At times it seemed as though spring would never arrive. There have been false starts aplenty, with snow-covered daffodils a frequent sight, but now - finally - it feels as though there's been a shift. 

Snowdrops have given up the fight and have dropped for the last time. Crocuses are starting to be brave. Even the morning chorus is crescendoing. And there's something in the air, or something lacking, more to the point; even in the winds, the sharpness of winter has faded. 

I've been squirrelled away indoors finishing issue three of the magazine, and the two mornings a week I dedicate to Creative Countryside have been spent editing articles, finalising layouts, and proof-reading. It's always an incredibly busy time, but I love the process of compiling the work of so many talented writers, photographers and illustrators.

These images were taken when I visited Bryn Eglur (@thewelshhouse) back in February, just before the snow arrived. The days were sunlit, and the daffodils were just emerging, and I had a quiet few hours to myself to write, plan and think. It's not often these opportunities arise, so I made the most of every minute. Reading in the bath. Watching the sun set over the fields. Listening for the owl.

My husband, Dan, took these photos on his analogue camera, also relishing the chance to take some time for himself and a creative pursuit. I love the way he's captured the low light pouring through the window panes. I think it's the light that I'll remember most about visiting the cottage.

If you'd like to see more, Bryn Eglur is also featured in issue 3 of the magazine, available to order here. 

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Collaboration Note:  Thank you to Dorian at The Welsh House for inviting us to stay.  All words, thoughts and images are my own. 

I grew up with a forest fascination. My mother’s side of the family are Polish, so there’s always been a tradition of folk stories; I remember one in particular about a little girl whose stepmother demands roses in midwinter, snowdrops in summer and so on. She hides down the well and meets twelve mysterious figures who each provide her with what she requires in order to appease the wicked stepmother.

The forests I grew up exploring were, in actuality, smaller areas of woodland. Deciduous woods with a wonderful variety of fungi, berries and flowers. Streams and silver birches, oaks and sycamores, sweet chestnut and ash. Occasionally we’d go hunting pinecones in the fir plantations near the local reservoir, but we generally spent most of our outdoor tree time in the leafy woods. Ferns and wild garlic in the spring, conkers and rosehips in the autumn. The kind of woods you see in those old Ladybird books.

But now we reside in Scotland. The north of Scotland, to be precise: the Hebrides. Most of our woodland here is of the evergreen variety; pine and spruce. Real fairytale forests, where the light is dim and the ground is soft and velvety with mosses and deep, deep layers of dropped needles. There’s a kind of silence that’s very particular to a pine forest. The low boughs and thick carpeting deaden any outside noise. All you’ll hear is the odd crack of a breaking branch or the call of a bird. There’s an atmosphere very specific to this type of woodland.

It’s easy for the imagination to run wild when you’re standing alone in a pine forest. Everywhere looks the same, like you’re surrounded by mirrors. It’s dark and suggestive and strange shapes manifest themselves; wind whispers eerily through the branches. It doesn’t take much to envisage hungry wolves weaving stealthily past or goblins hiding in the roots of fallen trees.

It may be a subliminal thing, but recently my reading of choice (from the library) has been all about the woods. I just finished Pollard by Laura Beatty, a novel about Anne - a girl who doesn’t ‘fit in’, subsequently leaves her family and takes up permanent residence in the woods near her home. It’s set in the present day and makes for a wonderful read. In turns brutal and whimsical, the story is told both through the eyes of Anne and the ever-watching trees.

Next up is one I’ve wanted to read for a long time. Sara Maitland’s Gossip from the Forest promises many evenings of indulging my love of fairytales and forests by exploring the relationship between the two.

Some of my all-time favourite stories are set within the woods, from the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House series to Hansel and Gretel. Likewise, my favourite parts of stories are those where adventures unfold amongst the trees: The Wind in the Willows springs to mind. And who could resist the beautifully-illustrated storybooks of childhood? Jill Barklem’s Brambly Hedge books, Winnie the Pooh, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe…

Some of the most evocative writing I’ve ever read is by Angela Carter, in the opening pages of The Erl-King (one of the short stories in The Bloody Chamber). The dank foreboding of a secretly inhabited autumnal forest, explored alone, is described beautifully. You can almost feel the damp, still air and smell the dying vegetation as it slowly collapses back into the ground.

So here we are. Those pine forests which looked so enchanted just a few short weeks ago, snow-covered and twilit, are now hosting signs of life. They’re beckoning. It’s time to find a little-used, winding path and follow it into a secret world where talking creatures, witches and magic might just exist.

Nicola:  Can you tell us about Jules Hogan Knitwear?  We’d love to know how your business has evolved to where it is today?

Jules:  I started the collection in 2010 while working full-time for a knitwear design studio in London. We focused on knit as constructed textiles with a hint within the design of the fabrics’ end use, mainly garments for men and women. These designs were sold worldwide to fashion designers and retail shops. Developing designs at a fast pace, and commuting on and off for 20 years, began to take its toll.

I wanted to slow down, enjoy the therapeutic process of making and have improved life balance.  My focus was to develop ideas from initial inspiration, through to the design of the fabric and making a final piece. Making decisions on yarn quality, fibre content, silhouette and working with British companies where possible.

I initially began by making fashion and home accessories, and this developed into garments.  Working on exclusive colour palettes for stockists and bespoke orders has become a fundamental and enjoyable element of the business. I enjoy this collaborative aspect, which pushes my boundaries and helps me look at things through fresh eyes.

Nicola: Where does the inspiration for your work come from?

Jules: Inspiration and technique have remained constant throughout my work. I am drawn to tradition; the effect of weather on materials, land and seascapes, simple geometric patterns and striping with the use of subtle neutrals, bright highlights and blended yarn.

 I am constantly taking photos of the everyday, things spotted on my daily walks and take visual notes of things I see. The collection is constantly evolving, and an initial idea fuels another and then another, coming up with a fresh development.

Nicola:  We’d love to know more about where you live, the space you work from and what a normal day is like for you? 

Jules:  I live in Tilehurst Village, which is on the outskirts of Reading near the countryside and open fields. My studio is a meander down the garden.  It’s my creative haven with several re-conditioned vintage-knitting machines, both hand flat and industrial, yarn, mood boards, and books.

Each day is slightly different depending on what is in the order book.  It usually starts with Instagram over breakfast, catching up with the accounts I follow and interacting with posts.  I then check my emails before heading into the studio around 9 am.  

I am very disciplined during the day and refer to my planner for tasks that need to be achieved. I like to have a few solid hours knitting in the morning before stopping for lunch around 1 pm.  I then walk Jaxon up to the park or woods, taking photos of anything that inspires me.  Or I use this time to refresh my mind and think things through.  The afternoon is usually spent doing some more knitting, putting garments together or finishing.

Nicola:  I know you are committed to quality and use the finest British materials, including Scottish spun lambswool, sourced from a family mill that has been spinning yarn in Scotland since 1766.  Can you tell us a little more about that story?

Jules:  I have been using this yarn quality for over 20 years, so it was at the top of the list to use in my collection. The shade card is extensive with colours that reflect my work, good neutrals, and deep saturated colours. I mainly use the melange shades that have many fibers of different colours spun together, to make a new colour giving depth and texture.

The mill has a policy of animal welfare and the dyes meet British Standard. 

Nicola:  Can you also tell us about your process from the initial idea for a knitwear piece to the final product?

Jules:  Even though each piece appears simple there are also technical elements to consider. It starts with a sketch, calculations to work out the number of rows and stitches, where a pattern will start and end. I also spend time experimenting with small samples of colour, trying out different combinations.

The machine is threaded up adjusting the tension so that the yarn runs freely through the feeders and carriage of the machine.  I follow the sketch in my notebook so I know where to change colour, place markers for a sleeve and where to shape the neck. Garments are fully fashioned (shaping by moving stitches from one needle to another), and this takes time but gives a beautiful effect.

When a piece is finished it is cast off, lightly pressed, put together using a linker (a sewing machine for knitting), washed, air dried and pressed again.The final part of the process is sewing in care labels and attaching swing tags. 

Nicola:  You say your pieces are simple, handcrafted knitwear for those that like to make a quiet statement. We’d love for you to tell us what this means to you and how you interpret this in your work?

Jules:  I make knitwear to enhance but not overpower the wearer. Colour palettes flatter different skin tones, and the highlights of bright colour add a bit of surprise and individuality. Silhouette masks areas that don’t want to be shown, while allowing certain parts of the body to peep through. It's about making people feel great about themselves.  

Nicola:  And lastly, I’d love for you to describe the type of person you think your knitwear is most suited to and why? 

Jules:  It is quite difficult to describe a type of person, as my customers are so varied, but through observation, I would say, people that care about provenance, the story behind the work, and appreciate handcraft.

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Nicola: You are a writer and artist who specialises in nature, landscapes, rural heritage and ethical living.  Can you tell us more about the work you do and the journey you took to be doing what you love?

Tiffany:  I’ve always loved nature, birds, trees and being outdoors.  But the love I had during my childhood was abandoned slightly over my teenage years when I discovered boys, alcohol and other exciting things.  After finishing college I studied English Literature in Bristol and then moved to London to complete my Masters in English at UCL.

It was here my curiosity for the natural world crept quietly back into my life after I started volunteering with the London Wildlife Trust in ancient woodland called Sydenham Hill Wood. This helped me rediscover my love for wildlife and, although I had always wanted to be a writer, I realised nature writing was my true calling.   Combined with my hobby as a wildlife artist, I wanted to try and communicate the wonders of the natural world to others through my writing and artwork.

Now I produce both of these on a freelance basis for magazines and newspapers, and I also recently appeared on Radio 4’s Tweet of the Day and Kirstie’s Handmade Christmas on Channel 4.

My first book will be published in March, Food You Can Forage with Bloomsbury books, and I am about to be commissioned for my second - a narrative non-fiction book on our relationship with the night sky.  

Nicola:  You grew up in the chalky hills of the South Downs.  How did this inspire what you write and teach about today?  

Tiffany: I’ve spent most of my life in the South Downs, having now returned here after a few years away in Bristol and London. For me, it's a magical landscape bursting with wildlife, culture, and history. So many of my childhood memories originate from adventures outdoors in woodlands or along the coast, finding badger skulls and collecting conkers.

It was recently recognized as a National Park by the government, and I think this reflects how vibrant the area is. From the haunted yew trees at Kingley Vale to the flower-smothered gardens of Lewes, the South Downs are a huge part of who I am and will forever weave themselves into my work.

Nicola:  Describe to us why nature is so important to you, and your passion for engaging others with the natural world.  

Tiffany: It’s been said a thousand times over the last few years, but Nature Deficit Disorder is becoming a real problem in our society. Studies have shown that when we choose not to spend time in nature it affects our mental and physical health, as well as disconnecting us from our natural roots and rhythms.  When I hear a great tit’s see-saw song in late winter, and know that spring is almost here, I am filled with the most intense sensation of joy that not even a stuffed crust pizza or photo of Harrison Ford (Blade Runner-era) can replicate.

Everyone can benefit.

From spending more time in nature and, aside from the positive effect it can have on our wellbeing, it is essential to the future of our planet. David Attenborough once said: ‘No one will protect what they don’t care about, and no one will care about what they have never experienced.'

I want to secure a healthy environment for my children and grandchildren, and I hope that my writing and art will inspire others to cherish wildlife and nurture a new relationship with the natural world.  

Nicola:  Can you tell us about where you live and what a typical day looks like for you at the moment?

Tiffany: My days are extremely varied at the moment and, in the words of Prufrock, tend to be measured out ‘with coffee spoons’.  I live in east Hampshire with my partner, right in the middle of the South Downs National Park. We live in a little flat in the pretty market town where we both grew up, although we didn’t meet until many years later!  I’m currently in an exciting but scary stage of my life, as I recently made the decision to leave my job and pursue a freelance career with my writing and art. So over February, I’ve been tying off the loose ends at my job at Butser Ancient Farm, where I’ve worked as Creative Developer for over three years.

From March onwards I'll be spending most of my days writing, painting and getting distracted by the long-tailed tits hopping around outside our window, as well as spending lots of time outdoors for inspiration.  I try to find time to go running a few times a week (something I only discovered recently), and I enjoy riding around the Hangers on a friend’s horse that I help look after. I also have an exciting calendar of talks, festivals and events lined up for this year, so I’llbe preparing for those and traveling around the country over the spring and summer months.

 Nicola:  Your first book, Food You Can Forage, is due out on the 8 th of March.  Can you tell us what the book is about and why you wanted to write it?

Tiffany: My first book is all about foraging wild food and embracing the countryside, something that I am passionate to share with everyone.  In my experience, foraging can often seem intimidating to beginners, or something they associate with horror stories in the news. But foraging can be an adventure for friends and families at any age, and I wanted to present it as a relaxed and rounded hobby that takes you outdoors into the countryside and ends with something delicious on the kitchen table. I really wanted to celebrate the hobby as a new way to engage with the natural world, so I also included sections on different habitats, what wildlife you can spot, folklore and mythology, my own illustrations, photos and a selection of tested recipes at the back.  

I think the best thing about foraging is that it can unite everyone through a shared love of food.So even if you aren’t naturally drawn to spending time outside, this might entice you to take a walk in the woods in search of a moment of wildness.

Nicola:  What did you enjoy most about writing your book?

Tiffany: It has to be writing the recipes! There are twenty recipes in the book, and I couldn’t help including two of my favourite food groups: booze and cake.  We had hours of fun testing samples, deciding which type of gorse petal mead tasted best, or how much icing to drizzle over spiced elderberry buns. I’ve never written recipes for publication before but I love cooking and spending time in the kitchen, so it was brilliant to be able to share some of my favourite creations. I really wanted to include recipes as it makes the art of foraging so much more rewarding when you can transform your discoveries into a snack or meal, rather than just harvesting things and leaving them to wilt tragically by the coat-rack.

Nicola:  And finally, if anyone reading this has a creative dream they would love to follow, what advice would you give them?  

Tiffany: In my experience, being able to pursue a dream in the creative arts is all about opening yourself up to the universe. There are so many wonderful writers and artists in the world, each with their own voices that need to be heard, but I’ve found that the most successful artists I know are those that are proactive, seeking out opportunities for themselves.

 My book deal actually came about through a lucky encounter - I wrote a blog post on foraging that was seen by the right person at the right time, and I’m grateful every day for that jammy moment that changed my life. But before that I spent many years throwing everything I had out into the abyss, writing and painting and creating things that I hoped would lead to new opportunities.

I went to networking events, joined online forums, interacted with others on Twitter, and tried my best to share my work with the world in the hope that it might lead somewhere - and it did!  I would encourage everyone to keep creating, particularly at a time when the world needs hope and creativity more than ever, and to try your best not to let the more mundane routines of life squeeze out precious hours of creative time. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, so long as you are in tune with the world and keep your heart and mind open to new opportunities.

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A tiny, fragile milk-flower clustered resolutely in the bitter and frosted winter’s soil - bringer of hope to some yet loathed by so many. Believed by some to have been brought to England by monks, the humble Snowdrop hails from the mountainous Alpine regions where the world is much colder and winters much harsher. Today, although not native to this country it’s commonly found in the British Isles, rearing it’s pearly head in time to coincide with celebration of Imbolc/Candlemass around the beginning of February;

‘The snowdrop, in purest white arraie,

First rears her hedde on Candlemas daie.

While the Crocus hastens to the shrine
Of Primrose lone on St Valentine.’ 

-an excerpt from an Old English floral calendar dating back to the 19th century.

One of my preferred folklores that surrounds the plant is an ancient German tale;

At the beginning of all things when life was new, the Snow sought to borrow a colour. The flowers were much admired by all the elements but they guarded their colour’s jealousy and when the Snow pleaded with them, they turned their backs in contempt for they believed the Snow cold and unpleasant. The tiny humble snowdrops took pity on the Snow for none of the other flowers had shown it any kindness and so they came forth and offered up to the Snow their colour.

The Snow gratefully accepted and became white forevermore, just like the Snowdrops. In its gratitude, the Snow permitted the little pearly flowers the protection to appear in winter, to be impervious to the ice and bitter chill. From then on, the Snow and the Snowdrops coexisted side by side as friends.

Fascinating little flowers, according to hearsay the plants are able to generate their own heat, however, there’s little in the way of proof. Known to have medicinal properties, the Galanthus nivalis currently being used in treatment for Alzheimer's. Their Latin name is dreadfully pretty as it translates as ‘Milkflower of the snow’ - this is possibly my favourite variant on the name as well as a Welsh word for them, ‘Eirlys’ which translates as ‘Snow Lilly.’

A much-adored sight around the bleak late winter days in modern day Britain, the ‘Fair Maid of February’ as they are also known, favour shady areas such as woodlands and are perhaps most notably and somewhat grimly found clustered upon graves and carpeting the floors of Britain’s churchyards. Perhaps this is the reason for some darker lore that surrounds the Snowdrops; for some say that they are an omen of death.

In Victorian superstition, it’s told that you must never bring the Snowdrop into the house for that will bring ill-fortune and in some more extreme versions of the tale, death will occur in the family within the year. Many cling to and practice this superstition still claiming resolutely that a plucked snowdrop brought upon their threshold was the reason they were widowed. Other old English superstitions dictate that by bringing in a Snowdrop, the milk will turn sour and eggs shall spoil. I’d rather not believe that picking this beautiful little flower would be a bringer of ills and sadness, however it’s most probably for the best that it’s not plucked from its roots and taken indoors where it’ll only wither but instead left with its fellows, creating a wondrous blanket of white across the woodlands and churchyards.

Better than a bringer of death is the flower’s associations as a bringer of hope and purity; the green coloured stem of the snowdrop symbolises and links with the Pagan ideals of health and wellbeing whilst the white symbolises the light of the winter sun which is now beginning to grow stronger as the days lengthen.

One of the most popularly documented stories surrounding the origins of the Snowdrop is actually a Christian creation tale. It tells of the moments following Adam & Eve’s exile from the garden of Eden where hopeless and dejected, they shiver as the snows swirl around them and the frost bites at their toes. An Angel descends from the Heavens to relate the message that Eden is no longer their privilege and that they must swiftly move on. Frightened and awed by the Angel and apprehensive of the nameless world that lies beyond, Adam and Eve take each other's hand and wander towards the unfamiliar and cruel new lands, heads bowed and tearful.

It is here that the Angel feels deep sorrow in his heart so he reaches out a hand where the soft snowfall lands in its perfect kaleidoscope of shapes, twinkling crystals in his palm; perfect and unmelting. The Angel brings the snowflakes to his face and breaths upon them, transforming the glittering ice into soft, pearly flowers; the first Snowdrops. “Take these little flowers,” says the Angel to Adam and Eve, “take them as a sign of hope. A sign for your kind and for the earth outside.” The Angel casts the tiny flowers into a halo that surrounds the two people and they carry this blessing of hope with them out into the world beyond.

Whether you believe the many dark superstitions that surround this flower or not, you cannot deny that it is a messenger of the seasons, that the darkest moment of winter has passed and that there are happenings of life in the roots beneath the earth; spring is imminent.

The Scottish poet George Wilson concludes his poem ‘The Origin of the snowdrop’ with the lines;

"And thus the snowdrop, like the bow
That spans the cloudy sky,
Becomes a symbol whence we know
That brighter days are nigh ; ”

Nicola:  I’d love for you to start by telling us about the work you do and your journey to where you are today?

Rhiannon:  I make my living as a poet in the Welsh borders.  My first book, The Other City, was published by Seren Books about a year ago, and was recently shortlisted for the Wales Book of the Year award.

I think my path to this point has been focused on learning more than anything else.  I studied for a Master's and then a PhD in poetry, and worked in academia for a long time, learning all I could about my craft and teaching others in turn.  But a few years ago I decided I wanted a break from academia and went to live in Mongolia.  It might seem a strange choice to make, living there, but my time there was incredibly inspiring.  Living in such a harsh climate (Ulaanbaatar is the coldest capital city in the world, and within a month of living there I had experienced temperatures of minus 40) completely changes your relationship with the world.  It makes you respect your environment in a way that I had never really encountered when living in the UK.

 I'm back in the UK now and have been for several years, concentrating on writing rather than teaching.  Writing can be a solitary career, but it gives you tremendous freedom, and I've been lucky enough to live in some wonderful places while doing it, and have taken endless inspiration from the landscape around me.  

Nicola:  You describe yourself primarily a poet. Can you tell us about the poetry you write, and where your inspiration comes from?

Rhiannon:  My book is a collection of poetry, so the subject matter is diverse, though there is a thread of a theme that emerges if it's read as a whole.  I was interested in the idea that our creative process could be described as a physical space to be traversed as part of the act of expression, and the deeper I delved the more my own creative process expressed itself as a city: foreign, unknowable, ineffably other.  

This idea of otherness is one that I return to a lot.  And to me, as someone who has grown up in the countryside, the idea of a city will always be something other.  The poems themselves draw on mythology and the natural world a lot: the little signifiers of the year as it turns, the history of the landscape, our relationship with it.

 Although I'm from Wales, much of the book was written while I lived in Cumbria, so there's a lot of that wild landscape in there, and some of it springs from the time after that when I moved to Mongolia.  The first Mongolia-inspired poem I wrote, Daughters of the Dust, appeared in the Guardian alongside a wonderfully perceptive essay about it by Carol Rumens, which was definitely a highlight of last year. In the past few months I've started working on my second book, The Ragged Kingdom.

 It's daunting in some ways to try to follow a book like The Other City– I worked on it for nearly five years, and I'm incredibly proud of it and the reception it's had.  So far this new book is a little quieter, a little less academic.  I'm full of ideas and inspirations, but I don't know exactly where the book is going yet.  It's a nice place to be in because there are so many possibilities, but one thing that keeps appearing is this sense of liminal space, of between-places – it's very much a border country book.  

Nicola:  You also make jewellery and are an artist. Tell us a little more about this work.

Rhiannon:  Although my first degree was in Fine Art, I didn't really start producing my own art again until I hit my thirties.  I find it incredibly fulfilling to be able to make something with my hands once in a while, after spending most of my time on purely cerebral work.  Making the switch from fine art to a craft was what really made the difference to me – it felt very freeing.

 As a painter I had sometimes struggled with overworking pieces, getting caught up in tiny details, and working as a jeweller allowed me to turn that weakness into a strength.  I work in recycled leather that I dye, paint, embroider and embellish with gold leaf and semi-precious stones, making tiny pieces of unique wearable art.  I also utilise found objects from the natural world, like tiny pieces of driftwood or whittled twigs, and miniature river pebbles from the stream nearby.  

I love the act of treating natural objects as little treasures, but medieval portraits and their rich colour palette also inspire me.  My favourite pieces are the miniature portrait pieces I make, each one has its own individual character.  Because they're painted and stitched by hand, they're something of a labour of love - each one is only about two inches tall, but represents many hours of work.

Nicola:  Can you tell us about where you live, your workspace and what a normal day looks like for you?

Rhiannon:  I live just outside a tiny town on the border between Wales and Herefordshire, in a small cottage that backs onto fields at the foot of a tall hill.  I'm the sort of person who likes to know the names of the hills I can see from my windows. I'm not a notebook poet.  I divide my writing time between composing in my head while I'm out walking (usually with my little Yorkshire terrier, Pippin), to get a good solid beginning, and working on my laptop in my study. 

I know some writers like to write out poetry by hand in a notebook, but I find that in order to get a grip on the rhythm of the piece, the shape on the page, I much prefer to see the words on a screen.  I'm also very fussy about sounds: I like complete quiet.  Even someone's footsteps can put me off my rhythm. No poem comes out perfect the first time: the vast majority of my work consists of editing, which is less glamorous but incredibly satisfying.

 Working on a poem is like chipping away at unnecessary words until all that is left is the core of the piece, as close to perfect in specificity as it is possible to get. Being a poet entails a lot of traveling too: most of my income comes from making appearances at literature festivals and events all over the UK and further afield to read my work, talking about it with interested groups, writing other things (like interviews and articles) and teaching workshops.

 A fair number of my working days start in a train or even a hotel. So there's no simple answer to that question in a way.  I don't really have an average working day, which is something I love about being a writer. Poetry is wonderful in that inspiration can come from all kinds of random places, so I don't feel bad about spending a day exploring the countryside on foot, or taking my sketchbook out to one of the little half-timbered villages over the border in Herefordshire.

 I also have a lovely job running the local library one day a week, which is perfect, as I get to spend the day talking about books.

Nicola:  I’d love to know more about the relationship you have with nature and why it is important to you?

Rhiannon:  In my early twenties I lived in Lancaster.  It's a small city but I lived in a part where you couldn't actually see any green space.  I felt completely cut adrift: until then my life had been punctuated by the world's natural rhythms, and it wasn't until I lived somewhere they did not reach that I realised how bereft I felt without them.  I wanted to be able to look out of the window and see the  leaves changing colour, to smell snow on the way, to spot the first snowdrops and see harebells growing in August and know that summer had reached its zenith.

To me, a meaningful existence is one that includes these things.  It only feels right to engage with the world on its own level, and I know from experience that nothing is as beneficial to my mental health as time spent out in the natural world.  

I've always been drawn to the wilderness, to those places at the very edge of human habitation where our influence gives out.  I wouldn't go so far as to suggest this kind of wilderness can be found in Wales, but the county where I live has one of the lowest population densities in the UK, and that suits me well.  

When I was first flying out to Mongolia, as the plane started its descent, I looked out of the window and saw the steppe unfolding beneath me – a massive, rolling plane of dark grass, with only tiny sparks of light betraying the little groups of gers.  I was struck by the enormity of the space and the ephemerality of the dim lights.  

I think that sense of awe in the face of nature is one that I've been trying to capture ever since.

Nicola:  If you could leave our readers with one piece of advice about following their creative dream, what would it be?

Rhiannon:  To work on your output – no matter what it is – until you are confident in it.  I often hear beginner writers making excuses for their work or second-guessing it, but all this really does is make other people less interested in engaging with it.  It also tends to disadvantage girls and women: men are taught to be much more confident, and they present their work as more competent.  So make sure your work is as good as it can be, and then stand by it.  Learn to realise when your work is excellent, and never apologise for it

Visit Rhiannon's website, follow on Instagram and see her book.

At the end of last year, we made the move from the Lancashire Pennines to the Inner Hebrides: the Isle of Skye, in fact. I grew up in the Pennines, in a valley of mill towns and stone villages surrounded by moorland. It’s a place I know intimately: the topography, the quiet places, the history and the people. I loved the familiarity of it all, the paths and walks, the way I could tailor my expeditions to my mood, the amount of time I had, the seasons or whether I was walking alone or in company. Some were favourites, others came into their own for foraging or gathering. 

I could climb onto the hills for heather and bilberries, wander into the woods to find bluebells amongst the birches or follow the river in search of wild raspberries. It was a varied landscape of wild moorland and green, sheltered valleys. The only thing missing: the sea.

And so to Skye. Our new home presents us with an entirely different prospect. Yes, there are similarities (an abundance of sheep and heather, all that wind and rain). But for the most part, it’s so very different to what we’re used to. Prior to holidaying here, I had an imaginary picture of Skye - rainbows, mountains, mist. What I didn’t know was just how big an island it is. Miles and miles of stark, harsh moorland. Those mountains are vast, often disappearing into the clouds. Gargantuan cliff faces and crashing waves, fearsome storms and deep, silent pine forests.

I’m a complete coastal-living rookie. I know so little about the birds of prey which sit, sentinel-like, on fence posts as we drive past. Other than herons and cormorants and gulls, I’d struggle to identify anything we see bobbing about in the bay. I’m perhaps a bit more knowledgeable about the plants and flowers; as winter melts away and spring arrives (we always used to visit in May), there are masses of violets, primroses, orchids, and ferns. One of my favourites is the cotton grass, the pale tufts of which seem magically suspended above the ground as they blow in the wind.

As well as exploring this new landscape I’m keen to learn more about it. About the machair, that low-lying and sandy ground, fertile and floral (when not closely-cropped by sheep and cattle). About the birds and deer and butterflies. I want to educate myself on the weather here, on the tides, shells, and seaweed. And to discover stories, folklore, and traditions. This is a place not so much shaped by people, but which shapes those who live here. It’s an island of contrasts: winter quiet, summer activity as the tourists descend. Blue skies and turquoise seas, lashing rain and howling gales. It’s not just about going outside and experiencing it on foot; for me, I need to know and understand too. 

The island library has a comprehensive section upstairs on Scottish and local history. It spans both the social and natural heritage of Skye, and I fully intend to study my way around those shelves.

How much do you know about where you live? Was it shaped by an industrial past or by previous inhabitants, centuries ago? Are you aware of plants and animals specific to your particular region? It could be worth prescribing yourself a little course where you choose the content and then do the research. Read, speak to people, explore. You never know: you may end up unearthing a few surprises.
 

Nicola:  Can you start by telling us about the Simpson Sisters?  We’d love to know what you do and how your business came about?

Vanessa: The Simpson Sisters began as a way for me to utilise my skills and experiences in a way I enjoy. I had many different jobs over the years, but often felt trapped by the constraints of office life. So about 18 months ago I took the plunge and decided to work for myself.

 I now run creative workshops, either at my home in Bristol or at our Oak Tree Barn in the North Somerset countryside. The workshops are fun, and the groups warm and friendly. You can learn anything from knitting to sewing, to creating hand-made products.  

I have always loved creating a beautiful home environment wherever we have lived. To now have both our homes filled with happy people is the icing on the cake, and feels natural to do. My hope is that people will leave my workshops feeling more content and at peace. Much the same as a day at the spa, minus the chlorine and massage! Keeping things simple, and taking time to be creative, leads to contentment. Happiness comes in moments and is contrasted by other emotions.Contentment is more holistic and, I think, more important. To be creative doesn't mean you have to develop intricate skills. It is the simple act of making things that are satisfying.  

Nicola:  You are a country lover who is also a city dweller.  Can you tell us how you combine the two, and where your heart really lies?

Vanessa: We never intended to have two properties, or indeed two so close to each other.Life just worked out that way in an endeavor to create stability for our daughters in their final years of school. My husband doesn't work in either location and spends his weeks away, so it's not perfect. But we try to make the most of both places.  Bristol is vibrant, energetic and creative, and offers something for everyone in the way of city life. It has restaurants, theatres, entertainment, shopping, and sports.

Our daughters love being at school in the city, as well as only being a bus ride away from everything. I started offering workshops at our home in Bristol before the barn in North Somerset was complete. We are lucky enough to have a big kitchen and a lovely extendable table, so the workshops work well here too.

 I spend a lot of time in the barn and enjoy being there when I’m writing, or need some thinking time. As I write this I'm excited we have a little landscaping going on. It will give me some beds in which to plant a cutting garden. Actually, there is much more than a cutting garden to plant, but I reassure myself that one thing at a time is ok. I'm inclined to want to finish everything as soon as possible. This is partially a result of us never living anywhere for very long. The barn project has really stretched my 'patience muscle', which has been a bonus! 

In truth, the country is where my heart lies. From a practical point of view our chickens live there, so we need to make regular visits anyway! Splitting my time between the two doesn’t always make sense, but at the moment it is working. Luckily my parents live nearby. They are more than happy to offer chicken sitting in exchange for eggs when I can't get out to look after the chickens myself.

Nicola:  You spent a lot of your adult life traveling around the globe due to your husbands work.  Tell us where you have been and what you have learned from your travels?

Vanessa: I’ve always been curious and happy to try anything, so travel has been a natural part of my life. At 16 I took myself off to New York for six weeks. Then at 18, inspired by Lynne Reid Banks book 'The L-Shaped Room', I spent four months living on a Kibbutz in Israel. At 25, when my then boyfriend (now husband) accepted a secondment in Melbourne, Australia, it didn’t take me long to follow him .It is now more than 20 years since we came home .In that time we have lived in Munich, Johannesburg, Brussels, and Stockholm, along with the odd stint in the UK. We have had many wonderful opportunities and experiences due to the work he does. It’s fair to say though that living in a different country with children is not the same as 'travelling.’ 

Making a new life in an unfamiliar place and culture can be challenging. Expat life is not as glamorous as some might think. But it is the most amazing way to meet a variety of people, and I feel lucky to have friends all around the world. I acquired a variety of skills along the way. I speak a little German, French, Flemish and the odd Zulu word! I am a dab hand at moving house and can pack a box as well as any removal team. I have had to be brave and put myself in social situations that felt uncomfortable, but which I rarely regretted. I have also developed confidence, resilience and an appreciation of what is really important in life.

As much as I am fond of the many bits and pieces we have accumulated along the way, and how they tell our story within our home, what really matters is people. People like family, friends and all those who have shown us great kindness and generosity over the years. I have a firm belief that the vast majority of people are good, and mean well most of the time .I have had to ask near strangers for help in various situations, and have never been met with anything but willingness. For this I have been immensely grateful time and again. 

Nicola: I'm fascinated by the barn you have renovated and from which you run your country workshops. Can you tell us the story behind the barn and what it means to you?

Vanessa: I grew up in the small village in which the barn is situated, and could see it from our bathroom window as a child. A local builder built the barn in the late 60s on the pretext of it being an agricultural building. In reality, it was constructed with the intention of becoming a dwelling house. On its completion, there was a long, bitter planning dispute between the builder, the parish and the local authority. The barn was eventually abandoned and left to vanish underneath a bramble mountain, much like Sleeping Beauty’s chamber!

When we returned from Australia my husband and I made enquiries into gaining permission to convert the building into a home.We were clearly told that this would not be possible! My father, however, saw an opportunity to get a change of use for a small part of the barn and to work from there. He took a risk and purchased the property. He was successful in his application and spent years with a little office there. Time ticked on and my father retired. The barn was then let for various uses, including painting workshops and a preschool. 

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t wistfully think about how lovely it would be to convert it into a home. I have drawn a thousand floor plans in many different locations. Some days I think I almost dreamt it into its current existence.

My parents moved from the village to a small house not far away a few years ago. At the time I begged them not to sell the barn, but to give us the option of purchasing it. It was illogical as there was no prospect of being able to live there. At the time we were abroad. But they capitulated, and my lovely husband was mad enough to agree that owning a place in the UK might be a good idea.

We took a risk, but we also got lucky. Shortly after purchasing the barn, the government announced an amendment to the permitted development regulations. On the back of this, we gained planning permission to convert the barn into a residential dwelling. This simplifies the two-year process somewhat, but we got there in the end! I’d be lying if I said that the conversion itself went smoothly. It felt pretty tortuous to be honest, and from time to time we wondered if we were making a huge mistake. 

When we started the process we believed we would be overseas for the foreseeable future. Our daughters had started boarding school in the UK for stability during their GCSE/A Levels, so a base nearby made perfect sense. The barn is small but big enough for family weekends. Having had a rather transient life it was important to me to have a place where we could spend time together. I also wanted somewhere to make some special memories before the girls left home.

 I’m never quite sure what it is about the barn that makes it such an important place to me. I don't know whether it’s the fulfillment of a long-held desire, or because it is where I grew up and feel rooted. It might be a combination of the two. I love knowing that my familial home is over the fence. The school I attended is up the road, as the Church in which I was both baptised and married. It takes time to become part of a village community and we are looking forward to doing so. There are still many people around whom I have known my entire life and I find this comforting.

Nicola:  We’d also love to hear more about the workshops you run and whom they are for?

Vanessa: I have been fortunate to collaborate with others who have a wide variety of skills.They have been happy to share workshops from Christmas canapés to lino printing, simple silversmithing, and sugar flowers. 

The workshops I curate are, most importantly, a chance to spend a day in good company.My priority is for people to feel happy and comfortable while enjoying the opportunity to learn or try something creative. I often wonder if the word ‘creative’worries people, and whether ‘making’ is less intimidating? However, any skills required in Simpson Sister’s workshops are easily learned.Nobody needs to have any experience to book a place and enjoy the day.

We always start with tea/coffee and cake and stop to enjoy lunch together.I believe that sharing food and chatting is one of life’s great pleasures. I love baking and often try out a new recipe for the workshops. This has admittedly caused some panic-stricken moments from time to time! 

2018 is looking great already.I have some exciting collaborations planned and am delighted to be hosting some inspiring people who have chosen to run workshops at the barn.

Nicola:  To finish we’d love to know what you have learnt about running a small business, and what advice you would give to those who dream of doing something similar?

Vanessa:  One of my greatest lessons has been to pace myself and not feel that everything has to be done, or be perfect straight away.  As a ‘solopreneur’ you do everything and it’s impossible to be an expert in all areas. When I think about what I have learned since I started The Simpson Sisters I feel quite proud.

On reflection, I believe that having a growth mindset is my biggest asset. I could have given up on many occasions and found myself another job. But I allowed myself to believe that if others could do it so could I, and I’m slowly reaping the rewards.

I would encourage anyone to have a go at running his or her own business, but I’d also like to be honest about how hard it can be. Social media can lead people to believe that everything is going well, but of course, it isn’t all plain sailing. I’ve made errors of judgment and have had to cancel workshops. I’m also usually too scared to look at the statistics to see if anyone reads my blog posts!

Being able to admit that we don’t know everything is important.I have joined a couple of local business support/networking groups, which has been immensely useful. It goes without saying that there are endless online resources. The trick is in identifying one that resonates with you and getting too distracted. 

I have a feeling that The Simpson Sisters, like so many small businesses, is part of my bigger picture. Right now it sits happily alongside my family life, volunteering and allowing myself to explore a simpler, more contented life. But I’m only too aware of how unexpectedly life can change.So who knows what the future holds for my business!

Find out more:

Website: www.thesimpsonsisters.co.uk

Facebook: www.facebook.com/SimpsonSisters

Instagram: www.instagram.com/simpsonsisters

A circle with paving

Prairie grasses in the Piet Oudolf garden

Pretty gabled roof

A see through and over gate

Repeating colours looking up to the chimney stack

An internal wall of beech

(Clockwise from top right)

Visits to famous gardens in the winter never fail to get me outside cutting and digging in my own patch. I've already cleared a small bed in my front garden just 2 x 3 metres, ready for switch and spangle grasses inspired by the Hauser Wirth garden in Bruton. This one is a big open space some 1.5 acres where the designer Piet Oudolf has used drifts of grasses from the Prairies of North America to echo the reeds, rushes and willows of the Somerset Levels. I like the way his garden has this strong sense of place which makes for a calming yet energising space. Closer to where I live is Croome Park near Pershore originally laid out by Capability Brown where you'll find the gardens spreading seamlessly into the pastoral landscape by using wide ditches on one side and a woodland on the other;  it's a lovely place for a country walk with delightful features at every turn. Both designers borrowed the landscape by choosing plants that blend well and by using views to their best advantage and you can too. You'll probably have to learn to love all shades of brown and green keeping showy seasonal flowers to dress your porch or patio, but I promise this gardening style will beguile and sustain you for many years.

So how exactly do you borrow from the landscape to make a garden that feels right? Maybe start with the bigger picture and consider these questions: What was there before the land was developed and built on? What about the lie of the land? What grows well? Then make choices for your garden that are compatible with the land beyond its boundaries. In northern Europe, woodland areas, raised beds for vegetables, small orchards and swathes of grass bound by hedges all look well because you'll be restoring what was there before.

Repetition is an important principle: shapes, textures and colours all need to be used repeatedly because this is what happens naturally. Have a good look at neighbouring gardens and green spaces and repeat those plants choices, for example a silver birch the other side of a fence would look well with two more planted on your side. Trees do better planted in groups and the existing tree gives lots of information about summer shade and its winter silhouette.  If there's an established beech hedge in view, create inside walls with new beech whips to outline a secret garden or to hide tools, pots and compost. You should find that sympathetic planting softens boundaries and gives your garden an expansive feel. I'm a great fan of low impact boundaries:  featherboard or chestnut paling fences and picket and cleft gates look lovely planted with native hedging. I realise full height braced gates are needed sometimes, to keep the dog safe in my case but choose low fences and hedging elsewhere.

To add charm and loveliness add features which don't have to be plants at all: a timber archway or an arbour, a winding path with a change of surface, stone spirals or a container used as a focal point, all work well in your outdoor room. Seasonal plants in pots and troughs like the green and white viridflora tulip or a dark blue lavender in spring and later echinacea and calendula look stunning with a green backdrop.

Every garden I've tended has had an unappealing feature or two, a towering Leylandii hedge which I had to make my peace with, house building at the bottom of the garden, and orange fence panels, for example. Hiding them in plain sight might save you from disliking the whole plot: you can use the fence panels to hold up natural willow hurdles, or plant some woodland trees in front of them like hazel and hornbeam which will take a few seasons to make an impact but then gardening is always a long game. The orange tones will fade in a couple of seasons especially if you water the timber with muddy water. To mask the new rooflines at the end of my garden I planted a fast growing maple where there was a gap which will do the trick in the summer and for winter frost and snow I put up a shed with a pitched roof to repeat the shape of the gables of the new build houses. But the best solution is to make the most of vistas and views from further away.

You can look up the Piet Oudolf garden here: www.hauserwirthsomerset.com and Croome Park here: www.nationaltrust.org.uk/croome and if you get the chance to visit in person you won't be disappointed. My grasses are now planted in my small front garden and seem happy in the rain and above average temperatures. I imagine them grown up, swaying in the breezes that sweep up the river valley their straw shades augmenting the colour of the pale oak door.
 

If you are planning an outdoor adventure whether with family, friends or on your own, and you want to make sure you’ve leave with beautiful shots you can proudly show off on your social media accounts, we have some tips no matter your level of photography. And regardless of what you encounter, mother nature offers countless opportunities to capture spectacular photos.

Learn Your Environment

Before you leave on your trip, learn as much as you can about your destination and what type of shots you want to capture,” says Michael Will. Photos that look spontaneous are often planned out in advance. Learn when the sun sets and at what direction, know what days you may get rain, think about specific locations you’re interested in. Lighting is your biggest guide in any shot. Get comfortable with, and adapt to your surroundings.

Lighting

As mentioned, lighting will help guide your photography. There are many ways to dramatize shots using light to get what you are looking for.  If you’re shooting at nighttime, learn how to use your camera's flash by practicing at a nearby park before your trip. As a  general rule, you want contrast. For example, if your subject is a big beautiful dark tree, it’s a good idea to contrast it with a light background and vice versa. If your subject is the night sky, find the moon and use a flash to give it that contrast.

Know Your Equipment

What type of camera are you working with? Whether you have a DSLR camera, a point and shoot, or a smartphone camera, learn all you can about it before your trip. So many great photo opportunities can be a missed by skipping this step.  Here is a quick checklist from veteran photojournalist Brian Henry:

• What are all the features on your DSLR, or other type of camera? Learn your camera's settings and features before your trip.

• Did you pack a wide angle lens? (A must for the outdoors).

• Will you need a tripod?

• Do you have a backup SD card or do you have enough space on your smartphone?

• Did you bring a laptop, and charger?

• Are photos properly syncing on your cloud?

If you’re working with your smartphone's camera, you can wow your Instagram followers by using third party apps that you can download. These can help improve your shots. You may have to spend a few dollars but it is worth the investment. Here’s a list some apps.

Look for Rare Features

Make your photos are eye-catching by looking out for rare and unique features to incorporate into your shot. Sure, views are wonderful to capture, but do you notice anything different that you can include in the shot? Can you wait for the flock of birds to pass and try to capture them? What about using a tree to give your shot some composition? Can the tree be your subject? Sometimes, it is these tiny details that will give your shot that breathtaking effect.

Aim For Unique Angle

Ryan Zarichnak advises, “Don’t just take a shot as things appear to you. You need be willing to change your sight level.” Photographers do crazy things to get that perfect angle because they know how important the angle is in the overall shot. Be aware of how your subject is lined up with the background and foreground. Move around to get a feel for the possibilities. Aim for balance in your shot and if you are taking a photo of a person, aim to get at their height. Also, don’t be afraid to get close.  If you’re scratching your head at this point, check out some YouTube videos about angles and composition. Always experiment and look for a unique and interesting angle for all your shots.

Use Lightroom

If you’ve been photographing for a while, you probably know what Lightroom is. Lightroom is an Adobe editing tool that allows you to organize, edit, and share your photography.  Lightroom also has a mobile app that you can download to edit your smartphone pictures. It is very easy to use and many photographers, especially those just starting out, prefer it over Photoshop because as it allows them to easily control the color and other details of their photos as well as store all their pictures them in one place.

Are you Ready?

Before your trip, make sure to plan ahead and have an idea of what types of shots you want to achieve. Know your equipment as this will avoid any missed opportunities and save you time. Finally, don’t be afraid to experiment. No matter what type of camera you have, you can take amazing pictures of your outdoor adventures if you follow these tips.

Brendan Hufford

It’s strange, but the notion of truly ‘being present’, has almost become a counterculture behaviour.  A valid description, its status as such heralds a stark warning on how intrinsically linked we are becoming to digital, viewing moments as future memories waiting to be captured, rather than experiences to be felt in the moment.

But this is not a post about the benefits of digital detox, but more a weekly ritual I want to share, that has helped me not only to focus on ‘being present’, but one that has truly deepened my connection with my garden and its abundance of life in the winter.

Long hours commuting, the demands of a busy job, and the even tougher task of keeping a 3-year-old entertained leaves little time for oneself, or to focus fully on observing and listening to the world around you.  But the other weekend, a chance opportunity to spend just 20 minutes in the garden alone, triggered a routine that I now hold sacred for so many reasons.

I awoke early on a Saturday morning, and my wife and daughter were both still asleep.  I made myself a cup of coffee, reached for a jacket and took myself to the end of the garden to enjoy a few moments of solitude before the household woke up in earnest.

Standing there, time almost seemed to slow down.  Each draught on my hot cup of coffee was followed by a lungful of cold winter air, and then accompanied a bird flitting in the bush beside me; a leaf being carried along in the stream; a heron swooping awkwardly above me.  The less I thought about life, the more I noticed it.

Winter forces me to live a life in boxes even more than the summer: trains carriages, stations, trams, offices, houses.  The opportunity to start the weekend standing in the garden seems to open the pores of the soul and reset one’s internal balance.

But aside from the mental benefits this brings, it’s also started to fuel a deeper connection to life in the winter.  I’ve always loved winter for the same numerous reasons that it’s loved by so many others.  But the garden has always felt like a dead zone to me; closed down and locked off for the winter.

My weekly excursions into it, however, prove how wrong this presumption was.  Even just 15 minutes a week has allowed me to be silent, still and listen to the world around me.  And the abundance of intrigue, interest and activity, has been a revelation to me.  From the intimate lives of birds, made more visible now the branches are bare, or the perseverance and life of different plants, the weekly ritual of observation and quiet listening, has connected me to winter in a way I’ve never felt before.

Discovering this – or should it be, rediscovering? – has been nothing short of a joy.

In addition to the richness this has brought to my love of nature, these wintertime reveries have also helped my creative process.  Any writer will have empathy for the lack of discipline, writer’s block, or general procrastination that seems to come so easily.

But these weekend musings have taken on a metamorphosis of their own, much like the season.  Solitude turned to observation; observation turned to listening.  Listening fuelled note-taking; and notes inspired prose. 

The ‘field notes from the garden’ now form a weekly feature on my blog, a column I derive much pleasure from writing.  But as I’ve started to collate these, even in their infancy, they are starting to form a record of natural history in the smallest of gardens. 

A recent trend for micro, rather than macro, natural history is rather prevalent: writers penning books on edge-land, woodland or even fields.  Could the humblest of small gardens in the Peak District take that premise even further still?

Time will tell.  But I urge all of you, writers or not, to actively carve out a few moments of winter solitude in your gardens, outside spaces, or even gazing out of a window.  When you actively listen, engage and connect, it’s incredible what stories start to reveal themselves to you.

(This also presents an opportunity to apologise to my neighbours for the early morning sight of myself in pyjamas and thick jackets in the garden.  If any of you are reading this, then hopefully this piece changes your perception of me from ‘bizarre-winter-garden-pyjama-man’!)

You can access my weekly observations in the ‘field notes’ category on my website: https://aseasonedsoul.blog/category/field-notes/ or follow me on Twitter @aseasonedsoul

Nicola:  Can you start by telling us about your journey as a photographer, and the work you do today?

Anya: I have always had an interest in art, and my undergraduate degree was in Illustration: Visual Communication. Photography has been a natural progression. I used to experiment in my teens with the basic point and shoot digital cameras. Then for my 20th birthday, I received an entry-level DSLR. At the time I used the photos I took to create reference material for my drawings. It wasn't until after I graduated that I began taking photography more seriously.

 After I graduated I found myself unemployed, so I started a blog as a creative outlet while I looked for work. I loved reading other people's blogs and looking at their amazing photography. This inspired me to start sharing my own posts. I would also try to figure out how the beautiful photos I'd seen had been taken.The frustration of images not turning out how they looked in my head pushed me to keep experimenting and learning. I got my first freelance job for an advertising company off the back of my blog. Despite not feeling like I was good enough, I threw myself into my work and have never looked back. I now do a variety of things, including product and lifestyle shoots. But my real love continues to be photographing nature, wildlife, and landscapes.

Nicola:  I know nature is a huge inspiration for you in your work.  Can you tell us what you love most about being in nature?

Anya: It is like a reset button for me. Being immersed in nature fuels my creativity and imagination. It also has a positive impact on my mental health. I am very much an introvert and find it draining to be around a lot of people. When I am out in the countryside, and close to wildlife, it fills me with energy. It is also where I am the happiest.

Nicola:  Can you tell us a little more about where you live and what a day in your life looks like?

Anya: I live in Sheffield in the north of England, right next to the Peak District National Park. I wanted to live here after graduating because it is the best of both worlds. I have easy access to the benefits of a large city, but within a short drive, I can be in the countryside. When I’m in the countryside I feel like I'm a hundred miles away from the nearest person.  I work as both an illustrator and photographer, so no two days are the same. One day I could be doing freelance jobs and travelling. The next I could be editing shoots or working on commissions. One thing that is constant in my days is walking my little Jack Russell dachshund cross, Doug Pickles. 

Nicola:  I know you have just bought an allotment or rather an overgrown jungle as you describe it!  Can you tell us that story and what plans you have for it?

Anya: To be honest, the main reason I wanted an allotment is because I love to eat! The second is because I find working with things that grow to be calming. Gardening is one of the few activities where I properly zone out. I also love that feeling of eating something you have grown from a tiny seed into a mature plant. It is so satisfying.  I tried growing fruit and vegetables in my own small garden, but it doesn't get a lot of sun. It also has two huge sycamore trees at the end of it. Applying for an allotment seemed like a necessary step in fulfilling my gardening dreams. Although I didn't expect to end up with 280m² of wilderness!

Once it's been cleared (which is taking way longer than anticipated!) I have many plans for it. I want to plant out fruit bushes and get a polytunnel for plants like tomatoes and cucumbers.I also want to grow my own little pumpkin patch ready for October, along with lots of other weird and wonderful vegetables.  

Nicola: You spend a lot of time hiking and exploring with your camera in tow. Where are some of your favourite places to go?

Anya:  It's hard to choose because I'm lucky to have so many amazing hikes nearby. In the Peak District some of my favourite places are Bamford Edge, Castleton, the wilderness beyond Howden Reservoir, Win Hill and Wyming Brook.  I'm constantly sharing images from all of these locations on my Instagram.

 Nicola:  And lastly, what message do you want to share with people about nature through your photography?

Anya:  I want people to take joy in the quiet and the slow.  I want them to really stop and look.  It is not always about reaching the end destination but discovering the beauty and surprising little encounters along the way.

Find out more about Anya here:

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