Almonds in bloom had been covered with snow

WHEN the first flakes scudded past the window at lunch time, I thought they were almond blossom petals drifting on the wind.

Then, I saw that they were flakes of snow, swirling in eddies and blown every which-way as they crossed the bumps and falls in the garden. In one place, they were carried straight up in pirouettes, like tiny cabbage white butterflies in a courting dance.

An hour later, the whole landscape was white, and when we went out, we saw that the almonds that had bloomed were snow covered, so I don’t know how they’ll fare come spring and the fruiting season — or nutting season, as would be the case.

However, most trees hadn’t been so imprudent as to flower and so the crop shouldn’t be hugely affected.

We look forward to the sequence of flowering trees, almonds, cherries, apricots, oranges and so on, and the thousands of exotic (for us) wild flowers which will bloom, each in their season as spring and then summer arrives.

We will be back at home at the end of June to enjoy the West Cork summer which, when it is good, is unequalled anywhere, not stifling hot, with the land still green and easy on the eye. By then, it will be very warm here, although the altitude of these mountain villages will make the heat less intense than in the plains. Before coming home, we will have a chance to use the swimming pool in the garden, and the Mediterranean Sea 30 miles away at Motril. We may even motor on to Málaga or Benalmádena to see our compatriots broiling on the beaches.

Meanwhile, last week there was heavy snow all over Spain and the TV news was full of reporters in Michelin-man jackets in blizzards. The only place that escaped was Seville and the extreme south of Andalucia, which the tour operators and real-estate developers have dubbed the Costa Tropical.

As for our perch high in the Alpujarras, we were snowed in for 24 hours, unable to go up or down the steep roads from our isolated cortijo, because we didn’t have chains on the car.

While outside the world was cold and white, inside the cottage was cosy, warmed throughout by a single, large stove in the living room in which we burn hefty logs. There are no radiators; the heat simply permeates the entire living space, a living room-kitchen, a double bedroom, a bathroom and a tiny room where I work. In this climate, a fire isn’t so much a matter of decoration, as it is at home, with central heating and the proximity of the sea, but a necessity; one would freeze without it. So, we settle in for the evening, have dinner with excellent and affordable Spanish wine, put a decent film on the DVD and maybe read a while before bed.

The bedroom will be warm, and the fire in the stove will burn all night. The nights are entirely silent; so, indeed, are the days.

There is rarely a sound, there being few birds here at this time of year. They have sensibly migrated to Africa, not far away. One hopes a wild boar won’t greet one in the moonlight at the woodshed: more than once, our landlord told us, they have arrived in the garden, which is unfenced, part of the hillside.

Happily, they have been solitary males: females, with piglets (boarlets?) can be dangerous.

The snow was greatly welcomed by the locals, who were beginning to fear they might have no winter at all. As it melts, it will water the land, and snow melting on the peaks above will fill the ravines with streams and rivers, to be directed along the ancient water channels to tanks and then, as summer comes, to thirsty fields.