking adventures may be somewhat hampered, unless we hail from intrepid Scandanavian stock. They’ve built a life on the concept of friluftsliv. We are much more likely to be navigating grey and wet than white and crisp over the Winter months. But take heart. You can do a lot of good for yourself with sensible clothing, sturdy footwear and just twelve minutes walking close to home.

When it comes to movement for wellbeing there are some universal truths

  • any movement is better than none
  • movement outside is better than movement inside
  • there are equal benefits to be gained from movement with others and movement alone
  • if you move, you should also rest
  • varying your movement is better than repeating the same kind
  • movement helps your brain as much as your body

There are two types of walking I’ve wanted to try for quite some time – Nordic walking and firewalking. I’ve just found the details for a popular Nordic walking group in Bath that uses a park near The Urban Garden, one of my favourite independent garden centres in the area. That’s something for 2026. A firewalking opportunity has become available sooner. And so, on December 6th I will be walking over hot coals in aid of my local hospice. If the weather is cold, at least my feet will be toasty. If you are feeling generous, a small donation would be very welcome and will help support folks going through tough times. You’ll find details here.

Keep moving!

UPDATE – please hold off on the donations. Dorothy House have emailed to say they are rescheduling the event to a different date!

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