February this year has felt long.
Cold, damp, quiet days wrapped in grey skies. It’s been a month that has asked us to slow down and wait — patiently — for the seasons to shift.
And yet, even in the stillness, nature has been quietly getting on with things, despite the rain here at Maes Mynan Park.
So don’t despair, just remember in those darker moments that, “February is the border between winter and spring.” — Terri Guillemets, Outlines of Joy, 2002
Even the delicate of flowers knows when it’s time to bloom.
On the ground, the first light purple crocuses have begun to appear, their petals pushing carefully through damp, cold soil as if testing the air. Nearby, snowdrops hang gently from slender stems, small but determined, reminders that spring never arrives all at once, but in soft, almost unnoticeable steps. Crocus and snowdrops are the first whispers of spring.
February finds its colour in the smallest blooms.
Hanging quietly from the hazel branches are the catkins — often called lambs’ tails — soft and pale, swaying gently in the winter air. Abundant this year, they bring subtle movement to the stillness, catching the light even on the greyest days. Their presence feels like a promise, closely linked to the season of lambing ahead, and another quiet sign that spring is already edging closer, long before it makes itself obvious.
It’s these details that reward a February walk at Maes Mynan Park. The days may feel subdued, but for those who take the time to look closely, the landscape is full of promise.
This week, familiar visitors have returned too. The Canada geese and Greylag geese are back, whole family groups reappearing just as they did last year. Their presence feels reassuring — a seasonal rhythm continuing as it always has. A quiet reminder that winter does loosen its grip, even when it feels reluctant to do so.
Paths are quieter, the air sharper, the views across the surrounding Clwydian hills more expansive. February doesn’t offer spectacle — it offers space. Space to breathe, to walk, to listen, and to reconnect with the natural world without distraction.
For nature lovers, this is the heart of the season. Not the rush of spring colour or the warmth of summer, but the in-between — when change is happening slowly, just beneath the surface.
At Maes Mynan, February reminds us that the countryside is never dormant, only resting. And for those who value peace, wildlife, and the simple pleasure of watching the seasons unfold, it’s a time that quietly invites you back, time and again.
A February walk has so much to offer
Even on the greyest days, February has a way of surprising you — especially if you follow the sound of water.
Along the stream edges, the first ramsons — wild garlic — are beginning to push through. Their vivid green leaf tips feel almost luminous against the damp ground, thriving in the cool air and saturated soil. They’re unapologetically alive, stretching upwards as if they already know what’s coming next.
Nearby, ferns showcase rich shades of emerald, offering a striking contrast to the dark, wet browns beneath them, where layers of composting leaves are slowly returning to the earth. There’s something quietly reassuring about it all: decay and renewal sharing the same space, side by side.
And then there are the scents. Subtle, almost unnoticed at first, but with a sweetness that’s difficult to describe. Damp earth warming slightly beneath your feet, pines scenting the air as you pass by, fresh water in the air, the faint green sharpness of new growth carried on the breeze. It’s not a perfume — it’s a presence. The kind that lingers quietly and stays with you long after the walk is over.
And then there’s the water.
The recent rains have brought what we fondly call the Maes Mynan waterfall back into full voice. No longer a gentle trickle, it rushes with energy and intent — water tumbling, reshaping the land just as it has always done. The sound fills the air, grounding and elemental, a reminder of nature’s strength even in its quieter seasons.
Standing quietly nearby is another reminder of Maes Mynan’s story. Long before this landscape became a holiday place of retreat, it was once a working quarry. The remnants of an old iron bridge and pumping station still stand — cast iron workings made in Manchester, weathered but enduring. Now softened by moss, water and time, they feel less like ruins and more like part of the land itself. A quiet reminder that no matter how firmly industry leaves its mark, nature always reclaims what was always hers.
Along the stream paths, there’s a therapeutic rhythm to it all. The gentle gurgling of water moving over stone has a calming quality, grounding and reassuring, while above it comes the sudden lift of birdsong, louder now, fuller, as if the landscape itself is rejoicing. It’s the kind of soundscape that asks nothing of you except to pause and listen. A reminder of how restorative nature can be, especially in quieter seasons when the world feels heavy and the simplest moments bring the greatest sense of wellbeing.
In moments like this, February feels less grey and more alive. Not colourful in the obvious sense, but rich, full of texture, movement and promise. It’s a kind of romance rooted in the land itself: wild, damp, honest and quietly wonderful.
Something to look out for as you meander around Maes Mynan
As you walk amongst the wet trees, look closely for the small drinking cups they offer. Old stumps, gathered stems and deep crevices collect rainwater as it runs down the trunks of oak, sycamore and ash — tiny reservoirs left behind for birds, squirrels, and perhaps the fairies and elves of the woods. Once you notice them, you’ll never stop seeing them. Little moments of still water, shining softly against dark bark, something unexpectedly astonishing in the greyness of February.
Look too for the artful signatures trees create. Bark patterns and shifting shapes offer endless creative inspiration as you pass by, a reminder of the trees’ battle scars from growth and weather. The silver birches appear to have a thousand eyes, while one particular holly tree quietly sends a message of love from nature in the shape of a heart.
There is always beauty in the depths of our grey winters. Perhaps we have to look a little harder to see it, but it’s there, reminding us to remain hopeful that the sun and warmth will be with us soon.
As I conclude this February entry, my final note from nature is the sight of bright-green leaves unfurling — Lords-and-Ladies nestled in the hollows of hedges and trees, sitting proudly alongside the first signs of bluebell foliage. Together, they offer a quiet reminder of the colours still to come.
But let’s not forget the daffodils and tulips that are so near to blooming: a surprise waiting to happen in time for March 1st and St David’s day.
For some, moments like these are enough to turn a simple walk into something deeper — a reason to return, season after season. Owning a holiday home at Maes Mynan Park isn’t about chasing sunshine or busy weekends, but about having a place in the countryside that’s yours to come back to whenever you need it. A place to notice the small things, to walk familiar paths as they change through the year, and to feel quietly connected to the landscape in every season, grey days included.
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