It’s been very dark and very wet lately, like, very dark. I’ve just come in from cutting back mistletoe and the rain began falling heavily, completely in line with the yellow weather warning for rain that the Met Office put in place. I thought, dark, wet, and cutting mistletoe, what can be more midwinter than that; there was a robin hopping around nearby as well just to add some festive card chic to the occasion. Throughout human history here in the northern hemisphere, getting to, and past, midwinter has been something to celebrate, and we’ve made it to another one. It won’t be long until the signposts out of winter begin to appear.
After midwinter we come back to the Garden in January, and we’ll begin to see the early snowdrops; they’re already showing through the soil. Then witch-hazel and wintersweet, hazel catkins and early crocus begin; all these plants lead us through winter and towards spring. But what about now, the darkest time of the year? Evergreens were revered for their vibrancy in the dark days; they were brought inside for midwinter celebrations. Holly with berries, rosemary with its fragrance, and mistletoe with magical properties of protection was never allowed to touch the ground. Our connection to these traditions exists in Christmas celebrations, but the plant side of it overall has taken a back seat; we still have trees in the house, but culturally we have embraced commodification, and the festival has become one of indulgence. Deep down we’re celebrating the time of year that we find ourselves in, but a true connection has fallen by the wayside as midwinter celebrations begin in early November to maximise financial gain.
It’s natural to think that nature is doing nothing right now, that plants are asleep and we must sit tight until spring when everything wakes up. Trees are dormant, but not inactive; look closely at their buds and you’ll see them slowly change shape through January and beyond. Inside are next year’s leaves, already formed at the end of summer this year, and bound up in their protective casings, like little presents waiting for enough light to open. Under the ground, bulbs are getting ready for spring, putting small roots down and counting the cold soil days. Robins will sing us a song in the darkest days, holly berries glow in the low light. At work I get to see the sun come up in the morning and go down in the afternoon; and in midwinter a rainbow is the highest it can be as the angled sun catches a million raindrops. Did you know that when you see a rainbow it is your own personal rainbow, that we all see different ones? If two people are standing next to each other, and conditions are right for a rainbow, each person will see the rainbow through different raindrops due to the perspective they’re looking at it from; personalised rainbows!
The seasonal aspect to living in the UK is a mixed bag, and many people understandably dread this part of it. It is dark and wet and feels so far away from the long summer days of a few months ago, as if that time is an impossibility. I’m a bit of a rarity in that I quite like this time of year; as a gardener it’s a time for having a think about the year gone and the one ahead. A time to plan and prepare; I can’t imagine not getting this impasse, the short time of reflection, and here in the Botanic Garden, the thoughts of how things went in 2025, and what we’ll do in 2026. We’ll keep our fingers crossed that there will be no beasts from the east, multiple named storms, accelerated summer temperatures; but alas there will be something untoward in the weather again no doubt. One thing that is a constant is our light levels, and as our earth travels around the sun, we can be sure that after 21st December the light begins its slow return, and the darkness will gradually recede.
So, we all made it to midwinter! I hope your evergreens are the most verdant evergreens, your rainbow is your perfect personal rainbow, and your celebration is enjoyable. From all of us here, have a lovely break.