As I’m on a quest to Walk 1000 miles this year, I seem to be manifesting some fantastic microadventures to make my quest even more interesting.  I found myself recently heading to the North Wales coastline (one of my favourite coastlines),  to glamp by the sea. Did you know there’s around 250 miles of North Wales coastline?

A trip to the coast is a delight for all of your senses. Take a deep breath in and then release slowly.  Taste the salty air, and let your taste buds imagine what treats are to come.  Stand near to crashing waves and let your skin feel the refreshing spray. Curl bare toes in the sound, letting the grains of rocks and minerals which make up the sand, caress and exfoliate.  Block out any negative thoughts with the sound of the sea lapping lazily on the seashore or the swirl of the waves as they build up, find momentum and then violently spill out all over the rocks and cliffs. Cast your gaze to the gulls drifting idly out to sea or to the boats bobbing to the motion of the ocean.

When I was young, the seaside played a big part in my life. Since my Nan’s ultimate dream was to move to North Wales by the sea, our holidays were always heavily beach related in North Wales.  Buckets and spades, frilly hats, jelly shoes and sun block were on the ‘to pack’ list whilst burying cousins in the sand, over eating ice cream, shell collecting and my Nans’s favourite ‘paddling’ was on the ‘to-do’ list.  As I reached the age of 10 or 11, school friends would holiday in the south of France,  Spain and even more exotic places. They’d ask me why I never went on holiday?  I can remember my favourite teacher stepping in and explaining to them that you didn’t need to go on a plane to go on holiday.

Going to the seaside is a typically British thing to do isn’t it?  The seaside holiday was at its peak in the 1950s and early 1960s.  Families flocked to the coastline to stay in guest houses, B&Bs and campsites,  a stone’s throw from the promise of a splashing good time and a distraction of the previous decade.  I think seaside holidays are coming back in fashion - I don’t think they ever really went out….

The health benefits of spending more time around water and in particular by the sea are of increasing interest to science.   There are many reports of people ‘feeling calmer’ by the sea, perhaps some clue in that is our body is made up of mostly water.  Still, I’m not one for needing hard facts and evidence to convince me that exposure to the sea is good for my wellbeing. I’ve seen it first hand time after time!

Now an adult, I’m extremely fortunate to live so near to the North Wales coastline. These days, beach time is a little different compared to the microadventures I shared with my Nan, but I love her for sharing and passing on her adoration for the seaside.  I lust beaches which offer coastal walks (Aberystwy to Clarach Bay is a lovely coastal walk) so I’ve to trade the jelly sandals in for more sturdy hiking boots.  I prefer to stay in quaint, quirky and more natural accommodation like the Wig-Wam I recently stayed at, which was adorable, rather than jam-packed caravan sites (sorry Nan).   I love to visit beaches out of season when they’re less crowded and dog friendly (Porthor - Whistling Sands being one of my favourites). Although, some things don’t change….  Bel seems to insist on digging herself or me in the sand, and I still over-eat on ice cream!

The UK is made up of such small islands that you’re never that far away from the coast or a beach.  It’s a perfect place for a microadventure combined with a spot of camping or glamping. I’ve not yet satisfied my salty appetite (I never will) so next month, I’m travelling to South West Wales to enjoy the Pembrokeshire award winning coast whilst at The Big Retreat Wales.

You, me and the sea - won’t you microadventure with me?

The first in our series of seasonal videos shot in the countryside. Spring here is all about frolicking lambs, dancing tulips and sowing seeds; take a look...

We’re currently at the time of year when the weather throws almost everything it has at us, often in the space of a single day. It’s not unknown in these parts to have sudden snows followed by fast thaws in April (last year’s alarmingly submerged garden being a case in point). Days can start off bright and sunny, if stingingly cold, only to turn dark and stormy a few hours later. Suddenly, as the rain hammers against the windows, that planned afternoon walk doesn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

And yet… There are times and places when the bluster is to be embraced. I looked up the meaning of ‘Elements’online and the definition(s) were very interesting. These, in particular:

‘…strong winds, heavy rain, or other kinds of bad weather’

and

‘…a person's or animal's natural or preferred environment’.

The two can go together.

There’s something incredibly life-affirming about walking up on the moors on a dark, gusty day. Perhaps it’s those Bronte novel evocations: hurrying across the spongy moss and springy heather whilst rooks circle above and gnarled, stooped old hawthorns are bent further sideways by the wind. Or simply the wild, rugged landscape providing the perfect foil for leaden skies and howling gales.

An empty beach on a stormy afternoon can be a wonderful place. The waves crashing and the smell of ozone, the blackness of wet rock and the sheer desertedness can, in an odd way, be balm for the soul. Just as with homeopathy and its basic philosophy of curing like with like, time spent outdoors embracing the elements can actually help still a turbulent mind. You become aware of your place in the universe; you gain perspective and step out of any troubling thoughts. As the wind stings your face and your eyes water, as the whistling and crashing replaces any internal chatter, you become more aware of what’s surrounding you rather than what’s going on within.

Yes, a beach is beautiful on a still summer’s day. So is a meadow, or a clearing under the trees. If I get time alone during the temperate months I sometimes escape to a little secret spot of mine, high on some banking above the woods and river. I lie back in the long grass and listen to the hum of the insects. I feel the warmth from the sun and the ground beneath me, and watch the white clouds above.

But if we only went outdoor adventuring in ‘good’ weather – well, we’d spend an awful lot of our time indoors. Particularly in Britain.

So, what to do during those long weeks where all it seems to do is rain? Some of us may subscribe to the Scandinavian notion that ‘There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing’. We might pull on the waterproofs and wellies and get out there anyway. Others may just decide that we’d rather stay home and dry. What then?

Rather a long time ago, I wrote a blog post titled ‘Proximity’. It was all about my dreams of a veranda where I could sit on rainy or snowy days and observe the weather and the garden, perhaps from under a blanket. I’d still be dry and warm but I’d be able to breathe in the damp earth smell, listen to the birds, hear the rain falling on the roof above me. We can still protect ourselves from the elements without being sealed behind double glazing, cocooned by central heating, separated from the outdoors. Veranda or not – taking shelter in a greenhouse or a garden shed brings us that bit closer to nature.

When we first moved to this house (around 18 months ago) I hated our bedroom. The ceiling is vaulted to show off the heavy oak beams. The sound of passing tractors and quarry trucks seemed super-amplified without any attic space above us and I tried to convince my other half to put in a false ceiling, insulated to muffle any unwelcome sounds. I didn’t get my way and, admittedly, I’m glad. There’s nothing more comforting on a night when the rain’s coming down in stair rods than lying in bed with a book and listening to it hitting the slates.

As a child, I’d stand with my brother, the front door wide open, watching thunderstorms. The thrill of seeing the road transform into a river, the lightening crackling across the sky whilst we were safe, even if just inches away from it, was something not to be missed. It was on just the right side of daring. Not for me, hiding under the bed! It was doing something a little bit dangerous but without any real danger there, the meteorological equivalent of putting just the one toe onto the ice before jumping back again.

Have you experienced the outdoor places you love, the special ones, where you’re in your ‘element’, in all weathers? (Perhaps not the woods on a windy day, from a purely common sense point of view). I don’t know why, but some of mine always draw me there on wilder days. Just like some of them are, to me, very autumnal or wintry places, these spots call out to me when the weather turns.

Of course, as well as blowing away the cobwebs, there’s something rewarding about coming home again with red cheeks and smarting ears and tangled hair. You appreciate those home comforts all the more. Perhaps it’s all about contrasts, extremes even. You have to experience one in order to fully appreciate the other.

Today in the journal we're introducing a new talent: Cornish poet and singer/songwriter Josiah Mortimer currently lives and works in London, but he yearns to be back by the sea. If you'd like your poem to be featured on these pages, contact one of our editors, or use the form here.

Notes from the city, to the sea

I like my water free.

Not locked in, with concrete

or hemmed with steel

The barriers of old dockland

choke the estuary,

trapped by machine-hewn granite,

bordered by quay

But on the margins of this isle

three hundred miles away

from an oceanless empire

the sea breathes effortlessly.

It lolls, and rolls,

and lazes, and lashes

with total impunity.

If you want to witness liberty –

and feel it, too –

stand on Bedruthan steps

high above the waves

They breathe into you there

so all you can think is:

‘Engulf it all’, or

‘Share that precious liberty’

But I am not on those steps

where granite is uncarved

         (not by man, at least)

or among First Nature, as it wants to be

Instead, I am back to wharf

and the cold humanity

of paved-over wetland

Terra firma, foot-worn

by those seeking

a semblance of the sea

But it’s a poor copy.

The water here is a lion, caged

There is, though, I’ll admit,

a memory –

which is, incidentally,

why I’ve come here;

remembering, yearning

for a Real Thing:

the wild roar

of Cornish coast

rattling headland, defiant

Shouting to the sky:

‘This is what it is

to be’

Here, in this huge city

I strain to hear it –

over aeroplanes, cars,

crowded high streets

But by the docks

I think I feel something

                a shared memory, or

                the song of a longing

for that precious liberty

And if I focus, I can feel

the desire of bridled water,

to roar at the sky once more –

‘I am free, truly, free’

Today we're excited to feature another small, creative business that takes its inspiration from the natural world. Deborah Vass is a painter and printmaker, and her work is centred on her garden and the surrounding countryside in the Waveney Valley. Over to her...

I have always drawn and painted and while I have exhibited my work in galleries, the discovery of such mediums as Instagram and Pinterest have allowed me to record my work daily and chart both my process and the seasonal changes, while giving me immediate and valuable feedback . My Etsy shop (almost ready!) and website allows me to present my work to a wider audience.

Although my work encompasses a variety of mediums, the common thread is a celebration of nature. My oil paintings are either: intricate and detailed studies of plants, tracing their journey from seed to decay; or, during the summer, I paint outside and love capturing the abundance and colour of the season and the plants I grow.

I draw and make studies in my sketchbooks throughout the year and these sketches can evolve into painting and prints, months or even years later. They are a way of capturing the fleeting changes of the season and are often snatched responses to moments in nature.
Printmaking is a very different medium and process. I love the combination of art and craft and find the process of carving out a print in lino very meditative. Such images arrive slowly and are frequently the result of several quite separate sketches. Birds are a favourite subject, and I like to try to capture their behaviour and habitat in the final composition.

A more recent strand has been capturing plants in plaster plaques. The idea came from a favourite childhood book, “Looking at Nature,” and were originally intended to capture and record plants while in season as reference material, but have since become works in their own right and I love composing groups of seasonal flowers and stems.

As a keen gardener, growing and nurturing plants provides an infinite supply of subject matter. Growing a plant from seed gives a particular insight and interest into its form and structure, whether it is a flower or vegetable. I love the starkness of winter and then love the colour and profusion of spring and summer – whatever season it is at the time, it is the time I love most!
I also draw inspiration from the local Suffolk Wildlife Trust Reserve, called Redgrave and Lopham Fen. I walk there regularly and it is one of the few places I feel comfortable drawing and sketching outdoors, it feels like an extension of home. It is a place of great peace and natural beauty.

The work of natural history writers also informs my work. I love the work of local writers Richard Mabey and the late Roger Deakin, whose writings alert your senses to the world around you; and also Flora Thompson and Richard Jefferies, and the poets Edward Thomas and Ted Hughes, whose observations make you look afresh.

Natural history books are a further source of joy and information. I still love and treasure my early Ladybird and Observer books and have an ever- increasing collection of bird and flower guides!

I need little encouragement to disappear for hours in to the studio! Having combined my artwork with a career in teaching English, I grab and relish what time I have. My painting is always from life and I tend to paint quickly, and until it is finished, in the garden or in the landscape to capture the plant or moment that fired me. My printmaking is a slower, more thoughtful process, combining sketches and ideas over several days. My press is a converted mangle, a somewhat capricious beast, and I love the final reveal of printing at the end of the planning and carving process.

My studio is a converted outbuilding overlooking the garden. Heating is an issue in winter, when it can get very cold indeed, but it is very peaceful and cut off from any other distractions.

In the future, I want to create an annual record of plants that are often overlooked, in sketches and paintings, throughout the year and would like to create a collection of bird prints in a similar vein. I have plans to develop my Etsy store, extend my portfolio and use my print art work on other products, but most importantly, I want to keep doing what I am doing. It gives me enormous pleasure and satisfaction and there is always the joy of another season ahead.

You can also find Deborah on Instagram, Twitter and Pinterest. Visit her Etsy shop here.

If your creative business takes inspiration from the natural world, and you'd like to be featured in a similar post on Creative Countryside, get in touch by emailing contact@creativecountryside.com. There is no payment involved; we just like to showcase creative talent whenever we can!

Last month, I put out a post on Instagram asking what people looked for when buying a magazine, and what (if anything) might put them off. It proved interesting - and heartwarming - reading. Not only have we seemingly rejected the celebrity gossip culture, we've also started rejecting magazines filled with advertising and sponsored posts. What we look for today is something much more real, filled with stories about people like you and me; something far removed from the glossy magazines that we only spend a few minutes reading before discarding on yet another pile.

Society, or at least a part of it, is removing itself from this throwaway habit, and instead is searching for publications that will stand the test of time, that can be opened in two or three years time to still provide inspiration. Naturally, given the image-focused nature of Instagram, beautiful photography was also mentioned frequently, but alongside the substantial articles and stories that set many independent magazines apart from the norm.

Here's what our magazine wish-lists look like now:

• @thefrugalcottage An eye catching/interesting cover.
• @frondandfeather Beautiful photography. Relatable, down to earth content balanced with a bit of aspirational stuff (dreamy gardens, landscapes etc).
• @niki.at.the.cottage People's faces put me off!
• @jessicacooperceramics Something that feels authentic, not salesy and full of adverts.
• @rosiehendry I look for covers featuring landscapes, illustration or beautiful photography of crafted objects. Content wise I look for a mix of stories regarding the outdoors, nature and animals, crafts and art.
• @boundbyhand I look for proper editorial… lots of lovely pictures, interviews with interesting people, perhaps themed series, and pages of things to do, too!
• @krissmacd Ideas, beautiful photography and places.
• @mooredgeinthemist Elegant design and a matte heavyweight cover. Too glossy and it feels cheap. I'd want a magazine I could keep and re-read in the future.
• @eversewdainty I love to see wonderful photography, places to visit, seasonal recipes and crafts.
• @zoepower I hate too many ads, love a mix of beautiful photography/eye candy and some substantial articles to read - otherwise it feels like one flick though and you're done in 10 mins!
• @thehyggewife It has to be aesthetically pleasing, and tell real stories about real people and not just focus on highly successful people (who aren't relatable to most). I want to see interesting people with interesting stories regardless of whether they are wealthy or famous.
• @globatris Inspiration to mind and eyes, that gives you ideas to try out; from that special botanical arrangement to new hobbies or careers!
• @capturebykaye Beautiful photographs and medium articles with lots of detail, too short and I'm left wanting more or feel I don't get value for money. Not following the in crowd or what's trendy at the moment. Seasonal inspiration.
• @catherinedanielceramics Real people, real struggles, what makes them tick, in their life and in their work/small business. And beautiful photography.
• @scrapdash What gets me to pick up a magazine are clear (not over-filtered) photos of nearly anything: landscapes, rooms capes, vignettes. What gets me to BUY a magazine is content I want to remember and refer to again. That could be a recipe, a DIY project, a list of gardening plants, self-help advice I can tack up on the cork board, that sort of stuff.
• @courtyard_cottage I look for inspiration, creativity, beautiful photographs, nature inspired, styling the seasons type content. I also love lettering. Something far far away from the raft of commercial magazines.
• @darwinboerne I'm a bit of a soft touch for uncoated stock and beautiful typography. Not too rigid a layout grid, or at least one that's so versatile it's hard to tell it's there!

Not only did comments flood in on what people were looking for, there were also a few examples and recommendations of magazines doing this well already. Here's a few you might be interested in:

• Rakesprogress - gardens, plants, flowers, people
• Ernest Journal - slow adventures, curious histories, timeless style, wild food, workmanship
• Another Escape - outdoor lifestyle, creative culture, sustainable living
• Elementum Journal - a journey of nature and story
• Taproot Magazine - for makers, doers and dreamers

Finally, it was reassuring to hear many of the comments, as they align with our ethos and the decisions we've made about the Creative Countryside magazine. For instance:

• we will be an ad-free magazine
• our aim is to be inspirational rather than a how-to guide
• the magazine will be printed on uncoated, heavy-weight recycled paper
• we'll be featuring real people with interesting stories to tell
• we'll also be including small creative businesses who share our love of nature
• our content will have longevity: it will continue to be relevant, year after year
• there'll be beautiful photographs - of course!

P.S. If you like the sound of what we're about, sign up to join our community for seasonal inspiration, magazine updates, and a free e-book on how to live a seasonal year.

A broom left out of the cupboard, a door half-opened, a book with the page folded over (surely signifying something of importance to the reader), a linen curtain, pulled aside. This house is lived in. Yet, something is different. Careful consideration has been taken in choosing the linen drapes: raw edges but of a thick, quality material; the dishes on the kitchen shelves are imperfectly shaped: handmade; the home is decorated with natural elements, in a way that seems neither to disturb the elements nor the domestic quality of the house: simply, nature brought indoors.

Glimpse into the intentional home and you will find life; a bit of mess, some laundry and a dish or two in the sink. However, you are also likely to come across well-made items of a sturdy material, handmade ceramics, a couple of rustic storage bins and a soft, dreamy bed. The considered home is one of purposefully chosen items, meaningful exchanges, and comfort away from the hurried world. It is aesthetically pleasing without taking away from the functionality and comfort that it offers. The intentional home is a refuge from worries and gives meaning to those that dwell within the shelter it provides.

I began learning about creating an intentional household years ago when the slow living movement was still being brought to life. However, it wasn’t until earlier this year that I actively strived for it. I was coming out of a very busy year and wanted the new one to be less hurried, more meaningful. I work from home and as a mother, spend a lot of time in the house with my young baby, so I knew if I wanted to create more meaning in my life, it had to begin with my home.

Through my experience of creating a more intentional household, I have learned a lot about “home” and how deep a meaning it holds for us... Our home is our shelter, our nest. It keeps us safe from the elements, and provides a soft place to land. It is a nesting ground, if you will. Yet, it serves as more than just a functional necessity. “Home” is the center of our world, the hinge on which our lives revolve.

So, what is ‘the intentional household’ made of?

1. Items that matter: the intentional household is one that has been cleared of clutter... the things left are the things that matter: the things we use daily, the things we know we will need, the things that bring us joy each day just by being there. Photos and keepsakes are important parts of our homes, too, and as long as each has been considered and deemed meaningful, should not be considered clutter.
2. Handmade items: whether it be a collage your child made or a homemade loaf of bread, handmade items are an important part of homemaking. Making things in our homes helps us to feel more a part of our homes, and thus more content with them. One can also buy handmade items from others. Buying handmade can bring so much joy to our homes; it celebrates artists and makers and their small businesses, and allows us to hold something unique and made with dedication.
3. Quiet moments: we cannot create intentional homes if we cannot find moments to be still and intentional ourselves. Quiet moments are vital to awareness and reflection. We can make our homes more fitting for these moments by adopting a concept from the Danish, called “hygge.” In English, it means ‘coziness’ and is often associated with welcoming spaces, warm blankets and candles. These things can help us create a sense of calm and relaxation in our homes.
4. Simple food: the intentional household is intentional through and through. The kitchen too, will have been considered: what ingredients you keep stocked up will depend on your family’s needs, but having a well-stocked kitchen keeps us prepared for making things from scratch, and thus being able to make things ourselves.
5. Good company: put your phone down. Turn off the TV. Be aware of the people who are there with you. Yes, you may see them every day, but don’t become blind to what is right in front of you. Talk face to face, without distractions. Sit down for dinner together. Make something together. Even if you live alone, make an effort to invite others over. Our homes should be a place where we spend quality, meaningful time with the ones we care about.

The intentional home is a place of comfort, of consideration, of thoughtfulness. It is a soft place to land, a nesting ground. It is lived in: a tea towel, tossed on the table after a hurried breakfast, a book, left open, a blanket, unfolded... yet everything: considered. The intentional home captures our lives in a tangible way. It envelopes the things that give our lives meaning, and it is these things...like a book whose spine creaks from too much handling...that bring the intentional home to life.

Today is the first post from our new Adventure Editor, Chelsea. If you haven't seen our introduction to the new editors yet, head over here to find out more.

When I imagine adventurous escapades, I think of climbing up intimidating rock faces, trekking across uncertain terrain and paddling downstream as though your life depended on it.  However, as I embark deeper onto my Walk 1000 2017 challenge, I’m finding that everyday is an adventure, it just depends on your perspective. Last month, I walked through forests and woodlands and not only did I meet a few interesting souls along the way, it brought back much loved childhood memories. I’ve come to the conclusion that woodlands and forests certainly match the definition of a microadventure:

“Outdoor adventure that is small and achievable for normal people with real lives.” Alastair Humphreys

The woodland next door to my Nan’s house was a playground for me whilst growing up. Winter saw us re-purposing bin bags as sledges and whooshing down the banks, dodging the trees.  Autumn saw us enjoying the crunchy leaves.  Spring saw us picking bluebells and daffodils. Summer saw us playing hide and seek, hoping we wouldn't be found, yet our laughter echoed for all to hear.

We eventually moved near to a valley. Mum and I along with our two cats in the summer would go deep into the valley equipped with a packed lunch and an art set. We’d attempt to paint the scenery as Merlin and Misty played in the grass, trying to catch the gentle and unsuspecting field mice.  I was too young to perhaps appreciate how valuable this part of my childhood was.  Although I do remember cloud watching and marvelling at the idea that this paradise belonged to me.  There were many happy memories in that valley including learning to ride my first bike which resulted in a very nasty nettle rash!

Then I grew up - teenage years hit and I preferred to hang out with the local crowd; my priorities changed, unfortunately. Fast forward a decade and I met my partner who grew up in his Grandad’s forest, we moved to tree-infested Wales and just like that, my love for being surrounded by life’s giants has come back again.

"As a child I used to play in the woods with my best friend, we had a tree we called the Diamond Tree as we used to polish stones and hide them in a little nook at the bottom.”  Caroline Devonport

As I said in the beginning, Alistair’s definition of a microadventure matches perfectly with the woodland and forestry terrain since they’re accessible and mostly free to everyone in the UK.  For those of us who can’t take off for X amount of time because of commitments and such things, we do have our forests and woodlands to take time out in. I think they’re a perfect environment for young minds just starting out and equally for grown ups who want to reconnect with nature.  There are so many benefits associated with wooded areas including creativity, increased immunity and better cognitive development.  Personally I think that makes perfect sense considering trees give us oxygen and that’s the ‘stuff’ us humans need to function on!

Now I get to create more memories on a daily basis without having to trek across the world (although I’d love to see the Californian Redwood in home territory). It’s a pleasure watching my pup’s eyes almost pop out of her head at the sight of a selection of perfectly chewable sticks.  She face-dives into muddy bogs and bounces on the springy, moss-covered floor.  I enjoy late night walks among the woods with my partner, letting go of the day’s events and breathing in the clean oxygen the trees willingly give us.  I enjoy watching the fog creep around the tree barks and I bask in the morning sunrise which paints the woodland scenery in a shimmering gold.

10 Tree Inspired Adventures

• Climb a tree
• Play hide and seek
• Collect different types of leaves / conkers
• Identify the different trees there are
• Wild camp
• Build a shelter
• Find a comfortable spot to sit and read
• Forage
• Take pictures
• Paint a picture of a tree or of a woodland scene

Psst! In the summer you can find me walking and biking among Coed Y Brenin forest.

Up high on the vast, open swathes of moorland, the landscape is limited only by the framing of our human vision. A concerted effort to strain your eyes wider, beyond their natural aperture, reveals yet more aching openness, the horizon wide and expansive; open, wild, raw.

Yet within these great vistas of peat, grit, limestone and heather, brought to life in sudden bursts by the guttural shrieking of flushed grouse, lays one of the countryside’s great dichotomies: the wider the expanse and greater the openness, the deeper the introspection that is attained and attuned.

I gaze outwards, to gaze inwards. Scanning the jagged landscape allows me to explore the contours of my own mind and soul, in ways that are seemingly constricted by the confines of urban environments.

And for me, weather – especially in the Peak District – is a natural phenomenon that only exacerbates this feeling. Out here, weather clings to the landscape with resolute stoicism: clouds latch onto moorland hilltops and sit there, passive and yet active, shrouding the slopes with mystery and promising a deeper escapism than fair weather permits.

For me, walking in bad weather in the Peak District has become something of a pilgrimage. When mist envelops the landscape in secrecy, or engorged clouds sit heavy and swollen on peat moorland, it draws with almost magnetic power: escape, escape, escape.

Bad weather only exacerbates the feeling of intimacy and introspection when walking in this raw, elemental environment. The expanse of the outdoors rewards me with the physical and mental escape from urban living, but the weather adds an even greater level of intimacy to the experience. I am lost in an expanse of moorland, yet this vast panorama is made intimate and framed by the immediacy of the weather affecting it.

It is a feeling of enclosure within expansiveness.

And this is what I tried to capture with a camera, on a cold, windswept rainstorm in February.

Welcome to our first installment of Creative in the Countryside. Over the coming months and seasons I will be bringing you the stories of some fascinating creative people and learning all about their relationship with the countryside and how it shapes their creativity.

First up is Alicia Hall of Botanical Threads. Alicia creates dyes from all kinds of botanicals (but usually the skins and stones of the avocados she’s eaten that week!), and uses them to create beautiful scarves, tea towels, and, in the very near future, clothing. As a blogger interested in slow and simple living, botanical dyeing seems like the perfect slow activity, from the weeks of pre-preparation and the days spent soaking, so I jumped at the chance to find out more.

I asked Alicia to tell us a little more about botanical dyeing, and got to grips with her relationship with nature and the countryside.
 

First things first for the uninitiated: what is botanical dyeing?

Botanical dye is a dye that is made using part or all of a plant. For example rosemary and lavender produce a dye from their leaves, the madder plant produces a dye from its roots, and the dye from avocados is extracted from their stones and skins. The dyes can be extracted just by soaking the plants in hot water, though sometimes they need the addition of chalk or iron to enhance the colours.
 

How did you get into botanical dyeing?

During the day I work as a gardener for the National Trust and I first came across botanical dyeing in a gardening book. I then spent the next 3 weeks collecting carrot tops from the vegetable garden at work and made my first dye: a lovely green colour that I dyed a canvas bag with.

Unfortunately I discovered that carrot top dye is not in the slightest bit colour-fast and within a few days the green colour had faded to almost nothing, so this led me to spend a long time researching and practicing techniques.

How does your work as a gardener influence your creativity?

It sounds a little strange but whenever I take something to the compost bin I wonder if I could use it to make a dye. I suppose it's a bit like the gardener who won't throw away any of the seedlings he's sown - even if he's got fifty good ones he still wants to keep the crooked and poorly-looking ones too. I always wonder if my wheelbarrow of deadheads and plant cuttings could hide the secret to a wonderful new dye colour that I'm yet to discover.
 

What is it that you love about botanical dyeing and creating in the countryside?

I really love plants and to me it’s a new way to connect with nature. There’s something really nice about creating beautiful things from natural ingredients, especially in the chemical filled world that we are living in. It makes me look a the world in a different way and I feel like I am keeping up a forgotten art. This is what we did before we created chemical dyes.

Everyone here in the countryside is just so friendly. I don't know if it's because there's less of us and we have to travel a little further to get to each other, but everyone stops for a chat and says hello. There's a sense of community and people seem to want to work with you, rather than compete with you.

The beautiful thing about botanical dyes is that they can be unpredictable: the age of the plant, the soil that it is grown in, the water used for making the dye and how the plants have been stored can all affect the colour of the dyes. Sometimes this can mean a subtle shift in tones, whereas other times this can mean a totally different colour is produced (for example, goldenrod flowers produce a yellow if they are open and a green dye is produced if the plant is used before it is flowering).

Why is it important to you to be connected with nature in your dyeing?

Because I use plant-based fabrics and obviously plants to make my dyes I feel it's important to understand where they came from and how they grow. I suppose it would be a bit like a cheese maker not knowing that the milk they used came from cows. Getting out in nature and seeing it grow and thrive also reinforces for me how important it is for small businesses like myself to do all they can to protect out beautiful world and to use processes that have the least negative impact possible.
 

How are you inspired by the countryside more generally?

Sometimes my mind is so busy that I need to get out in the fresh, open air to clear it and the countryside is the best way to do that. I also think that Mother Nature really does come up with the best ideas: different colour combinations of flowers that have self seeded together gives me ideas for new colours to try out or an overgrown patch filled with nettles makes me wonder if I can use the weeds that everyone else thinks are a pain.
 

This is a question I’m going to ask everyone, and I can’t wait to compare all the answers! Where in the world is your favourite countryside?

My favourite countryside is where I live on the Wiltshire/Somerset border. I am such a home bird! I think because I originally come from the other side of the country that I appreciate my surrounding landscape that little bit more, as it's all still relatively new to me. It's funny to think that when I was younger I dreamed of living in London whereas now I love driving down country lanes, getting held up by tractors and flocks of turkeys (true story).

And it's not all just green fields and hedges here. We have the famous white horses, stone circles and I can often hear the army practicing whatever they practice on Salisbury Plain. Often on a Sunday afternoon the noise travels so far that it makes the windows in my house rattle. I also love the hilly, undulating landscape which gives me views for miles, and I love to observe the changing scenery. At the moment I am really looking forward to the first signs of the yellow rapeseed fields.

You can find Alicia on Instagram @botanicalthreads (all images in today's post are from this account) to see more of the behind the scenes of her process. Her store is at www.botanicalthreads.co.uk, but keep checking back as she sells out quickly!

This post was inspired by an earlier interview I did with Alicia on my blog where we covered botanical dyeing in more detail.

Welcome to spring!

Spring Rituals

• Spring clean using natural products. You only need lemon juice, bicarbonate of soda, distilled white vinegar and a bit of beeswax. For more tips head over to this article.
   
• Wake a little earlier to make the most of the longer days. Think it's impossible? Get inspired.
   
• Make time for other simple pleasures: introduce one of these rituals and you'll get your motivation back in no time.

3 Seasonal Recipes

Sauteed spring greens, bacon + mustard seeds
Rhubarb, orange and almond cake
Broad bean hummus with lemon zest + mint
 

3 Books for Spring

1. The Book of the Green Man (Ronald Johnson)
2. The Wild Life: A Year of Living on Wild Food (John Lewis-Stempel)
3. Arboreal: A Collection of New Woodland Writing (Ed. Adrian Cooper)

This post is a shorter version of our spring email sent out to members of our free community. Want to join? Click here - we'd love to have you!

Today is the first post from our new Nature Editor, Sarah. If you haven't seen our introduction to the new editors yet, head over here to find out more.

I always associate spring with the nature table. At primary school we always had a little display in the corner of the classroom with pussy willow stems in jam jars and a plastic tray filled with frogspawn. As the tadpoles sprouted legs, our teacher would prop the tray up at one end to enable them to crawl out of the water.

We were lucky to attend a village school with beautiful countryside on our doorstep. On hot days lessons would be abandoned in favour of walks outdoors, impromptu games of rounders simply having our lessons on the field.

Our headteacher, the charmingly-named Mr Chalk, would place a jar of seasonal stems or flowers on top of the piano at the beginning of each week – daffodils or teasels or holly. And during our daily assembly he’d tell us little stories, often with a nature theme (I always remember one about a man mistaking a priceless rare black tulip bulb for an onion and eating it). There’d be an annual autumn fair and we would make corn dollies to sell alongside the cakes and bric-a-brac.

Several years ago, Country Living magazine ran a campaign to bring the nature table back into schools. It stressed the importance of children not becoming isolated from the natural world, of their knowing about food sources and of spending time outdoors for physical and mental wellbeing. Of course, that holds true today and it’s something many of us feel very strongly about. Children are the future custodians of our countryside, after all. And there’s something incredibly fulfilling about watching them exploring and adventuring outside. To youngsters, the world seems a huge place where everything is amplified and where anything is possible. Insects and plants, woodland and water hold boundless opportunities for learning and imaginative play.

Finding and collecting natural things to touch and feel and study is hugely beneficial. An understanding of the seasons and curiosity about plants and animals are just two things the traditional nature table can foster.

But what about us grown-ups?  What relevance does the nature table hold for us?

I’m a collector. Partly because of my vocation as an artist – my workroom has jars of shells and dried seaweed from holidays by the sea, pots of feathers, pieces of driftwood and countless specimens of dried flowers and leaves – but also because I just love having these things around my home. When I was very little, my auntie and uncle lived in a beautiful old cottage. There was an occasional sitting room replete with rich velvets and tapestries where nobody really ventured, but I always tiptoed in there when we visited. A huge, dark oak dresser held all kinds of treasured antique china but there was one tiny detail which fascinated me: a twig with three little pine cones attached. I don’t know why I was so enamoured with it, but I was. And to this day I always have bits of nature in the house. My mantelpiece even holds a tiny, fragile bird’s skull found on a beach on the Isle of Skye. Pheasant’s feathers, too. And always a vase of simple seasonal blooms next to my mum’s photograph.

Because a nature table doesn’t have to be just that. You can adorn a windowsill, a shelf or a gap in a bookcase with finds and each time you see them you’ll feel connected to the outdoors and the seasons.

You can arrange, style and admire to your heart’s content. Or (like me) study, draw then press or preserve your little collection before going out and gathering again. These details can also be a source of inspiration or comfort on a dark day.

So what’s out there right now to bring indoors? Well, a great deal. Not just from fields and hedgerows either. Rather than picking wild flowers*, scout around the garden for snowdrops, daffodils, early cowslips, muscari, hellebores, fritillaries. Stems of catkins or magnolia and other early-flowering shrubs look beautiful in a simple stoneware jug or bottle. And consider having some flowering bulbs, too. There’s something particularly lovely about seeing living, growing things indoors during the colder months and bulbs do signify the end of winter for me.

Other items can be placed alongside to make a small display. Feathers, blown quail’s eggs and (if you’re lucky enough to find one) old nests which have been blown down. For those stylists amongst you – and I confess to being a bit of an aspiring one myself – consider leaving drawings, cards or beautiful nature books lying open ready to read. Following on from vintage Observer guides, Edith Holden’s The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady and The Nature Notes of an Edwardian Lady (both published posthumously and taken from her collected nature notes) is seeing a resurgence. The watercolour studies are exquisite and evocative. I found my second–hand copies online for next to nothing and I now treasure them.

Of course, this isn’t all a case of simply prettifying the home. Not that there’s anything wrong in that. But bringing nature indoors increases our sense of closeness to it. It’s wonderful to watch the seasons from the window but even better to get out there and experience them fully: the smells, the textures, the sounds. We all have access to somewhere green where there will be little gifts to spot and put in a pocket, later to be brought back home and admired.

One last thing, though, and it’s an important one: always be responsible if you’re collecting things to bring home. Never dig plants up from the wild or disturb bird’s nests which are still where they should be (as opposed to having been blown down). Likewise, always take just a small amount of any one thing. Wildlife depends on many flowers and berries as a food source.

*You can find a list of our protected plants and flowers here: https://www.gov.uk/guidance/protected-plants-protection-surveys-and-licences.