All images courtesy of the very lovely Annie Spratt, unless otherwise stated.

I can't quite believe it's taken me over three weeks to formulate the words to tell you about the very first Creative Countryside Winter Gathering. What began as a late night musing on Instagram led to 18 of us holed up in the Peak District for the first weekend of the new year. It was rejuvenating, inspiring, incredibly hard work(!), and taught me so much about how I want to build this community from now on.

My sister, Jess, came along as my indispensable co-host, and we arrived mid-afternoon on the Friday at Dalehead Bunkhouse, near Edale, to set up. Darkness steadily rolled in as we decorated with greenery and prepared for the first attendees to arrive. I'd chosen a location nearby a train station (I don't know about you, but arriving by train always feels a bit more stress-free), and after a couple of pick-ups we were settled for the night. 

We began with cider bellini cocktails (which turned out to be a bit more lethal than we'd imagined...) and coupled with a roaring fire, they helped encourage the group of strangers to bond and connect. Before dinner, Mugdha from Kindred & Kind led a herbal tea talk and tasting, and as someone who absolutely hates licquorice, the blend that included it was surprisingly delicious! Jess and I then got on with food preparations, before leading everyone through to feast on creamy mushroom and herb pasta followed by mulled winter fruits and spiced gingerbread.

Conversation flowed in the candlelight and slowly people moved up to bed, or closer to the fire for late night reading. Sleep eluded me that night, but we were up early to make the most of the day.

Just as the sun was rising, Elizabeth led an inspiring meditation with around half the group. I've always struggled with the concept, but her advice that you're supposed to get distracted, that it's coming back to focus that's of most importance, really rang true. The flames of the fire crackled and popped as we were still with our thoughts and Elizabeth's guidance. The second half of the group had left early to explore the hills, and returned just in time for buckwheat pancakes for breakfast.

I managed to escape for half an hour or so to explore with my camera, and it was wonderful to see so many others doing the same, despite the early hour. Creative Countryside's online editor Chelsea then led us over the hills and through the valley on a mindfulness walk. The brief rainstorm lent even more meaning to her words, as were guided to take note of the feel of the mossy wall, acknowledge our senses, and connect with our emotions. A potential stumbling block - a deep boggy pit right next to a stile - was avoided thanks to the characterful farmer who let us walk down his track, albeit with the caveat, "Don't make a habit of it!"

We returned with handfuls of foraged greenery, a few berries, and skeletons of winter grasses, ready to begin our foliage crown workshop, led by Jess. Event bags were handed out, and included craft aprons from Pursuit England, a luxurious green bath potion from Magic Organic Apothecary, lavender firelighters from Rebecca Fletcher, The Almanac by Lia Leendertz, and smudge sticks to cleanse the air from Kindred & Wild.

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Eleanor Cheetham

Lunch was a warm cumin roasted carrot and lentil salad, with a cashew nut cheese that I'd never made before, which turned out to be incredibly popular! It was followed by two workshops: pouring our own beeswax candles, and learning all about the process from Francey at Tea and Wildflowers, and a very relaxed mini wreath-making session. It was wonderful to watch as some became engrossed in the creative act of wreath design, and our candles took on so much more meaning once we'd added our words to the glass jars - all taken from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Jess Townsend

Before our Twelfth Night feast, we ventured out into the half-darkness to wassail. After wishing each other wassail (or 'good health') and taking a sip of mulled organic Wyld Wood cider from the antique cider mug, we poured cider onto the roots of an apple tree I'd brought from our orchard at home, adding a cider-soaked piece of toast into its boughs, hoping for a prosperous apple harvest for the year ahead. The ceremony then moved on to a raucous session of banging pots and pans to rid the air of evil (insect) spirits, and we closed by eating an apple from my orchard at home, and I encouraged everyone to plant the core and start their own apple-growing.

Image: Jess Townsend

The temperature had dropped and we returned indoors. Our handmade beeswax candles decorated the table, and we feasted on spiced celeriac soup with za'atar, honey-roasted vegetables with quinoa and pesto, and mini apple crumbles. We lingered at the dinner table before venturing outside again to do a spot of stargazing. Shooting stars flashed across the sky as we picked out constellations and attempted to take photographs. 

Image: Sarah Porteus

Image: Sarah Porteus

Our final morning began with a few heading up to Mam Tor to watch the sunrise. The rest of us grabbed a bowl of Nordic spiced porridge and packed up the last of our possessions. A few left early with a long drive ahead, but we stayed awhile in Edale, exploring the village and surrounding fields, and enjoying a hearty pub lunch before saying our goodbyes.

Image: Sarah Porteus

Image: Sarah Porteus

I'm not brilliant with texting people back or replying to emails immediately, and I definitely haven't done half the things I've wanted to with the online Creative Countryside community so far, but in a way these real life meet-ups are the antidote to all of that chaos. I met Chelsea for the first time, and Sarah, our folklore editor, too.  So many of the people that attended have been involved in the magazine. And some I'd never really chatted to before. It was a real mix of truly interesting creatives, and I'm so grateful to have had the chance to get to know them more.

At this time of year when the grey and moody language of winter sets the tone for the month of January, I find myself in need of a little nurturing for the soul.  Mornings covered in frost, the light glinting on the horizon through a sea of fog and the glow of Christmas past make me long for the tiniest glimmer that spring is on its way.  However, I’ve found that for me the best antidote to a bad case of January blues is to try to embrace what the season may hold and savour winter’s last hurrah.

Heading off into the woods for the weekend, our little family of four did just that.  Off the beaten track in the New Forest is Warborne Farm, a family-run 100 acre farm which boasts a selection of lovingly converted boutique barns.  Perfect for retreats, families, couples and those who need nothing but cosiness, long walks and a chance to while away the hours in the wilderness of the forest.

Arriving after dark, The Grain Loft, our home from home for the weekend was lit up with the glow of a roaring fire within the woodburner.  Warmth, cosiness and the rustic feel of natural materials intermingled with exposed piping and industrial chic set the tone for the décor.  Handmade to perfection - from the sheep fleeces on the beds from the farm’s own flock and light fitting made from the original pulley system used for hauling up hessian sacks of grain for storing, to shutters handmade by Kate’s mum Ann, bedside tables carved from blocks of Douglas Fir from the New Forest and sills once part of an old sunken barge found emerging from the mudflats.  Modern, rustic but luxurious to boot. 

Everything has been created with an ambience of slow living in mind, helping guests to switch off from the hustle and bustle and reclaim time for themselves.  Perhaps one of the most special and unexpected features of our stay in The Grain Loft was a viewing window in the floor of the sitting room, from which we could watch and marvel at our neighbours below – a family of Boer goats.  I cannot tell you how magical it was to being able to witness the sweet scene beneath our feet.  I’ve never felt more like Heidi. 

Dragging ourselves away from goats and mugs of bedtime hot chocolate, the girls’ bedroom proved to be the stuff of little girls’ dreams.  Former stalls in the loft have been converted into a stunning 4 berth dorm complete with beds furnished with hay mattresses made from ox-eye daisies, ladies bedstraw and other wild flowers from the farm’s meadows.  Our bedroom didn’t disappoint either.  Soft sheepskin and downy pillows ensured a night of dreaming we were snuggled up in a chalet deep in the snowy Alps.  It’s these beautiful little touches which make staying at Warborne so magical.  A cavernous copper bath and time spent reading and chatting by the fire with a large glass of wine ensured the perfect digital detox. 

Waking to a day of planned adventures, the surrounding heathland ensured that we had time to daydream whilst spotting wild ponies, collecting pine cones and getting muddy and rosy-cheeked with our dogs.  There’s also the seaside town of Lymington to explore if you wish to venture out for supplies and take a bracing walk along the sea walls.  However there’s heaps to draw you back to the farm.  Picking your own organic vegetables from the plentiful polytunnels, finding buckets by the front door with treats to feed the farm’s Kune Kune pigs and being able to collect your own eggs for breakfast from the hen house are all highly recommended.  We loved savouring the simple things and enjoying the beauty of midwinter at its best.  No need for screen time, although there are televisions and Wifi in each of the barns should you not be able to resist.  Our little ones spent hours just running about, visiting the farm’s many animals and bouncing off the top of the bales in the hay barn. 

There’s a touch of old fashioned farm living about Warborne Farm.  Our weekend stay gave us much needed time, space and freedom to enjoy a little midwinter magic.  I think that perhaps the most important thing I shall take away with me is just finding a space to be able to let myself switch off and enjoy my wintry surroundings.  It’s those moments I shall savour rather than try to rush the time away until we welcome spring again with open arms.  As Johanna Spyri, the author of Heidi wrote, “Let's enjoy the beautiful things we can see, my dear, and not think about those we cannot.”

Not every fairytale has a fairy godmother, altruistic and giving, always on hand to grant a wish and wave a magic wand to set everything right for the downtrodden hero or heroine of the story. Some protagonists of the old folk stories weren’t always lucky as Cinderella and Dorothy, the less fortunate hero and heroines didn’t encounter Glinda the good witch of the North, instead they happened across the terrifying being that is Baba Yaga.

I find Baba Yaga a most intriguing character in Slavic mythology. Always drawn to the more austere and gothic edges of folklore as opposed to the rose tinted happy endings of modern fairy tales, Baba Yaga captivates my attention as there are so many conflicting tales surrounding her, none of which can give any clue of her true desires and intentions. She is a chaotic neutral force that grants help when asked but her methods are never pretty, sometimes leaving the protagonist feeling like they should have never begged her help in the first place.

Unpredictable and volatile, Baba Yaga is sometimes perceived as a mother nature figure but one trope that is always consistent throughout the lore that surrounds her is that she eats those unfortunates who cannot complete her tasks. Depicted as heinously ugly to behold, she is a crone with iron teeth and a long nose who travels through the sky in a mortar and pestle.

Another intriguing feature of hers that appeals to the fifteen year old goth version of me is  that of her house.  One of the most iconic motifs surrounding the Baba Yaga mythos is that she lives in a hut in the centre of the deep dark woods (like many witches of folklore) but what sets her hut apart from your run-of-the-mill forest witch is that her hut is has it’s own pair of long, giant & gnarled chicken legs. The hut is believed to be alive (As much as a hut can be alive) and possess its own personality. The hut roves about the forest, like an elemental force of its own, perhaps seeking out those in need of Baba Yaga. People can often tell when they are in Baba Yaga’s presence before seeing her for when she is around, the winds turn wild and whistle through the trees which creak and groan as the air turns bitter cold.

Baba Yaga appears throughout history, first referenced in text in a Russian Grammar book in 1755 as a figure lifted from Slavic folklore. It’s likely that her origins derived from many ancient oral tales that later were built upon, frayed and reconstructed into written folk stories.

Although unmoral and dangerous, Baba Yaga never goes after anyone unprovoked and the stories that surround her are generally told from the point of view of the people that encounter her. One such story is the that of Vasilisa, a Cinderella-like character who’s stepmother and sisters severely mistreat her. Her family send her into the forest on an impossible quest for the fire of Baba Yaga (who serves in this tale as a wicked fairy godmother) and Vasilisa finds herself faced with completing a variety of exhausting tasks set by the witch under the threat of her life. Upon completing the tasks, Baba Yaga sends her back to her family with the fire as requested however when Vasilisa brings it home, the fire which is contained inside a  magic skull, burns her family to death as punishment for their cruelty. Not exactly the nicest way to treat even those who’ve wronged you but it’s not the way of Baba Yaga to be forgiving or gentle.

I don’t know about you, but when it comes to villainy I feel a little weary and tired of an antagonist that is inherently evil. Their motives are normally along the  lines of world domination (here’s looking at you Voldemort) or they’re just terrible people and want to eat small children. I struggle with the concept that people can be all good or all evil which in modern fairy tales often has a clearly defining line. Those who are considered evil and villainous often have a backstory that details a history of suffering or abuse or it’s completely unexplained and they are just outright chaotic bad and only ever do bad things to people.

I find the notion of a neutral villain far more appealing; Baba Yaga is an elemental force that has no definable intentions and does terrible things because she has no moral compass although she is willing to help those who prove themselves. Villainy isn’t perhaps an apt word for a character like Baba Yaga, for she comes from a branch of folktale where there is no defining line of good and bad. The characters of older tales tend to find themselves on a spectrum of good to evil but ultimately it’s their actions that define them.

This approach to character design feels more raw, realistic and relatable. Is it not the most appealing part of a fairy tale to find ourselves in a surreal experience but able to relate to the protagonists? I don’t know about you but these days I’m slightly apathetic towards the myriad of fairy tales featuring melodramatic heroes, peril-prone altruistic and altogether vanilla heroines and villains who are both predictable and shallow in their intentions. Give me a flawed protagonist any day and while you’re at it, an antagonist that has perhaps more than just humble personality traits of narcissism and megalomania, one that surprises, twists and turns the plot. One both unpredictable and wild, unfathomable and enduring; one like Baba Yaga.

Slow down. Release anxiety. Pay attention to what is happening around you. Give thanks for whatever abundance you’ve found. Don’t take things or moments for granted. Be wise with your time.

The universe whispered these messages to me over and over and over again until I was ready to listen (read: until I had ignored them long enough to find a practical solution to my problems). If I’m being honest, the prospect of tiny living was a means to an end (hello, just paid off my student loans and I don’t love being in debt), but our foray into a simpler lifestyle has brought so much more than financial freedom.

Long before I ever met him, my now-husband, Matt, learned about the tiny house movement and planned on living out his bachelor days in a custom tiny home on wheels- it would provide him simplicity, freedom, and enable his tendencies to be outside at every moment possible. But then we met and started dating and a couple of years later we were married and the idea of tiny houses were a dream from the past. Around the time of our first anniversary, I started contemplating going back to school, but wary of the mountain of debt that was sure to accrue, brought up tiny homes again. Smaller space plus cheaper rent equals more money to do xyz. At first, my Matt didn’t take me seriously. In fact, it wasn’t until I made him drive to a city three hours away to attend a festival where we could tour multiple tiny homes (for design inspiration, of course) that he realized this wasn’t just a whim.

We spent the next year dreaming, designing, and building our home with the help of my father and grandfather, both of whom have decades of construction experience. I so enjoyed designing the aesthetic of the home and getting to collaborate on creating solutions to make our house as functional as possible. We worked in the evenings and almost every weekend building our dream home, and just after our second anniversary, we pulled out of the driveway with our home in tow.
 

We’re approaching six months of tiny living, in our new, beautiful home in a new, beautiful place nestled up to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, and this is what I’ve learned:

It is so incredibly important to slow down. Those messages from the universe are resonant with our new lifestyle, but I still have to actively chase after peaceful and conscious moments, choose to be intentional with the ways I spend my time, and create space in my daily agenda for gratitude. Slow living doesn’t come natural to many of us, but once you dip a toe, the pool of calm and presence and ritual is one that draws you in.
 

For those of you aching for a respite, tired of the daily busy-ness, I wish you slow moments. You don’t need a tiny house to be more present. Steep a kettle of tea, spend an evening by the fireplace with a book, or cast on a new knitting project to keep your hands busy. Send a note to a pen-pal or call your mom just to say hello. Set aside five minutes to meditate before you go to bed. Get outside and take a walk. Take in the beauty of your surroundings. Just a few minutes of mindful slowness a day makes a world of difference.

Sarah Beth

https://www.slowlyandtrue.com/

‘Weather cannot be divorced from the outdoors experience and nor should it be.’ Tristan Gooley

If you’re someone who spends time outside in the UK then you’ll be acutely aware of the weather. We have to be because it can determine if a day goes to plan or not and more than once I’ve wished I could enjoy the outdoors without the elements but as Gooley says, we shouldn’t. With a little understanding and patience, the elements can yield clues for navigating. Yes, we have maps, GPS, and even our phones so we’re not reliant on natural navigation anymore but there’s still value in observing how the natural world is behaving around us.

It’s essential to observe the weather from the outset of your journey because often clues are in the changes. If you don’t know which way the wind was blowing an hour ago, you won’t know it’s turned.

In fact, wind direction is a great place to start. The ancient Greek name for different winds was interchangeable with the direction they came from; for example, Boreas, the name for the cold wind from the north (and the God of winter) could be used to mean the direction north. In the ancient world the characteristics of a wind would be analysed to detect from where it blew but in modern times we’ve flipped this so we look at the direction to try and predict what’s coming. Where a wind comes from gives us clues about what it might bring with it. A westerly wind coming off the sea will bring damp, maybe rain. As we saw last year, a southerly wind can turn the sky orange with Saharan dust while also bringing heat and dry air.

Historically the clarity of air has been used to predict weather too. The sky appears a darker shade of blue when the air is extremely dry or at high altitude because the short waves of blue light aren’t being scattered by clouds or pollutants in the atmosphere. The Polynesians used the twinkling of the stars to judge weather conditions, as twinkling is caused by wispy cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere.

While this all sounds more like weather forecasting than navigation, they are incredibly closely linked. If you can tell where the wind comes from and what it might have encountered on its way, i.e. mountains or sea, from the weather it brings, then you can learn about a landscape even if you can’t see it.

If you know the prevailing wind direction of a place then natural features become points on a vast compass. Trees bent like cartoon hags go with the direction of the prevailing wind and are easy to spot. More subtle is the weathering of a hill or mountainside. The slope facing into the wind (windward) might have less vegetation, smoother rock, and curves while the sheltered side (leeward) will gather dust, leaves and shingle and will usually be dryer than the windward side.   

While this is only a small introduction to a huge topic, winter is a fantastic time to tune into nature. Start small, notice changes in the wind while out walking and slowly you’ll become more perceptive.

Happy navigating!

One month of no meat, dairy, eggs or honey...are you giving it a go this year? Here at Creative Countryside we’ve put together the basics to help you understand why so many people are opting into Veganuary this year, plus a beautiful winter recipe for inspiration.

Why vegan?

There are lots of reasons to go vegan: some people make the change for health reasons, others are against animal suffering or concerned about the future of the planet. Whatever your motives, the journey to veganism is getting easier with every person who opts in. Supermarkets are stocking more alternatives, restaurants are jumping on board and misunderstandings are being dispelled.

At its heart veganism is the opposition to all unnecessary violence. Vegans chose not to eat or use any product that comes from animal origin in order to live their life without causing harm to other creatures. While vegetarians don’t eat meat, vegans take this a step further and reject dairy, eggs, honey, leather too.

Scientific studies are telling us that production and consumption of meat is unsustainable, the impact on the planet is just too high. Veganism acknowledges that production of plant based foods has a lower environmental impact; we can feed more people nutritionally richer food with lower carbon emissions, less water and no deforestation. The idea is that enough individuals adopting veganism will eventually slow the demand and eventually the production of animal products.

Whether you’ve got veganuary well under way or you just want to know more, we’ve shared one reader’s recipe to show you just how good a vegan dinner can be.

Sticky Tofu & Pickled Veg

Sweet and fresh, ideal for a mid-week pick up or a cosy night in.

Ingredients

1/2 pack of tofu, drained and pressed for 20 minutes, cut into cubes approximately 3cm wide   

2 garlic cloves, crushed

2 tbsp tomato sauce

2 tbsp Hoisin sauce

1 tbsp dark soy sauce

1 tbsp golden caster sugar

1 tbsp rice vinegar

1 tbsp vegetable oil

Ingredients for the Pickled Vegetables

1 tbsp caster sugar

2 tbsp boiling water

1 ½ tbsp rice vinegar

2 tsp toasted sesame seeds

1 tbsp fresh coriander, chopped

½ tsbp fresh mint, chopped

2 carrots, cut into thin ribbons

1/3 cucumber, cut into thin ribbons

1 shallot, sliced thinly

Black and white steamed rice to serve

Method

• Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/Gas Mark 6.

• To prepare the pickled vegetables, dissolve the sugar in the hot water, allow to cool slightly then add the vinegar. Pour over the vegetables and sesame seeds. Cover and refrigerate.

• Mix the garlic, tomato sauce, hoisin and soy sauces, sugar, rice vinegar and vegetable oil in a bowl. Add the Cauldron Tofu cubes and coat well. Place on a lightly greased baking sheet and cook for 15-20 minutes until sticky and glazed. Coat with a little more glaze during cooking if required.

• Serve the sweet baked tofu with the crunchy pickled vegetables and steamed rice.

Want to know more?

Becoming vegan doesn’t mean throwing all your leather shoes away. Most people keep the products they already have and replace them with a vegan alternative as they wear out. Consider it a transition.

Animal Aid have a great website if you want to know more about choosing veganism and their Agony Aunt has your questions covered:

http://www.govegan.org.uk

For more recipes visit Veganuary official website:

https://veganuary.com/recipes/

Pinterest and Instagram are brilliant resources for recipes or advice on how other vegans are finding alternatives to animal products. Remember, to check out Deliciously Ella's Chilli and Ginger Pho on the journal.

*This will be my last microadventure style post to celebrate my completion of walking 1000 miles in 2017.

It seemed such a perfect few days to have snow up in the welsh hills. Timely in fact for December although, it was our second covering of the year, only this time much thicker. 

It reminded me of when I was a small child, my cousins and I would use bin bags as sledges
and use the banks of the woodlands to whoosh down, only to be taken out by a root, or a tree! 

On the first morning, I woke early, there's was an intense glow above my curtains. There had been no tractor sounds or from passing cars.   Something was different.  The anticipation of peaking behind the curtains was a little too much for me, and instead, I dragged them back to expose a shocking white mass of the ol' white stuff.

 "It's snowing!" The household was awake then... 

My pup was out of the door before me.  Over the next 4 days, we enjoyed sledging,  hill walks, and snowman building.   Oh, and there was a case of a lost and never to be found glove of mine, from a late-night,  escapaedeinto the village to collect supplies (mince pies).

The roads were constantly blanketed, and although the tractors and gritters did their
best to clear it away each night more fell from the sky.

There's something quietly deafening about snow.  You can hear a pin drop. There are no echoes in the valley,  and each crunchy footstep I took got louder and louder and I found myself tiptoeing, hoping not to disturb the jittery Robbins or resting sheep!

Oh how the local communities came together.  And despite what you hear nowadays about the world becoming a frightening place, I know that it's not true.  Offers of food pickups and dropoffs from the 4x4 owners for the elderly don't seem to sell many newspapers... 

 The roads in the small villages were filled with people rather than cars, all snowball fighting, chatting, laughing, and enjoying what nature had to offer us in abundance.One morning, we woke to the most azure blue sky one, could ever ask for - my home looked exactly like it does on those winter travel brochures!   

Now in January, the hills are back to their earthy green palette except in the parts where the sun doesn't reach, remains fragments of that ol' white stuff I love so much.  The rivers are up high threatening to flood like they do each year, and the sludge was thick and not at all pleasing to the eyes. The trees no longer carry their icicle decorations and the snowflakes have turned into rain.  And the winds, how she howls....  

I feel utterly blessed  I got to finish off my 1000 mile challenge at home in the snow. My walking adventures have taken me to some amazing locations but there really is no place like home. 

Image above (c) Tegan Jane Photography

Nicola: I’d love for you to start by telling us about yourself, where you live and how The Shady Baker came to be?

Jane:  I am a baker, vegetable grower, blogger and farmer who loves to take photos and write about food. I live on a sheep and cattle property with my husband Terry, and our two children Annabelle and George in outback New South Wales, Australia.

In 2011 I contributed some recipes to a friend’s website. From there I realised I could start blogging independently.  I began with a very basic blog called The Shady Baker.  Gradually I started connecting with like-minded bakers, mothers, vegetable growers and interesting women.  Living in a slightly isolated situation, my blog gave me an opportunity to be creative and share my life with a generous online community at any time of day or night. 

The Shady Baker has recently had a complete overhaul and nowadays is more a journal about life with the occasional recipe.   

Nicola:  Your blog is full of delicious, simple recipes.  Why is cooking fresh and wholesome food important to you, and what message do you want to share with others through your recipes?

Jane:  Cooking fresh, wholesome and seasonal food makes sense and fits into the natural rhythm of life.  Cooking is about providing food for my family, which not only keeps bellies satisfied but gives comfort and creates lasting memories.  Living some distance from the nearest supermarket requires resourcefulness with regards to food.  Cooking thriftily with what is on hand and minimising waste is necessary, rather than just a feel-good notion.  

I have a large vegetable garden so cooking with the seasons is something that happens naturally. Our children have an amazing knowledge of growing food, without me having to teach them. 

My message is that preparing food from scratch is always healthier, cheaper and more rewarding than processed, packaged food.  With some basic skills, seasonal ingredients and a little prior planning, it really isn’t difficult.

Nicola:  Can you tell us about the farm you live on and what a normal day is like living in the outback of Australia?

Jane:  Our family owned property is located east of Broken Hill in western NSW.  Our main business is Merino sheep and Hereford cattle. 

I am up at 6am and the day always starts with ABC radio, a pot of tea and breakfast before the children get up.  I find this quiet time in the kitchen important to plan and organise my thoughts for the day ahead.

In the early hours, I might prepare meals for the workers that help us, check my vegetable garden or feed pets.  This is always accompanied by the soothing sounds of my coffee machine warming up.

By 8.30am my youngest child and I get down to the business of distance education schooling through School of the Air.  This involves me delivering George’s lessons, which have been sent out in advance from his teacher based in Broken Hill. 

In between schooling, I deliver food to the paddock for my husband and his work crew.  I might drive around our water tanks and troughs checking for problems.  You could also find me helping out with a mob of sheep being brought into the yards.  Or attending to school administration, my garden, the fruit trees, or our sheepdogs and horses.  My days are varied and largely depend on the season and what part of the farming cycle we are in.

My spare time is devoted to photography, writing and baking projects.  And of course family time!

Nicola: your photography is beautiful and your Instagram account is one of my favourites.  Has photography always been an interest of yours, and from where do you draw your inspiration?

Jane: My interest in photography was ignited around the time I started blogging.  Blogging has inspired me to continually improve my photos.  My husband has been very supportive and enthusiastically bought me my first DSLR camera.

I resisted joining Instagram for years because I knew it would become addictive. However I eventually weakened, and now, of course, I’m addicted!  The power of Instagram still amazes me.  It has helped me make friends, reinforce existing friendships and it has brought many work opportunities my way.  It is such a wonderful place to showcase skills, talents, and interests, in a way that is easily accessible to the wider community. 

My inspiration comes from everything I see around me, and the beautiful light we are lucky to experience. It might be the last rays of sun falling on my vegetable garden; it might be everyday work with our livestock, or my children with their pet animals.

Nicola: I know you write for Graziher magazine.  Can you tell us a little more about how this came about?

JaneL Claire Dunne, the editor of Graziher, initially found me through Instagram.  At the same time, I was following the launch of Graziher closely through social media.  I was thrilled to be featured in a profile story for their second issue, and Claire also asked me to contribute a recipe with photos. 

From there I have been fortunate to obtain a regular spot contributing recipes and photos for each quarterly issue.  This is a dream job as it is something I can do from our property, although I have been known to travel chasing perfect autumn leaves or spring blossom!  Working for Graziher challenges me to write achievable, reliable recipes and take engaging food photos, all while keeping within a seasonal and rural style. 

Graziher is an independently published magazine presenting stories about women who love the land.

Nicola: And lastly, we’d love for you to share why you love living off the land, and what the most fun part is?

Jane:  I love being constantly surrounded by the natural beauty of our property.  We have endless horizons, red dirt, blue skies and freedom that many people can only dream of.  Even during the driest and hottest times, when the landscape is harsh and unforgiving, I can still see the beauty in the sunrises and sunsets, and in the hardy plants and animals. Living off the land keeps us closely connected to the cycle of life, both the triumphant times as well as the heartbreaking ones.

The most fun part for me is having the independence to live our lives and raise our children in the wide open spaces with no traffic, shopping malls or noisy neighbours. The moments spent catching yabbies, riding horses and hosting lunches in our paddocks make up for the long hours and unpredictable nature of farming.  As a family, we are part of a hardworking, resilient community who we can rely on.  I can’t imagine ever swapping our lifestyle for suburbia.

Jane Smith

Blog:                    The Shady Baker

Instagram:          @theshadybaker

Writing for:        Graziher magazine

On wintry nights when the sky is clear and the air still, Jack Frost creeps across the countryside.  His cold breath and icy finger-tips spread frozen tidings through the atmosphere and across the ground.  Feathery patterns trespass over window panes, forming fern-like arabesques on their cold, smooth surfaces.

While it is easy to imagine these as the unfurling of some winter’s magic by a mischievous figure of fun, the florid patterns that form on our car windows and glass-topped patio tables are caused by a chain reaction of slowly gelling water.  As the spreading frost crystals meet imperfections in the surface such as specks of dirt or scratches, they branch off in new directions forming intricate, wintery patterns that are a joy to discover.

In deepest winter, when the weather is at its most solemn and still, comes the thick, spiny coating of the hoar frost.  Trees are silvered; leaves and grasses powdered.  The countryside takes on a wintery whiteness that is crisper, more defined than the blanketing softness that comes with a fall of snow.

The name “hoar” derives from the old English word “hor” or “har” for white or grey, and describes the appearance given by the mass of tiny ice crystals which scatter light in all directions so that everything coated with them appears white.

For the crystals to form the conditions have to be just right.  If both the air temperature and the dew point (the temperature at which water vapour in air condenses into liquid water) are both below freezing, a process known as sublimation takes place.  The moisture in the atmosphere turns from vapour to a solid (ice) without first passing through a liquid stage.

This is all takes place as we sleep, warmly tucked up under our blankets and with our hot water bottles.  And when we wake on a wintery morning to the chill of the first frost – to find the windows etched with the tracery of window frost or to gaze at the frozen wonderland created by a hoar frost – we experience one of the season’s most defining moments.

Here, on the estuary’s forgotten shore,
away from the road’s tarmac gravity,
the dark begins to pool early against
high boulder banks and the dune’s downslope.

Another swarm of dreams is scattering south.
With a luthier’s ear for resonance
and absences, the river channels out
its own meandering echo chambers.

Snow stillness; snow silence. And yet no snow:
“Too cold for it”. Deep cold, more than enough
to snuff the stars into a charred blackness
and scorch this great dark bore hole to the moon.

Everything is drawn of its ghosts

and now the frost begins to populate
this void, creeping from every crack and crevice,
extrapolating brittle feathered forms
so exact
humerus to radius
so intricate
radius to ulna;

each shiny new angle geared for flight yet still grounded come first light of morning.

Nicola:  The Seasonal Table is an online journal of slow food and slow living from your smallholding in rural England. Can you tell us some more about it?

Tom & Kathy:  The Seasonal Table is a collection of seasonal recipes and stories. Each is linked to what happens on our smallholding throughout the year. The recipes are inspired by the food we grow ourselves, sourced locally or wild-harvest on our foraging adventures. The stories are intrinsically linked with the provenance of the food.  We started the online journal as a resource for others. We thought it could be helpful to those interested in seasonal and sustainable food. As well as people considering embarking on a similar smallholding journey themselves.  

Nicola:  Can you explain to us what a smallholding is?

Tom & Kathy:  A smallholding is a house with an area of land that can be used for small-scale fruit and vegetable growing, or rearing animals.  This leads to a degree of (or complete) self-sufficiency for the people that live there. We decided to turn our cottage and 1.5 acres of land into a smallholding when we moved here from the city suburbs. We created a vegetable garden. We raised a flock of chickens to provide us with meat and eggs. We also reared a gaggle of geese, which help mow the grass and provide us with enormous eggs. The birds live in the established mixed fruit orchard that came with the cottage. We also built log stores to dry felled wood from the land, which we use in our wood-burning stoves. And we set up a little apiary with the beehives we brought with us from London, to provide us with honey and beeswax.  We're planning to continue developing the smallholding over the next few years. There's still so much we would like to do. Next on the list is keeping pigs, sheep or goats (we haven't decided which yet)...  

Nicola:  What inspired you to make the change from city living?

Tom & Kathy:  When we first moved into our flat in the city suburbs, the landlady kindly let us build a couple of raised garden beds.  It was here we first began growing our own fruit and vegetables. We also went on a beekeeping course, and we set up beehives on the patio by our kitchen window. It was on this small-scale we realised the joy of being able to produce our own food. During this time our evenings were spent watching television programs on rural living and growing food. These programs included River Cottage, It's Not Easy Being Green, Jamie at Home and The Edible Garden. We spent our lunch breaks in libraries and bookshops. We'd spend hours flicking through books on country living, farming, and smallholding.  As our interest grew we increasingly found ourselves drawn to the idea of moving to the country. We wanted to be able to have space to grow our own fruit and vegetables, plus keep animals too. After much deliberation, we decided to relocate to the hills of rural Somerset. It was one of the best decisions we've ever made.

Nicola:  You say that you’re living your version of The Good Life. Can you tell us what your lives look like on a daily basis? And what is the most fun part for you both? 

Tom & Kathy:  Our day starts with letting the chickens and geese out to free-range in the orchard. Spending time with the geese is one of our favourite parts of the day. They are such characters and are very entertaining to watch.  We both still work full-time, but when we aren't at work our days are filled with a variety of activities. These activities change as the seasons change. For example, in spring we sow seeds in the raised beds and hatch chicken eggs. Spring is also the time for the first beehive inspections. Summer is weeding, vegetable planting, berry harvesting, swarm control and honey extraction. Autumn is for apple pressing, bonfires and mushroom foraging. Winter is for pruning, tidying and planning for the year ahead.

 Throughout the year the kitchen remains busy. We cook and enjoy our produce when it’s at its best, as well as preserve and squirrel things away to last throughout the year. Nothing goes to waste.  Our close connection to seasonal change means we appreciate everything while it's here. We also look forward to what's to come and never tire of the experience. It's hard work, but very rewarding. We love every bit of it.

Nicola:  You share some amazing recipes on your blog. Is slow food something you've always been interested in? And what does slow food mean to you?

 Tom & Kathy:  Slow food is something we've become increasingly interested in over time. This interest has come hand in hand with our understanding of where our food comes from, and how it's produced. To us, slow food means taking responsibility for sourcing our own food in a sustainable way. It means having as little impact on the environment as possible. It is also about knowing the provenance of the ingredients we use.  

We grow, forage or produce as much of our own food as we can and take an organic approach, in doing so. The majority of the food we buy is also organic and, as much as possible, sourced locally. We find this keeps us grounded in the seasons throughout the year. It also ensures we are enjoying and appreciating food when it's at its best.  Our slow food approach is reflected in the recipes on The Seasonal Table.For example, during spring we posted a recipe for rhubarb crumble infused with wild watermint sugar.Spring is when the first sticks of rhubarb appear in our vegetable patch, and wild watermint leaves pop up along the stream.Then in summer, when courgettes were in plentiful supply and the chickens were laying eggs faster than we could keep up with, we posted a recipe for a brunch omelette with griddled courgette, nasturtiums and garden herbs.

Nicola:  We'd also love to know what slow living means to you? And how you incorporate this into your everyday life?

Tom & Kathy: the Slow living is very much connected to slow food for us. It's about enjoying the whole process of producing the food we eat, along with the tasks that come with doing so one of the best examples of how we combine slow food and slow living apple growing. Apple growing can be linked to almost everything we do on the smallholding. In spring the apple blossom appears.We watch our bees pollinate the trees and gather nectar to make honey.We then collect this honey in the summer.  

Once the apples arrive the geese and chickens happily munch the windfall fruit. This helps them produce the eggs we eat and, in the case of the cockerels, the meat. We eat the fresh apples ourselves too of course. We press them into juice (and subsequently cider and vinegar) and dry them into rings. We also turn them into a compote to store away and last us through the year.  In late autumn we rake up the fallen leaves and compost them into mulch for the vegetable beds. In winter we prune the trees, store and dry the cuttings.We then use can use these cuttings in our wood burners the following year. The ash from the fire, which is rich in potassium and minerals, is put under the apple trees to improve the soil. It also acts as a dust bath for the chickens.  

This never-ending cycle of production sums up slow food and slow living for us. The irony is that fitted around full-time jobs, this slow way of living is usually incredibly busy! We never have the time to do everything we would like to. But, for the most part, it is a rewarding and joyful experience.

 Nicola:  If any of our readers would love to follow in your footsteps of slow food and slow living, but the idea seems daunting, what advice would you give them?

Tom & Kathy:  Go for it! We would like to think that a lifestyle of slow food and slow living can be achieved anywhere. When we lived in London we grew our own fruit and vegetables, kept bees and sourced the rest of our food carefully. We visited farmers markets and scrimped wild plums from canal-side trees. We brewed our own beer and picked blackberries from park hedgerows. What we do now is a very similar thing, just on a bigger scale and in a different setting.

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In a world that is in love with days that glow with the warmth of sunlight, the humble grey sky gets a pretty bad rep. What is there to love about the cool and the quiet of a cloudy, rainy day when the sun is hidden away and hibernating? There seems to be a universal consensus that the arrival of grey skies and rainy days ruin the best-laid adventure plans. Who wants to hike in the rain? Who wants to visit the coast when the sun isn’t shining? Well, to that I say, “never underestimate the power of an overcast day.” Some of the best adventures, some of the most memorable and inspiring days in the great outdoors start with a muddy puddle and drizzle dripping from the sky.

When a day is bright and the sky is blue, everything is presented exactly as it is: there is no mystery. On a rainy day, when the oppressive clouds come down from their kingdoms in the sky and perch on the tops of hills, the edges of the world begin to blur and the imagination is encouraged to run free. Instead of the crystal blue clarity of sunshine, a grey-skied day evokes a magical sense of wonder, in which anything and everything could be possible. Just look at the classic fairy-tale tropes: no story full of magic and mystery, myth and adventure begins on a day that is without the tell-tale rumble of thunder or the swirling mists that dance through the forests. A grey day is not simply preferable for a story to begin: it is necessary.

A blue sky presents the landscape as it is, but a grey sky presents a landscape with hidden factors, with layers of interpretation and meaning and reality. The landscape becomes our own and our imagination shapes it. Clouded mountains become sleeping dragons, rainy forests are suddenly home to all manner of mythical creatures, ghostly cloud-shapes haunt landscapes that otherwise would have been unremarkable. “Wuthering Heights” just would not have been the same if Cathy had wandered the moors, getting lost under a bright, shining sun. The grey, rainy weather was essential to creating the evocative, haunting moods captured in the novels by authors like the Brontë sisters and it still remains essential, all these years later.

Grey skies allow us to connect with our inner child. All we have to do is lose our heavy cloak of adulthood and look at the world with wonder, with curiosity, and with an unceasing optimism. Wander through a landscape that is damp with mist and mizzle and don't hide under the brim of umbrellas or hoods. Look ahead and find shapes in the shadows, dance with folklorish creatures, remember that this landscape is charged and energised by the dark, dreariness of the weather. Learn to associate grey with beauty, mystery, imagination, charm and unlearn the disappointed fear we all possess when a grey day rolls around. Grey-skied-days are a magical, in-between space between reality and fantasy. Embrace them.

Words & Images by Katy Who