A Dull Woman's Van Life

25th November

After the beautiful, cold, and crisp days of last week, the weekend arrived with a splash — or rather, many splashes. Rain fell in sheets, pooling on the paths, while fog wrapped the valley in a thick, muffled hush. Pepper and I still ventured out for a few short walks, splashing through the puddles, the wildlife sensibly hunkered down and hidden from view.

On Saturday evening we followed the old railway line, my torch beam bouncing back through the fog and making the familiar landscape strange and otherworldly.

Even Pepper seemed a little disoriented by the ghostly glow. She was not impressed by her raincoat either, and by Sunday afternoon had retired to bed with a heavy sigh of canine disapproval.

But Monday dawned as if to make amends. The hills were once again crisp and cold, bathed in the fiery light of a November sunrise. The vegetation gleamed red and gold, every blade rimmed with frost. Cowpe Tor stood in shadow, while the turbines on Scout Moor cut dark silhouettes against the glowing sky.

A roe deer watched us from the higher slopes, its outline etched against the purple dawn.

A kestrel lifted suddenly from a bare tree, startled by our passing, and at Musbury Brook Pepper sat quietly on the frosty grass, gazing up at the Tor as though remembering brighter days.

In the lower valley, two more deer browsed among the trees, and a grey squirrel nestled in the boughs of an ancient tree, contentedly working through its breakfast.

As we turned for home, the first full sunlight reached the village. The mill chimney glowed red in the low light, and on its summit perched a pair of cormorants — the younger bird’s pale breast tinted rose by the sun. After the rain and fog, it felt like a small blessing: Helmshore, glistening once more in the calm after the storm.

November has a quiet beauty all its own. When the wind drops and the skies clear, the air sharpens and the land seems to breathe again. Colours deepen, light softens, and every morning feels like a gift — fleeting, golden, and full of promise before the long sleep of winter.