First Row (L-R): @hanbullivant; @geoffreyandgrace; @c_colli. Second Row (L-R): @featherandwild; @niki.at.the.cottage; @peonyandpraxis. Third Row (L-R): @simpleandseason; @a_season_in_thyme; @littlegreenshed.

Back at the start of December, I started a new hashtag on Instagram - #aseasonaldecember. It started with a longing to curate a set of images that embodied the natural changes in the month, images that celebrated seasonal outings and inspired others to live more wholeheartedly; it worked perfected. If you haven't seen the hashtag, there are some wonderful images to explore, and I've featured some of my favourites above.

To continue into the new year, I've decided to use a new hashtag with similar grounding - #aseasonalyear. Think documenting changes in the seasons in a very personal way, by telling stories through images and words that inspire and cheer others as we wander through the next twelve months.

I'd love for you to join in, if you like? In the mean time, wishing you a wonderful start to 2017.

If you're a subscriber, you'll have already received the first edition of the newsletter - A Seasonal Year - but if you're not don't worry, because today's post offers a compact version to inspire you to live slowly and seasonally throughout the winter months. Don't want to miss next month's newsletter?

Winter Rituals

• Prepare the house for colder weather: light candles; get a stack of logs ready for the fire; choose rich, jewel colours for your accessories; choose a reading spot; and festoon your home with greenery.
   
• Embrace daylight whenever possible: get outside for a walk at least once a day; position yourself near to a window when working; try and watch the sunrise and sunset as often as possible.
   
• Plan for the year ahead: choose a word (or two) to focus on and set long-term goals; order seeds for the vegetable patch / allotment / kitchen windowsill, and plan out your summer harvest.

Three Seasonal Recipes

1. Pheasant casserole with celeriac mash
2. Bubble and squeak
3. Chestnut and chocolate torte

Three Seasonal Reads

L-R: Burial Rites by Hannah Kent; Village Christmas by Laurie Lee; A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

 

Final Thoughts...

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
Edith Sitwell

Over the past few weeks we've been recruiting lots of lovely creatives to help make the first issue of Creative Countryside a reality. I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has been in touch - I'm thrilled to have so many like-minded others on board, and I can't wait to receive the articles and images that have so far been commissioned.

If you'd like to be involved, there's still time: the deadline for getting in touch is 1st December, and we're happy to hear from writers, illustrators and photographers interested in slow, seasonal living.

But back to it. Here's a first look at the front cover of the first issue - gather - due to be released in Autumn 2017.

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I'd love to hear what you think of it.

In addition, if you're interested in keeping up-to-date with the magazine, and would like to be the first to hear when it's published, then sign up below.

Some big news today: we're going offline. No, not in the 'we're shutting down the blog and giving up' sense. But instead, let's slow down and simplify, and create something more tangible.

I've been struggling with what to do with this space for some time now, being torn between wanting to share the ideas I'm passionate about, and just not feeling it. A little while ago, I figured out why. Writing this blog, whilst wonderful at providing opportunities to connect with other like-minded people, and a space to document my life, has nevertheless dragged me down at times. If I commit to something, then I want it to be a success. And for a blog to be a success, you have to commit to not only writing high quality content, but also shouting about it loud enough for others to hear. This means spending an awful long time at the computer, online.

I find anything on a screen much more taxing and much less enjoyable to read than something palpable and made of paper, and I realised that I can't be the only one. There are a whole range of new independent magazines out there surviving, so why not another? The feel of a new magazine, ready to be unwrapped and savoured over many days brings me far greater joy than reading blogs online, and having designed magazines and newspapers throughout my childhood, I think it's now time to be brave and get on with creating a publication I can be proud of.

Slow living is something I've written extensively about on this blog, and so it seems a natural progression to move on to slow journalism for Creative Countryside's next venture. While this online space will remain, and I may even write here on occasion, my focus is shifting. The magazine's theme will be similar to that of this blog, and I hope that as a result you will stick around for more seasonal inspiration, creative ideas and musings on how to live a wholehearted, joyful life.

If it sounds like something you'd like to know more about, or get involved with, click here for more information and for details on our current opportunities.

The early morning temperature is hovering around four degrees centigrade, which is quite mild for winter, but when only a thin layer of fabric separates you from that cold air, it doesn’t feel it. I dress quickly and for warmth, though the first layer against my skin feels like damp ice. Poking the embers of last night’s fire, we’re tempted to light another, but daylight is seeping through the fibres, and the blackbird is already welcoming the day with a tune. Instead, we don colourful knitwear and walk the short distance up to the bridleway with Bella.

The footpath leads vertically away from the village, cutting through the four-and-a-half acres of our land, before hugging the hedgerows the rest of the way, and ending up behind the house we’ve left behind. In summer, you can see as far as the wooded pheasantry to the left, and the radar golf ball to the right, a spherical and unusual addition to the arable landscape. Today, however, fog shrouds the fields, and the air is so thick and cloying that I can only make out the base of the tree trunks, squat and steady. Walks this early are usually silent, as we let our senses adjust, and Bella disappears into this quiet, shadowy world, becoming part of a fairy-tale with Little Red Cap, Hansel and Gretel, and the Snow Child. Lost innocents, drifting.

I whistle for her return, and on the walk back, pocket changes in the season: the slow blush of berries on the hedgerow; hoary cobwebs dripping with dew; the red breast of the robin. These images are forever immortalised in Christmas cards and literature, yet here they are, still existing, still real in this village edgeland. A magpie darts over the robin, before perching on a branch not too far away. From a distance, its tail looks like a dark, unopened fan, feathers clustered like folds waiting to be unfurled.  I whisper under my breath the old-age lore - one for sorrow – before looking desperately around for a second – two for joy – I see nothing.

Brushing aside superstition, I duck under the dripping archway of branches that mark the entrance to our second field. The land belongs officially to my parents, who have built not only their home here, but also a self-reliant lifestyle. Ducks uark in the distance, and chickens peck at fallen apples in the orchard to our left. The sheep in the top field are scattered in their pen, and don’t seem to mind the ever-changing weather. Although the temperature is waning, there is still produce to be picked in the vegetable patch: curly tendrils of kale, strangely-shaped carrots, and rainbow chard that seems to last forever, impervious to anything but the cooking pot. It is this simple existence that we have come to join, building our own house and becoming a part of the daily routine. But bricks and mortar seem a long way off.

September is the fruitful month. Full of almost-full-size squashes, apples picked straight from the tree, hearty homemade pies and soups galore, it marks a change in what we eat as the new season begins. The salads of summer are not completely gone, but sausages and roasted vegetables are much more likely to appear than salads and barbecues for dinner, and although they take longer to cook, the rewards are always worth the extra time.

This month also showcases the best of the hedgerow. In place of the elderflowers arrive the elderberries, ripe for turning into a fruity wine. Or why not try your hand at jam making if there are blackberries still lingering between the branches?

Leeks are also making an appearance this month, and are delicious in a vegetable gratin: lightly fry, then add to a dish with part-boiled potatoes and smother with a cheese sauce, remembering to top with breadcrumbs and pumpkin seeds before heating through in the oven. Finish with a plum crumble, and you’ve got seasonal autumn dining at its best.

September is all about... harvests, back to school, the return of porridge for breakfast, collecting pine cones, apples with everything, leaves turning colour, blackberries and crisp early mornings.

Something to eat: I've posted a recipe for rhubarb pudding before, but why not try a seasonal variation and bake a blackberry and apple pudding? Add a teaspoon of cinnamon and you will taste the new season with every spoonful.

Something to visit: Make the most of the British countryside and explore somewhere new for free from the 11th to the 14th of September. Heritage Open Days offer the chance to visit manor houses, churches, museums and more all over the country. If you're in Lincolnshire try the National Trust's Belton House or the medieval Gainsborough Old Hall.

Something to make: Pompoms! Make as part of a new world record attempt at The Handmade Fair taking place at Hampton Court Palace. You could also try your hand at food decoration, paper craft, yarning and upcycling. If you can't make it (like me), why not try an autumn wreath to hang on your front door instead? Check back later in the month for a tutorial.

Something to celebrate: The Autumn Equinox. Rejoice in the knowledge that we've made it through three-quarters of the year by visiting Stonehenge on the 22nd/23rd to see the sunrise above the stones. At this moment the day and night are equal in length and winter nights lie ahead bringing with them a loss of the early autumn heat that lingered as a memory of summer. If you can't make it to Wiltshire, follow tradition by drinking dandelion and burdock to cleanse the blood or have a second harvest celebration as the last of the crops are stored away.

Something to take part in: If you're no queen of preserves (that title goes to Pam Corbin), then learn how to make the most of the harvest month and take a course. The clever folk at River Cottage have come up with an online preserving course for those of us too busy to travel around, and at £20 it's much more affordable than a full day course. Clean your cupboards and they'll soon be full of jams, jellies and chutneys.

Something a bit different: Pack a picnic and a jumper and blow away the cobwebs with a visit to the beach. Who says that sea and sand have to remain summer's domain? If you go between the 19th and 22nd of the month then you could also do your bit for the environment by taking part in the Great British Beach Clean; find out more here.

It's a divisive issue. Whether or not to buy organic food doesn't just affect your monthly shop, it also projects a certain image out to the world about the sort of person you are, and many don't see it as the positive lifestyle choice that we believe it to be. Dan and I have been growing and buying organic food for a number of years now, but it's only over the past six months or so that we've made a real, conscious effort to embrace it as a lifestyle choice. It's fortuitous (or perhaps serendipitous?) that we've embarked on this organic journey with full steam ahead, at the same time that supermarkets have cottoned on to the fact that people are actually interested in buying this stuff.

So why all the fuss?

Organic produce, in essence, is food that isn't grown using unnatural chemicals or pesticides; that's not to say that it doesn't receive any help during the growing process, but natural products are the order of the day. The simplest way of looking at the decision to eat organic, is as a choice not to pollute your body with these chemicals. I don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on the idea of my bloodstream swimming with pesticides and herbicides. This video from Swedish supermarket Coop, shows the effect that eating organic food can have in just two weeks; it doesn't take long to rid your body of these chemicals, the long-term effects of which are unknown. 

Choosing organic is also hugely beneficial for the environment. If we don't relish the idea of flushing chemicals through our bodies, why would it be any better for the earth around us? It is estimated that the UK has only around 100 harvests left before we have depleted everything we can from the soil. What then? 

Of course, there are possible solutions to this crisis, one of them being to grow your own food. Allotment holders produce between 4 and 11 times more food per hectare than farmers, mainly because their crops are hand-cultivated. If this isn't an option for you, then veg boxes could be the way forward. During the hungry gap in May, and through the winter when our own produce is scarce, we order weekly organic boxes from Riverford (not a sponsored post - I just like the company!). They're affordable and reliable, and we love the seasonal nature of the veg. They state that their organic methods of farming promote "biodiversity within fields, in the hedgerows and, most importantly, in the soil". Carbon sequestration also "removes CO2 from the atmosphere and accumulates it as increased levels of organic matter in the soil". So the soil is healthier, and I'm healthier. Surely that's a win-win? 

One of the biggest arguments against organic food is the cost. However, if you're willing to do a bit of creative cooking, it really can be very affordable. As a couple, we use the following per week during the hungry gap (when we don't have any of our own produce):

• 1 x medium fruit & veg box from Riverford. It's supposed to feed 2-3 people, and comes with at least 6 varieties of vegetables and 3 fruit varieties. £16.75
• 1 x 2 litre whole milk from Riverford. It lasts us for cereal and milk for coffees for the whole week. £1.95
• Some kind of vegetable pasty or homity pie from Riverford. Will be good for one evening meal. £2.35 - £3.35
• Something for the store cupboard. This usually alternates between oats, pasta, rice and noodles. £1.79 - £2.95
• Food order from Sainsburys, which includes any fish (Dan is pescatarian and I've stopped buying meat altogether). I find that they do the best range of organic produce, and it's getting better all the time. I do one order per month and spend on average £60, so that's around £12.50 per week.

Total average spend per week = £37.50
 

Don't get me wrong, I know that you can spend less than this buying own-brand products from supermarkets. I'm not trying to convince you that this is the cheapest option, but it is more affordable, I think, than many believe. What's more, I haven't even touched on how much better organic vegetables can taste. 

I know that for many, choosing to shop in this way isn't really a priority, but what I urge you to consider is the long-term impacts that eating organic food has on your health, and the health and well-being of the planet as a whole. 

I'll leave you with this: 

“Organic is something we can all partake of and benefit from. When we demand organic, we are demanding poison-free food. We are demanding clean air. We are demanding pure, fresh water. We are demanding soil that is free to do its job and seeds that are free of toxins. We are demanding that our children be protected from harm. We all need to bite the bullet and do what needs to be done—buy organic whenever we can, insist on organic, fight for organic and work to make it the norm. We must make organic the conventional choice and not the exception.” 
― Maria Rodale, CEO and Chairman of Rodale, author of Organic Manifesto: How Organic Farming Can Heal Our Planet, Feed the World, and Keep Us Safe

1. Life isn't easy.
2. But it's better to be part of the solution than part of the problem, even if you don't think you can change the world.
3. I want to change the world.
4. I'm not afraid of the hard work that is necessary in order to change things. My skin tingles and I get excited when I'm working hard at something I love doing.
5. Sometimes the thing we love changes. I'm learning that this isn't always a bad thing by being a part of this community. It's helping me to realise that my life doesn't need to fit societal expectations.
6. Just because what makes you happy doesn't make sense to some people, it doesn't mean it isn't something worth striving for.
7. Right now, I'm searching for a feeling, and focusing on an inkling of an idea. Having the courage to do this without a firm plan isn't easy.
8. I will never be a worry-free person, but understanding how to control and move past these feelings is something that I need to work on.
9. In order to move forward and achieve new things, you need to try out new ideas, embrace new plans, and be brave.
10. Life is simple, really. You get out of it what you put in.

To a brave new future, and to being the change you want to see in the world.

This is the longest I have ever been absent from this little space of mine. There have been days I've felt guilty, weeks I've not cared, but amidst all of life's goings on, the months have passed. The seasons have changed, and our way of life has adapted accordingly. Every time I catch up with a friend, or speak to a family member, I feel as though we have lots of catching up to do, and in a similar vein, this post aims to do just that. So without further ado, here's a (condensed) update, and if you're still there reading and interested, I thank you for your patience. As I'm often reminded, all good things come to those who wait.

Where I'm Living

We're still in the tent! Making it through the winter wasn't easy, especially on the nights when the water froze in my glass, the fire struggled to ignite and I was wearing a hat, scarf and gloves to bed. Things still aren't perfect, but the lighter evenings and milder mornings make our daily routine much more bearable. It's looking like we'll be in it until at least Christmas, so I'm going to relish every moment of the summer months when they arrive, to save as memories for those cold, cold nights to come.

A Big Announcement

It's a relief to announce that I've quit my job. I'll be there until the middle of July (that's the education sector for you!), but after that point I will officially be without employment. This decision was one of the most difficult I've ever had to make: as a society we are conditioned to feel like failures if our careers don't bring us lots of success, money and happiness. My job brought me a little success, enough money to live a comfortable life, but for a long time I haven't really been happy. It's taken a while for me to be in the position where quitting was even possible, but ultimately I realised that the apathy just isn't worth it. 

If you're interested in my reasons for leaving the mainstream education sector, they are pretty much summed up in this video.

New Ventures

I'm not going to just sit around and do nothing once we reach the middle of July - my conscience, desire to be 'doing' and my bank balance entirely forbid this - but as yet my plans are not finalised. That's not to say that I don't have plenty of them, however, so here's an indication of what I'll be up to:

• As we're building our own house (in the relatively slow manner that comes with doing everything yourself) I would like to dedicate as much time as possible to the project over a period of 4-6 months. If we're going to be out of the tent before January, things need to be moving more quickly, and while I'm not really any good at tasks like brick-laying, I know that there are lots of jobs I can be getting on with.
• In addition, I'll be working on the land, trying to make our vegetable consumption as self-sufficient as possible with the space we have. Since Christmas, Dan has been a pescatarian, so planting, harvesting and cooking our own vegetables has never been more important. 
• My sister owns Wold Couture, and designs and makes unique wedding dresses. She's a genius, but she hates the online world, so after making her a new website last month (it's here if you're interested!), I'll be helping a little with the marketing side of the business.
•  I'm also in the process of setting up my own business. Finally! It's a dream I've had for a long time, and while I'm still in the early stages, it's exciting to be getting going with it. The goal is to provide inspiration for a simple, sustainable lifestyle through an educational programme of courses. If it's something that you might be interested in, there's a link here to leave your email address so that you'll be the first to know of any new developments.

There's been a lot more going on, but as I said, you're getting the condensed version here. Now, that's me, but what have you been up to? 

Say hello to our new home! Last night marked the first of many evenings spent under canvas in our quest to simplify our lives, live more sustainably and save money. After having spent all of Saturday packing, cleaning, moving and organising, Sunday was designated as our official moving day. Dan finished making some adjustments to our Frontier stove, which did smoke a little when we did a trial run; after working his magic, it now seems to be running much more smoothly (thank goodness). I spent the day at the house, trying to get on top of the mountain of packing, and while I ploughed through a lot, there's still much to be done. 

We finished the day rather more happily, and with the faint hum of carols, we decorated the Christmas tree and settled in for the winter. It was a night of mixed emotions: happiness and exhiliration at finally having reached this point, but also trepidation for the months to come.

Our first morning was frantic to say the least, as I had to leave for work by 8am. We have decided against lighting the stove if I have to be at work, so instead I stole quietly into my grandparents' house (they live next door and we're going to be showering there and occasionally using their cooking facilities), grabbed something suitably smart to wear and got on with the day as normal. Except it didn't really feel like normal; always in the back of my mind was the knowledge that something significant had altered, and that when I returned, it wouldn't be to a home in the conventional sense.

Tonight, Dan has gone out for the evening to his Christmas meal with work colleagues, which leaves me in charge of the stove and of the tent. So far, so warm. I've managed to keep it alight and have enjoyed a cup of scalding hot tea, with water straight from our new boiler. I've also managed to find a smidgen of Wi-Fi, hence the post. I'm not sure yet what I make of it all, as I keep oscillating between emotions, but now I'm out of my work environment, things do seem more positive. 

The house is really the biggest cause of stress at the moment. Tomorrow, the landlord is coming around to do an inventory, and then we officially have to be out by the 31st. I'm hopeful that all of the boxes will be in storage long before then, and ideally by early next week, so that we can actually enjoy the festive period, but that seems a long way off at this point. It's strange how we all collect so many things, yet actually need very little. We have given away and recycled so many of these things, yet it still astounds me how much we have left. When we do eventually move back into a house, there will definitely be a few changes.

But for now, we move forward with hope. Hope that Bella doesn't wake us up in the middle of the night again. Hope that the house will soon stop being the burden that it currently is. Hope that despite all the stresses, strains and changes, this adventure will be everything we planned and more.

My mind feels mangled. It's been one of those slightly surreal weekends where nothing fits with reality, and yet at the same time everything feels very real and chaotic. Hours passed by in a blur, and frantic conversations dwelt on plans for the future. Somehow, when events in the wider world occur that shock us, we begin to consider our own approach to living, and whether we've got it right. Striving for a simpler lifestyle has been at the forefront of our minds for some time, but now more than ever there's the desire to hide away and live segregated from a harsh reality. Of course, that's neither possible nor practical, yet this urge is, for us at least, indicative of a disconnect with the masses that has been building for a while. It seemed only apt, then, that this weekend - despite being the windiest of the year so far - was earmarked for putting up the bell tent.

We picked up our new Frontier stove first thing on Saturday morning, and I felt a thrill of excitement knowing it would soon be our source of warmth and our sole method of cooking. After setting it alight outside to make sure all was as it should be, we set to work trying to decipher the instructions for the tent. Thankfully, it was relatively straightforward, and before we knew it our new home was formed. We peeked our noses in through the doorway and exchanged bewildered glances; on first inspection it looked very small. But once we got inside it felt quite spacious - helped, to a large extent, by the ability to stand up in the centre.

We left it overnight to battle the elements; unsurprisingly the guy ropes were flapping wildly in the wind when we returned the following morning to check if it had survived the night. The pegs that came with the tent are evidently not designed to withstand such conditions, and although disappointing, Dan is convinced that the new pegs he has ordered will do the job. I shall wait with bated breath. It's important with canvas tents to allow them to stand for a while and shrink slightly before moving in (this happens when it rains), as this allows any spots for leakage to close up - or at least that's the idea. So stand it will without occupants for a little while yet.

Meanwhile, packing is becoming a hellish process. There are boxes everywhere, and Bella doesn't know what to make of it all. I'm lighting candles and keeping the kitchen box-free in a desperate attempt to still regain some sense of calm, but I doubt it will last long. I find myself hoping not to hear a knock at the door for fear our pyramids of cardboard boxes and piles of packing material will engulf the visitor; so far we've been lucky. 

The wedding seems aeons ago. After the initial flurry of photographs and cards the dust has settled and we're almost back to normal. It's strange though; I do feel as though we're more of a team now, as if we can face anything together, and on evenings when everything gets a bit much, we think back to the memories and everything shines just that little bit brighter. 

In many ways we're starting afresh, taking our first steps as a married couple, taking those first steps to begin a new adventure, walking hesitantly and with trepidation, and while I'd hardly recommend doing everything at once as we seem to do frequently in our lives, it's invigorating nevertheless. 

When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills.
Chinese Proverb