Nearly two weeks ago my husband and I celebrated one of our special anniversary dates. It was not our wedding anniversary, or the anniversary of the day we got engaged. July 19^th marked the one year anniversary of the day I arrived in the UK, with my little dog in tow, to be met at the airport by my beloved husband and taken to our new home for the first time.

That evening all three of us took a walk around the field behind our house – the first of many such walks. It was a walk of discovery for my dog and I, and my husband took pride in showing us the beautiful area we would now call home. These evening walks have become a tradition for us, and I can now look back on over a year’s worth of them. They are special times my husband and I share, walking the dog together at the end of the day, talking and laughing and enjoying a time of peace and a chance to wind down at the end of the day.

I have now seen an entire year of seasons pass by here in my new home. Each season brought its share of good weather and bad, and during each season some English person invariably said to me, “This is very unusual. Don’t get used to it.”

When we had the heat wave last summer they said, “This is very unusual. Don’t get used to this.”

When we had a beautiful September they said, “Oh, this isn’t normal. Don’t get used to it.”

When we had the terrible wind storms in late autumn and early winter they said, “We haven’t had wind like this since the great storm of 1987. This is very unusual.”

When it rained and it rained and it rained and it rained, and most of Somerset was under water they said, “Of course, this is very unusual.”

When, in spite of the rain it was very mild I was told, “This is not a normal winter. It is usually much colder. Don’t get used to this.”

When we had two lovely warm weeks in April I was told, “This is May weather. This is very odd.”

And so I have experienced a year of uncommon, strange, peculiar weather and I’m still waiting to be told “this is normal”. This is my second summer, and so far the weather has been what I consider to be ideal – warm, mostly dry, with temperatures in the 70’s most of the time, maybe getting up into the low 80’s from time to time here in our corner of Wiltshire.

Whether the weather is normal or not, there is something to be said for each season. In the summer, when our gardens dry out and we’re hauling water from the kitchen sink to keep our plants alive, we wish for rain. In the winter when the mould starts to grow over everything, and moss even grows on the car, then we start dreaming of warmth and sunshine. In any season, there are delights to be discovered if you go looking for them.

Here in the UK the summer twilights seem to draw out forever, the light lingering on long after sundown. The lure of the light and the beauty of the evening sky often tempt us to walk farther and longer, so that when darkness does fall we are still making our way homeward along the paths that skirt the edges of the fields near our home. On a warm summer evening you can hear the breeze rustling in the treetops and through the fields of corn, which is now nearly as tall as we are. The songbirds have quieted down considerably from their springtime jubilation. The overriding birdsongs we hear now are from the sparrows and starlings, with the cooing of the wood pigeons forming a constant ambient noise in the woodland copses.

As we walk out in the evenings with the setting sun behind us we can see the light shining off the white walls of the neighbouring villages that sit up against the higher hills to the east of us. Clyffe Pypard and Bushton almost seem to glow in the light, and off in the distance we can see the chalk horse above Broadtown, which we hiked to last summer.

Alongside the paths and tracks that we traverse a wild harvest is beginning to ripen. Blackberries start out hard and green, but gradually turn red, then black and soft. It won’t be too many more weeks till we can stride out with buckets to fill and put in our freezer for pies and ice cream later. Recently we discovered stands of hazelnuts, and we plan to keep our eyes on those in the hopes that we might possibly manage to harvest some of those – hazelnuts being a particular favourite of ours. Unfortunately they are also a favourite of the birds, so it will be a race to see who manages to get to them first.

At this time of year we often see deer and rabbits when we are out walking, but so far we have yet to see something exciting like a badger or a fox. Bats will occasionally swoop past, and sometimes we’ll hear a screech or a barn owl calling.

A summer walk is a thing of peace and quiet. It is relaxing and easy going, just as summer ought to be. We walk slowly, stopping often to take in The View. It is a time to observe the beauty that surrounds us and to wonder at the speed with which the crops seem to grow, seemingly overnight.

There is a certain bittersweet feeling to an evening walk in mid to late summer, because even though the days are still warm and gentle, the nights are drawing in, and the realization is brought home that summer will end, and the long days will soon be over.

An autumn walk can still be a peaceful thing, but the arrival of autumn sees the departure of the long, lingering twilight. Night falls much more swiftly, and walks have to be squeezed in earlier, and we often bring flashlights along with us for the return journey. As the days grow shorter we switch from evenings to mornings, which have a special charm. Being out early, while all the world is seemingly asleep, striding out across the fields with the one you love, is an experience to be treasured – something you can look back on later and say, “Wasn’t that wonderful?”

Keats described autumn as a season of “mists and mellow fruitfulness”, which is beautifully apt. In the early mornings there often is a mist lying low across the recently harvested fields. Crows will gather to feed among the stubble left in the corn fields, the hills seem to rise up in layer upon layer to the far horizon, and new vistas open up as the trees begin to shed their leaves, forming circles of russet and gold on the ground.

To walk through an ancient forest in autumn is to see the massive trunks of the chestnut, beech and oaks revealed. Without their canopy of leaves the intricate shapes of the branches and their incredible size is exposed in all of their awe-inspiring grandeur. I find myself thinking back to all of the generations of people who have lived and died while these trees grew from tiny saplings to the giants that they are today. It is a good way to regain perspective on life.

When winter arrives walks can easily lose their charm. Rain drenched day follows rain drenched day with monotonous consistency, and the ground grows saturated and muddy. The good thing about having a dog is that you are forced to go out in spite of it all, and oh, the things you would have missed if you had stayed indoors out of it all. Yes, I often end up cold and soaked through, but if I hadn’t gone out for a wintertime walk I would have missed the fascination of seeing the creek flooded down the hill, the entire lane turned into a rushing river. If I had stayed indoors out of the cold I would have missed the full moon rising above the dark skeletons of the trees at the edge of a nearby field. If I had stayed indoors I would have missed that sparkling morning when the air was so cold and crisp the very air seemed to crackle and frost coated every leaf and blade of grass.

As glorious as a wintertime walk can be, they cannot compare to the ebullience of a walk in early springtime when the dawn birdsong chorus accompanies you down lanes lined with primroses and daffodils. For the first time in my life I stood at the edge of a bluebell wood, breathless with wonder at the incredible beauty of it. Something about the sight of that mass of blossoms made me want to step gingerly and speak in a whisper, as if I might disturb them and cause them all to flee away from me like a herd of frightened deer.

And so as I look back over this past year, at each of the four seasons which I have now experienced in my new home, I can be thankful for each and every one. Each season brings its own new experiences, new challenges, and new gifts, and what gives each one its joy is that I am here with my English husband and my American dog. The three of us have walked many a mile together over the past year, through all sorts of weather, and I look forward to many more miles to come.