Inkpen, Berkshire: The felted mouse choir, the sleeping fawn … a lot of it has meaning to us. At least the greenery goes up in a blaze of gloryBy the time you read this, we’ll be taking down the Christmas decorations. I don’t like to let them go. I love the mischief of the days and nights over Christmastide. They sit outside ordinary time, disappearing and extending of their own accord. I enjoy the historical ambiguity over when Twelfth Night falls: the 5th, or this night? I don’t want to be pressed by traditions or superstitions, making up my own ways to say goodbye to the festive period – yet still, I’m wary of them.We used to cut our tree from the estate we lived on, but in recent years we’ve chosen one from Willis Farm, high on the downs, where they’re grown sustainably, with wildlife in mind. Ours is a colourful tree. Each bauble has meaning and I’m sorry to see them go. Some are from childhood; a treasured wooden goose, and a beaver nestled in a walnut shell, came from a Christmas shop in Banff, Alberta, bought on a day off from ranching in 1989. Continue reading...