Here in the UK it’s Mothering Sunday, a day traditionally when servants had time off to travel back to visit home, their mother church and their families. The boom in commercialisation of ‘ Mother’s Day’ shines a spotlight on anyone who has a difficult, broken or non- existent relationship with their mother; for those who yearn to mother, grieve for dead mothers, mother alone or fulfill the roles of both mother and father.

Mothering is an elastic term. Some mother their friends, their neighbours or even their own parents as they become older and less independent. I have a friend who has mothered hundreds of teenagers over the years in her professional role in schools despite not having any children of her own. It started me thinking about what are the standout qualities of mothering (and I’m talking not just for women; anyone can mother) and what tiny steps could we all take to move closer towards them?

My daughter has spent the last month paragliding over Indonesian clifftops, climbing mountains and descending into volcanoes whilst I've sowed seeds, pruned the roses and potted on cobaea seedlings and all's right with the world.

It’s a woman thing in our house -sowing seeds and being curious. Nurture in the home and adventure outside it. Every year on International Women’s Day we honour the women who shape our lives. But in amongst the posts about the pioneers who broke the mould, the women who refused to conform, who succeeded against the odds, the achievers there is a quieter story that that unfolds every day in the shared moments between mothers and daughters.

It’s in what is valued, what is instilled, what is encouraged and what is modelled by one generation to the next and so today I want to celebrate that.

I'm a fan of pottering about. I've done it all my life, often in the garden or on the allotment - as a child, as a young Mum with three small children and especially in the teaching years as an antidote to the endless doing. Pottering is more akin to being - something we could all do with a larger dose of in a world where being busy is king.

Most of us embraced the pottering habit more when modern ways of doing things came to a halt in the lockdown months. At that time I came across a little book by Anna McGovern about this quintessentially British subject. McGovern suggests that “Pottering is one of a number of coping strategies that you can do when you feel a bit frazzled.

This week I’ve spent several hours with bereaved clients who have decided that returning to some of the creative pursuits they engaged with as children might help them cope. Colouring, painting, photography, writing, baking, knitting and gardening have all been mentioned. And so has making marmalade.

I’m a fan of this approach to self-care whether you’re doing the work of grief, working on your mental health or grounding yourself in a topsy-turvy world.

"There is always in February some one day, at least, when one smells the yet distant, but surely coming, summer.” Gertrude Jekyll.

I’m not sure I agree entirely with Ms Jekyll but it is true that in February my garden has moved from mostly shades of green and brown to embracing the purple hues of the warmer months and that is down to the proliferation of crocus in the grass (it’s not a lawn), dwarf iris in pots and hellebores in the borders.

It's Half Term in Wiltshire and for teachers and retired teachers (even those who've been called back to cover for absent colleagues) a time to lean into familiar February rituals. There’s a comfort in spending a few days doing familiar things. One of the most important features of rituals is that they do not only mark time; they create time. Time to connect, time to reflect, time to slow down and take control.

You can't beat working with others in gentle rain outside to create a garden in a field. It's the ultimate wellbeing activity and all the better when you're closing the loop, using what you have and not wasting anything. Community gardens have a long and well-researched history of supporting recovery and wellbeing. Grow for Life have been providing social and therapeutic gardening sessions for people affected by low confidence, anxiety, depression or isolation for years and in this new garden, they’re turning their attention to those navigating grief and loss.

A wander round the garden after supper when there was a rare lull in the rain revealed a full snow moon, creeping out from behind the clouds, gifting the clumps of snowdrops at the bottom of the garden a luminescence which was quite breath-taking.

This moon marks Imbolc (or Candlemas), the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, when the light is noticeably different. It’s also known as the Quickening Moon , a reference to the first noticeable stirrings of life in nature -

If you want to disconnect to reconnect, January is the perfect time to banish the noise and embrace silence. Indoors reading a book by an open fire or staring into the flames or outside on a windswept hill or in a forest clearing as the snowdrops poke through the leaf litter.

The benefits of silence are manifold.

January in the garden is more about dreaming, planning and looking at seed catalogues than doing too much outside, although it’s good to get out there and turn the compost, admire the seedheads and spot the green shoots but whatever the time of year there are always some easy-to-grow, cottage garden plants doing their best to cheer us up.

I’ve spent a bit of time this week planning for the next few months. Anyone who has hung around this blog for a while will know what a fan I am of setting intentions, writing lists and generally holding a map of where I’m headed. I’ve written about it here but sometimes you need a North Star not a book of lists. Introducing the vision board.

Although I don’t go in for any of the ‘New Year, New Me’ malarkey in January, I do choose an overarching theme or intention for the calendar year ahead and try to aim my arrows in that general direction. 2025 was all about simplifying and this year I have decided to focus my attention on glimmers. Glimmers are those micro-moments which give you a warm feeling inside.