A Dull Woman's Van Life

Helmshore, 20th March

It feels a little more like spring this week. Bluebells are beginning to appear, trees are blossoming, and there is a softness to the air — as though the March lion is finally finding its voice after a delayed start to the season.

With it has come a quiet sense of optimism. Perhaps it is the longer daylight hours, or the greater stretch of blue in the sky, but the mornings feel easier to embrace. I find myself leaving the house earlier, walking for longer, and drifting toward long-forgotten paths — and occasionally discovering new ones. It is a welcome shift after spending the early part of the year “wintering.”

On Tuesday, Pepper and I headed up into the hills. The valley below lay beneath a faint mist, which the rising sun turned to gold, lending the landscape a sleepy stillness.

Up on the higher ground, however, the world was already awake. A deer grazed quietly on the slopes, while the calls of skylarks and meadow pipits carried through the air — a familiar soundtrack returning after the hush of winter.

The redwings and fieldfares that had filled the fields on Monday morning were gone. Perhaps the small flock I saw lifting and drifting across the valley were the last of them, beginning their long journey back north for the summer.

A lone curlew called from the fields — a haunting, unmistakable sound that seems to echo through the valley itself. It is always a welcome return. Overhead, a pair of lapwings twisted and danced in the air, another sure sign that the season is turning and life is returning to the higher ground.

On Friday, we chose a different route — a long-forgotten walk along the Irwell, from Ewood Bridge to Irwell Vale, before looping back through Ravenshore towards home. There is a particular kind of joy in treading familiar paths after a long absence. The landscape feels both known and new, as though you are being reintroduced rather than returning.

It is something I hope to continue as the valley stirs fully into life.

Merlin has picked up the lone call of a barn swallow on two consecutive mornings. I know the proverb well, but I am in no hurry for summer to arrive.

For now, spring is more than enough.

There is something quietly special about this in-between — when the valley is not yet in full bloom, but everything is leaning toward it. Movement returns, voices gather, and the landscape begins to breathe again.

After the stillness of winter, it feels like a gentle reintroduction to the world.

And for now I am content to move with it…