I am not an authority of the English winter. It is 44 years since I last spent a full winter in England without leaving the country for a warmer climate. I last experienced the full length of the winter in the UK in 1966.
In April 1967, I set off on the road to travel right around the world. I made the full circle around the planet arriving back in England 10 years and 10 days later in early May 1977. So no English winter in that period. Since the mid-1970’s, I have been offering the annual retreat in Bodh Gaya, Bihar, India with the opportunity to fly off in January to the Motherland of Dharma. Hence, a month long breaks right in the middle of the English winter. I return home in late February with the end of the winter (around late March) in sight.
Having lived in the same hour in Totnes, south Devon for 27 years, some of my friends in the UK tell me that, as a Totnesian, I have no experience of a real winter. I would have to move to Scotland, Poland, Russia or Scandinavia, or at least northern England and live in cold farmhouses perched high in the hills cut off from access to roads and towns. Located in the bottom of the south west corner of England, Totnes has the benefit of the warmth of the Gulf Stream, along the coast around 15 kilometres away. We are one of the last places in England to experience a real freeze.
In recent days, we have been watching on television the dramas of the Big Freeze with temperatures dropping in some locations in Scotland to minus 20 degrees – arctic temperatures. The freeze, snow and ice finally reached Totnes. Temperature here fell to minus 7 degrees C during the night. Of course, as with most people, I remained firmly tucked up in bed. We are blessed with all those who continue to work outdoors – farmers, drivers, social services, public transport and so on. A fresh fall of snow converts the environment into a white heaven with our inner child having the opportunity to play. We relaise that nature governs our lives, not the other way around. The next day out in the street, three workmen were adding a water meter to my main water pain located under the pavement at the foot of the garden. I had read that a person living alone would save around £250 per year by paying for water use rather than paying a set sum as standing order per year (around £800 for a small, terraced house in Totnes). It was a bitterly cold day, with snow and ice. I engaged in my good deed for the day, namely taking the workmen out a tray with three cups of tea, plus some digestive biscuits.
I walked down the path with some mindfulness but forgot about the ice on the three steps leading down to the pavement. I slipped. The tray flew up in the air and I got soaked in hot tea. I landed on my coccyx. Ouch. For a few days, I had a feeling of what it must be like to be 90 years old – the very slow movement out of bed and to bend down slowly to tie the shoelaces. It could have been worse – smashed the back, crashed the head on the concrete, broke a limb.
Mostly, the incident served as a reminder that good deeds do not guarantee a good outcome. The Buddha said “be mindful to the extant necessary.”
OK, I get it.