It's mild, they said
It rarely snows, they said. Next thing you know I'm thigh deep in it!
“It’s mild, it rarely snows. It’s the wind you’ve got to be careful of.”
- Almost everyone I spoke to during our first Orkney winter.
They lied. OK, maybe not lied, but they weren’t entirely accurate.
This is our fourth winter in Orkney and the second time we’ve been properly snowed in, although at least in 2024 it only lasted 3 days. This time, it started on the night of the 1st January, went into overdrive the following night with drifts reaching past my thigh and ended on the 9th.
Granted my thigh is quite close to the ground on account of the fact I am so short (5ft2.5” first thing in the morning) but still that’s well over two foot deep in places.
On big snow day I checked in with my two closest neighbours to check to make sure they hadn’t frozen and had enough supplies. I already knew we were not going anywhere except by foot.
If you think our caravan life is less than luxurious, take a moment to consider my neighbours. One largely lives in one room with a stove and no central heating. The other splits their time between their camper van and an outhouse, on account of having no roof.
By comparison we absolutely are living in luxury.
One neighbour was hoping to get the boat across to Mainland which seemed unlikely. Erik, Kiki and I adventured up to survey the situation - this is where I discovered the thigh high drift against a fence post. If I were featherlight I could’ve stepped over the fence, as it was, I plummeted through the snow and almost, almost stacked it. Even the dog was up to her armpits.
We reported back, it was a definite no-go. Even if the boat was running, there was no getting up the lane.
The next day, as we delivered a few supplies to said neighbour, as they hadn’t anticipated being here for so many days, we met one of ‘our’ farmers on his quad having the best time blasting through the drifts to check on the livestock. I say ‘our’ farmers as we have two that farm around us and down the lane.
For some, snow is awful, for Orcadian farmers, I think it is what they were made for. We keep robust stock in these parts and a bit of snow isn’t going to harm them. In fact I’m told it can make things a bit easier. Yes, they will need feeding, but who doesn’t in winter, and you don’t need to smash through icy covered troughs and ditches, they have snow!
I’m sure it’s the same of hens, but I am a bit precious about my girls. So I froze my fingers on several occasions breaking through ice in their drinkers, when they probably just went about eating snow.
By 4th January we were all getting a bit restless, nothing was moving. The boat couldn’t even go as was too dangerous for the crew to get to work and rumour had it that no-one would make it up the hill out of the Houton terminal on the Mainland side.
Any advice was to: stay at home unless you absolutely need to travel. We did not and so we dressed in thermals and hid under 25 blankets - turns out the winter caravan isn’t as winter as we’d hoped.
That afternoon, after some gloriously blue afternoons, the sky darkened and it looked as if the world would end, until there came the rumbling of a tractor. At first we thought they might be out to put some bales out for the stock, but then I saw the bin on the front. S, our saviour, was coming to clear the lane. He’d been out the previous day clearing a section of the main road, as had all the farmers, maybe for the ambulance, island doctor and RNLI should there be a call out, or maybe just because.
When times are tough for the likes of us in our little cars, the farmers come out.
It reminded me of the wild fires in North Yorkshire last summer. Without being prompted, the farmers came out, filling the bins on their tractors with water and other fire-stopping material. They helped each other and hobbyists move livestock to safety. When it’s snowing, they clear the roads, because that’s just what they do.
I posted about it on Instagram and amongst the comments was one that really got my goat.
“I would leave the roads until the government remove inheritance tax on farms as a minimum”
Would you now.
I replied, of course. I don’t need crap like that on my posts and unless I were to get actual abuse (in bulk), I quite enjoy responding. The only problem with people like that is - they never, ever reply.
My reply was brief:
“…he does it to help his neighbours out and it means he can get out and about more easily. It’s about community here.”
Something they clearly don’t get.
We don’t have snow ploughs here and nor would we. Like I say snow is rare (so they say) and even if our island (population 400) did get one, they wouldn’t do the lanes leaving four houses snowed in on our lane alone. The only way to get about would be by tractor or quad and even for a farmer it’s not that practical!
Still it wasn’t the worst comment I’ve had.
One response to a video of me in my Strong Girls Club tee doing the monkey bars in training for a Tough Mudder was: “Wouldn’t call that strong.” “Barely made it”
Hard agree. I didn’t call it strong and I barely made it.
Another response (now removed) to an anti-Reform post was something along the lines of … I hope you get gang-raped (by people who travelled to the UK in small boats).
Charming. Hard pass on that.
Also, not all asylum seekers are rapists, just like not all white men are misogynist, racist, egotistical twats. Just him.
Back to snow.
Our hero farmer continued to clear the lane the following day and Kiki and I got to explore the snowy mountains he’d created. Unfortunately, I was back at work so we couldn’t go on a massive adventure. However, 45 minutes of chest high (Kiki) and knee high (me) snow is enough to wear anyone out.
Tuesday 6th arrived with excitement and expectation. The lane was clear, the boats were running, our neighbour had made her escape and things were getting back to normal. Until...more bloody snow, which kept us trapped until Friday.
While it has been lovely, there does come a point, around day five, when cabin fever sets in and even if you don’t normally venture to far, the feeling of being trapped makes you go a lot bit extra. It was a relief to get in the car today and head out for the first Panto rehearsal in three weeks, see people and have conversations.
Will it snow again this winter? I wonder...
Last Monday I managed to set myself a loose daily writing experiment - 30 minutes for 30 days. Capturing small moments, wandering thoughts (of which there are many) and whatever insists on being written. Whilst a bit longer, this is included in those musings. To see all pieces head to: The 30 Day Challenge, or else click any that look interesting ↓
I’m almost a little bit jealous - it’s very rare to snow down here in Bournemouth though we have had bitter cold 🥶 temperatures and deep frosts since Christmas most days - but sunshine ☀️ too. Snowy scenes are lovely to look at - but a little annoying when it comes to practicality.
The hate online is real. I recently had someone tell me I came across like a middle aged white women. Well duh! It wasn’t the meanest comment by far, but the weirdest. There’s a lot of Trump supporters online where their job seems to be having a go at anyone who disses the orange idiot. I did not deign to reply - this was on threads which I think I’ll delete. Never use it and it clearly become like X.
Hope you get some milder weather returning soon :)
Lovely photos. Round here, many farmers are contracted by the council to remove fallen trees and clear snow etc. from the roads. (We were neighbours for a few days in the dales. We had knee high snow this time last year which stuck around for over a week. Less than a centimetre of it this weekend though.)