Weather for ducks

It has been wet and wild here. We made our annual pilgrimage to Dartmoor at the weekend to get our Christmas tree from the park rangers. The tops of the hills were lost to sight, covered in low hanging cloud. Water poured out of field gates. Paths had become a myriad of gushing streams. The River Bovey was swollen to a muscular torrent. We sloshed through sodden meadows, the tips of the grass just pricking the surface of the standing water. Big Dreamer and I laughed at ourselves as we proclaimed to the kids that it was good to get out for a ‘breather’. We could hear our parents’ voices ringing out from our own childhoods as we extolled the virtues of getting out and about, even if it was weather for only the bravest of ducks!

And how right our parents always were. It is good to get out of the house and embrace the season. We sloshed and splashed, stamped and squelched. We marveled at the surging water and dipped our wellies in day-old waterfalls. And the best bit of all? Heading back to the twinkly barn we always visit, to warm up with hot chocolates and sausage sandwiches. Our coats left creeping puddles on the floor but no one minded amongst the walking boots and wet dogs of all the other customers. Back at home we lit the wood burner and decorated the tree, glad we had gone out but all the gladder to have come home.