I will never know the Winter of 1964 nor its blizzard that killed the girl. I know only of mild Winters with little snow. When reading the entries from my grandmother’s diaries, there is a distance not only in time but place. How can that be? I stand on the same soil that my father farmed, and his mother, and her father before. Yet, the diary speaks of a place that I barely recognise.  

Due to rising global temperatures the stable seasons are shifting. By the end of the century, they will be unrecognisable to the standards of today. I aim to work with the traces of inter-generational memory (of both human and non-human organisms) to construct an account of what was, what is and what will be.



20.01.1960: Frost, deep snow everywhere only possible to walk on the roads in Mastrick. Girl lost in Blizzard.

20.03.1960: George and I went up to the hills but the clouds came down, v. cold.

29.03.1960: Glorious day - sunshine at last. “I feel like flying if I had wings”.

30.03.1960: Lovely day. Crocuses wonderful.

03.05.1960: Warmer, trying to rain all day.

07.05.1962: Horrible fog to the door.

16.05.1963: Fine growy showers.

25.06.1963: Glorious Day.

25.06.1963: Perfect Day.

19.10.1964: Garden still full of colour.

23.10.1964: Terrific gales, ships in trouble, great battle with clothes lines.