People are so nice here. Customers have started wandering around the undercover part of the market and are joining in the conversations. I lose track of how many people ask me about Peppermint Branches reopening and tell me how much they’ve missed it and that they’re looking forward to getting their tree there again this year.

There’s an artist who sells framed prints of his work and does bespoke sketches of children and beloved pets while customers wait, who pulls out his phone and shows me a painting he did at Peppermint Branches years ago, and a lady who sells intricate glass art, from jewellery and ornaments to wind chimes and suncatchers, who tells me she used to get inspiration from walking through the Christmas trees.

I feel a fizzle of glee when I spot a shoe seller with a pair of wellies on display, and thankfully he has them in my size. The black rubber boots come up almost to my knee and are comfier than any of the shoes I currently own, even though I’m only buying them as a figurative two-fingered gesture at Noel. As I’m paying, I spot something else. Tucked away right at the back is a little booth with a twenty-something lad and his laptop sat behind it, advertising custom printing, logo design, postcards, flyers, banners, business cards, and other promotional materials. Like a tiny Scottish Vistaprint.

I stand there and stare at him for a moment. I could get business cards and flyers made up, couldn’t I? It’s all very well and good to concentrate on reopening the farm, but it’ll all be for nothing if no one knows it’s reopening. On one hand, it’s bound to be a big expenditure, and I might fail. What if I can’t learn everything I need to learn? What if I can’t shear Christmas trees? What if I don’t manage to cut them and carry them and the tractor doesn’t start and the wreaths fall apart? What if the insurance is rejected or the seasonal farmhands refuse to work for such a newbie, and it just gets nearer and nearer to December and I can’t open on time?

In my head, I can hear my mum’s voice saying, ‘what if you can?’

I should ask Noel where he advertises, but he’s already been so helpful, and has promised to come over and board up my empty window frames and roof this afternoon. I can’t rely on him to tell me what to do at every turn. I have to stand on my own – I look down at the bag from the shoeseller in my hand – welly-booted feet.