When the valley grows quiet: Winter reflections
- Dawn Fletcher
- Jan 14
- 2 min read
Updated: Jan 17
There’s a particular kind of hush that settles over Newberry Valley once the gates close for the season. It isn’t empty, far from it, but there's a sort of unhurried feel. The rush of summer voices gives way to birdsong and the gentle sound of the wind rolling through the valley.
Winter light arrives gently here. On my morning walks with Remy, I occasionally spot a heron standing perfectly still at the water’s edge. On mornings like these, I wander in wonder at how amazingly resilient the resident birds and animals are, with temperatures dropping to zero and below. Remy loves to follow the scents and prints from the badgers and foxes, tracing their stories across the damp grass. Life continues, just at a different pace.
Yet plenty to do...
Nevertheless, this is the season of job lists and preparation. A repaired fence here, a cleared path there. Time to check the shepherd’s huts, to make plans, to imagine laughter returning to the fields when spring arrives. There’s a quiet satisfaction in these months. The kind that comes from caring for a place when no one is watching.
The woodland feels especially alive. Without summer’s leafy canopy, the ancient oaks show their full character — twisted, strong, unapologetically themselves. Walking beneath them, it’s hard not to feel grounded, reminded that everything moves in cycles: busy and still, full and resting.
For those who work here, winter is a pause and a promise. A gentle holding of space until the doors open again and the site fills with familiar faces, wagging tails, and the quiet joy of being outdoors together.
Until then, the valley rests, perhaps invites us to do the same, reminding us that there’s beauty in slowing down, listening closely, and letting nature’s quiet moments stay with us a little longer.
Just so you know, we re-open on 20th March 2026... save the date!
