The North Wind Doth Blow…
The First Frost is always anticipated rather excitedly in our household. As the barometer begins to fall it starts to become part of the weekly decision - will it be this week? Tomorrow?
It is a pivotal moment in the changing of the season. The slow descent into the darker, chillier months - the time to dust off the knitted scarves and gloves that were thrown into the back of the cupboard, ready for another season of service. Last year I knitted three full snoods, two of which were to give as presents during the festive season. A huge amount of work went into them and it was a slow process - however I felt a much more confident knitter when they were done. I haven’t picked up my needles since.
The First Frost must be noted in a more meaningful, respectful way. A nod to the turn of the year - and a chance to be mindful and note the small changes it brings. As I write this, I notice how the yellowing leaves have seemingly gone that bit more definitively orange with the arrival of this mornings frost. It is a day to wake up that little bit earlier and go for a walk whilst the frost still glistens on grass blades and pine needles. The leaves crunch satisfyingly under foot, and mist rises off the river.
The talk will now turn from when the first frost might happen, to when the loch will freeze over for the first time.
I would love to go back in time to experience London’s Frost Fairs. Between 1300 and 1870 Britain experienced a ‘Little Ice Age’ and winters were so cold that the Thames would freeze solidly enough for residents to not just stand and walk upon the ice - but could actually have fires to roast oxen on the frozen river. The Frost Fair became a real community event that attracted stalls and revellers - tickets and souvenirs were purchased to commemorate the years. The final frost fair was in February 1814.
From all this initial excitement, my relationship with frosts will quickly deteriorate. My car is not frost friendly, and I often have to scrape both the outside and the inside. I revel in the beauty of these first early frosts, but ask me what I think of them again later.