The Joyful Almanac - January
Stay-at-Home Moon, Orchard Songs & Small Brave Joys
The year yawns open; the gardens slumber. Apples dream of blossom, hellebores bide their time, and even the robins sound gentler at the gate. I’m taking my cue from Somerset itself: less rush, more root. This is a month for candle-lit lists, friendly soups, and joy that starts at home and ripples out. Tie a ribbon round January; call it hopeful.
I used to think I hated winter—pining for endless summer once the sparkle faded. But with the kettle working overtime and the hedgerows gone quiet, our work is simply to notice: the first brave snowdrops, a thrush clearing her throat at dawn, the way dusk slips in before we’re ready. These small witnesses are enough to begin. A few weeks of deep midwinter to rest, catch up, gently reflect, and sketch the year ahead? Essential.
Yes, the rain can be bossy and the mud has opinions; we accessorise with wellies and carry on. Winter walks are often the prettiest: cold-bright mornings, mist-washed evenings, and that low, kind light that makes everything sparkle. From here we’ll follow the Stay-at-Home Moon, raise a wassail to the orchards, and practise the small brave joys that steady us, starting with the tiniest picnic: two mugs on the step, a blanket over knees, and twenty minutes of sky.
January Snapshot (dates worth a circle)
1 Jan — New Year’s Day. Fresh page, hot tea.
5 Jan — Twelfth Night (eve of Epiphany): Farewell to the twelve days. If you’re de-decking, keep one candle for a dusk cuppa outside and call it your “last of the tinsel” stoep-picnic.
6 Jan — Epiphany Cake, kings, and a quiet reset. Two slices on the step = instant mini celebration.
6 Jan - Nollaig na mBan (Women’s Christmas): Tradition says: women rest, men do the chores. My plan: slippers, a hot brew I actually finish while it’s still hot, and gracious supervision from the sofa. Invisible crown optional; standards not.
Mon 12 Jan — Plough Monday: The old start to the farming year. Mark it with buttered toast and a brisk hedgerow loop; flask mandatory.
17 Jan — Old Twelfth Night & Somerset Wassail: Tie a ribbon to an apple tree and make a cheerful racket for next year’s cider apples. Perfect pre-bed flask-and-biscuit outing. (Somerset does this beautifully.)
18 Jan - New Moon: Clean slate energy. Step outside for three breaths and a hot mug; wish quietly, like a conspirator with the sky.
23–25 Jan — RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch: One hour of bird-spotting from your window, step or patio . Make it cosy: cinnamon apples in a flask and a tally sheet for small helpers. Tiny tradition, big joy.
25 Jan — Burns Night: Haggis, poetry, and a dram (or mid-strength splash) after the children are down. A tartan blanket over knees upgrades any back-door picnic.
25 Jan — St Dwynwen’s Day (Welsh Valentine’s): write a note, tuck it in a coat pocket, blush later.
These Almanac touches are the gentle pins in our calendar, anchoring us to season and place.
Flora & Feelings
Bloomlets: Most of the excitement is happening out of sight: spring bulbs shouldering up, snowdrops peeking in sheltered corners, hellebores lifting their dusky faces, and hazel catkins shaking out like tiny lambs’-tails. Old man’s beard threads the hedges; frost-laced thistles and burdock stand like small sculptures. If we’re lucky, a single primrose toward month’s end - prima rosa, the first to say hello.
Kitchen greens: Bay in the stew; rosemary on the roasties; thyme in everything. A good fist of parsley never hurts - it tastes like daylight.
Weather soul: Crisp-bright mornings, honest mud, and the particular optimism of a well-wrung tea towel humming on the radiator. Light comes low and kind; we carry on in wool and good humour.
Tiny notices (if you fancy a prompt)
First birdsong you catch before the kettle clicks.
The exact green of a new shoot (chartreuse with ideas).
Steam from your mug in the doorway - proof of weather meeting warmth.
Folklore Focus: Wassailing the Orchard (Somerset style)
On Old Twelfth Night (17 January) we wake the apple trees, shoo off bad luck, and wish for blossom and good cider. Find your nearest-ish tree - garden, allotment, or that faithful crab apple by the lane - and gather at twilight. Lanterns if you have them; woolly hats mandatory.
How to wassail
Tie a red ribbon: A length of red on a branch for luck. It looks cheerful in the torchlight and tells the tree you’ve come on purpose.
Offer a toast: A crust of bread for the birds; a splash of cider at the roots (apple juice if you prefer). Earth first, then us - good manners for orchards.
Make a merry racket - Bang a spoon on a pan, clap, whoop. We’re scaring off the grumps and waking the buds. Wooden spoons encouraged; grumps not invited.
Sing terribly - Sincerity beats pitch every time. One verse will do. (Children add volume; neighbours add harmony; dogs add chaos.)
A simple toast: “Use this or tweak it: “Apple tree, we honour thee - wake, bud, and bless our bowls. Wassail!” Finish with a brave, communal “Wassail!” (It means “Good health!”)
Finish with a cheer: “Wassail!” (“Good health!”)
Tiny etiquette (Somerset common sense)
Keep it friendly, mind the wildlife, and leave the tree better than you found it (no broken twigs, no litter). Thank the ground with your feet, the birds with your crumbs, and each other with a smile.
Variations to suit your crew
Family version: torch parade round the garden, one ribbon per small human, hot apple juice afterwards.
Neighbourhood quickie: three houses, one tree, five minutes and a biscuit.
Solo & lovely: ribbon, whisper, sip, home. The tree will still hear you.
This is Relational Joy at its most local — neighbours, torches, shared breath in cold air; the kind of small ceremony that makes a whole month feel held.
Your January permission slip: rest counts.
〰️
Your January permission slip: rest counts. 〰️
Moon Moment: The Stay-at-Home Moon
(Full Moon in Cancer, early January)
January is for dreaming the year into shape. There’s a clarity here you don’t find anywhere else: all is quiet, all is still. This isn’t a month for frantic productivity; it’s a month for inner tending. Despite the guilt-trippy “new year, new you” chorus, January is less about beginnings and more about rest, reflection, and re-gathering.
Cancer is a hearth sign; water, home, belonging - so think warm baths, clean sheets, and boundaries you can lean against. Consider this your invitation to a gentler way of being. As someone wise once told me, energy flows where attention goes; point yours at what feels true, and let the rest soften.
When, exactly: In 2026 the full moon peaks on Saturday 3 January at 10:02am (UK time), and it’s in Cancer - the classic “Wolf Moon”. Perfect for staying close to home.
Full Moon Ritual (15 mins)
Light a candle, open a window a finger’s width.
List three things you’re ready to protect (time, energy, tenderness).
Whisper a mantra:
I return to centre.
I gather the far-flung bits of me.
I tend my edges with kindness.
I trust the quiet to grow what I can’t yet see.
PS: If you like tidy bookends, the New Moon lands on 18 January—a lovely moment to set one simple intention you can actually keep.
The Joy Edit
RitRitual - Sunday soup + slow radio. Bonus points if your phone has a nap in another room.
Make-do - Mend one knit with visible mending; call it folk couture. (Choose thread you can actually see; smugness included.)
Nature task - Feed the birds: seed, fresh water, fat balls. Give feeders a quick clean and note your regulars ahead of Birdwatch weekend.
Letter of the month - A cheeky thank-you to whoever kept spirits buoyant over the holidays. One stamp; instant glow.
Make space for nature - Bring a handful of the season indoors: a pinch of garden moss, lichen-kissed twigs of oak or ash, seed heads, feathers, smooth pebbles. Tuck them into a shallow bowl or along a windowsill—a tiny still life that shifts with the month.
Forage kindly - Windfalls or your own clippings only; ask permission elsewhere. Leave plenty for wildlife, shake out any hitchhikers, and take just what you’ll use.
Picnic, But Make It January:
The 20-Minute Stoep Picnic (doorstep counts)
Two mugs on the step, a blanket over knees, cheddar with apple. If you can see sky, it’s a picnic. Twenty minutes is victory.
Tiny Kit (lives by the door)
Wool blanket • two enamel mugs • flask • napkins • pocket knife • little tin for crumbs/cores.
Warm Flask, Simple Joy
Parsnip + Apple soup (thyme, black pepper).
Hot spiced apple juice for everyone.
A quiet moment: A cider spritz in a thermos for the grown-ups.
Snack with a Story
Local cheddar, apple slices, chutney. If you fancy heritage: a slice of seed cake or a ginger biscuit. Outdoors improves everything.
Rain Plan (and other realities)
Front step with a brolly • back door just ajar • boot of the car facing the hedge • village hall wall after pick-up. If you can breathe cloud, you’re doing it right.
January Micro-Itinerary (Somerset-flavoured)
Wassail-watch near Old Twelfth Night (17 Jan): ribbon, racket, sip, home.
Bird hour (Big Garden Birdwatch weekend): mugs & tally sheet on the step.
Frost walk: loop the block, come back for soup.
Etiquette (kindly enforced)
Leave no trace. Crumbs in pockets, apple cores home for the compost, friendly nods for dog-walkers, and share a spare biscuit with small, cold humans.
Try this this week
Text a friend: “Stoep picnic, 4pm Thursday? I’ll bring the flask; you bring the gossip.” Set a timer for 20. Pack up while you’re still happy and not chilled to the bone.
Gear tip (buy once, use forever)
A proper napkin and a decent flask make even a biscuit feel ceremonial. Choose kit you like looking at; you’ll use it more.
Cooking with the Seasons
Rooted, warming, and a tiny bit cheeky. We’re cooking what the garden clings to through the cold; brassicas in their Sunday best, roots at their sweetest, and under-cover salads that feel like a small miracle.
What to cook this month:
Roast roots + herby yoghurt - parsnip, carrot, beet; a squeeze of lemon; thyme everywhere.
Leek & cheddar tart - shop pastry, no shame; salad leaves from the tunnel or windowsill.
Cabbage & butter beans - garlic, chilli, lemon zest; a panful that tastes like good sense.
Tiny Somerset swap: Buy the best local cheddar you can find and cut it like you mean it. It turns “just veg” into supper.
Waste-not note: Leaf ends → broth pot, stale bread → crunchy crumbs. Tomorrow thanks you.
This month you’ll find me …
January is our quietest month - life and work both exhale - so I’m using the lull to do the things Future Me will thank me for.
PLAN - Filling the 2026 calendar: term dates, holidays, and family moments. We’ve an 18th, 16th, and 13th on the horizon - plus one starting university, one starting college, one starting school. (Send tea. Strong.)
De-cluttering every wardrobe with a smug little timer. Keep, mend, donate; nothing languishes on “the chair
Prune & plant: A good January haircut for roses and wisteria. Spring bulbs into the ground before it’s truly too late (yes, I dug them up… and then forgot). Sweet peas sown indoors on a bright sill—baby seedlings, big hopes. Hedge replanting over the next two months; roots down now for summer shade and birdsong later.
Organising household files, checking standing orders and direct debits, and clearing paper drifts. Ten-minute timers → disproportionate satisfaction.
Locking in key experiences: a late-winter Cornwall escape and - fingers crossed - Greece in early summer. Shoulders drop just typing it.
Editing last year’s photos and ordering the annual memory books before the files go feral. A January ritual that always pays off.
REST. Naps, slow reading, and saying no nicely. Phone on a shelf, kettle on repeat.
DREAM & MANIFEST - Big shifts at home this year. With changes in the family business and new routines bedded in, I’m turning toward my own dreams again. Mum of four, self-employed partner - full, gorgeous juggle - yet 2026 has hopeful edges.
Getting outside - Local woods, quick beach trips (with a discreet go on the quiet amusements), and pilgrimages to The Newt in Somerset. And this is the year I finally climb Glastonbury Tor — it’s twenty minutes away and somehow I’ve never been since we moved here in 2013. Sky, wind, perspective: yes please.
What are you toasting this month—a brave bud, a kinder habit, a quieter heart? I’ll raise my wassail to you from Somerset.
With love, Gemma x
Stay a little longer . . . .
There’s nothing quite like an autumn picnic in Somerset. As the days grow cooler and the leaves turn to shades of gold, amber, and red, the countryside transforms into the perfect setting for outdoor gatherings. The crisp air, the rustling of leaves underfoot, and the peace that comes with autumn’s slower pace make it one of my favourite times of the year for picnics.