It gets very dark early now, at this time of year. At the narrow spot of the Kappel Valley where my childhood home stands, the sun disappears behind the ridge just after lunch and sets around 5pm, unseen by us. The cold outside tries to creep in, and we children watch ice flowers grow on the panes of the kitchen window.
But our small kitchen is warm and cosy, heated by a wood-burning stove. The air in the valley and in our house is full of the scents of log fires, and soon there will be others mingling in: the scent of cinnamon, cloves, cardamom and of freshly baked biscuits will fill the air — it is Advent, the time to prepare for Christmas.
