About a mile in to the strenuous hike she saw the sign at the same time that her energetic triplets did.  “Adventure Trail,” it said in printed in black letters, pointing to the right.  Her children’s voices rang out like enthusiastic bells, “Lets go!  Let’s go!  Let’s go!”  she heard them chime.  As she cautiously considered this path, she tasted fear as a bitter lemon placed on her tongue.  Adventure trails were not for 41 year olds - especially ones like her. 

She listed the reasons, very persuasively, in her mind: “I’m not in good shape, I’m afraid of heights, I don’t like tight spaces, I’m scared.”  Her self argument fell on deaf ears as she found herself making the turn and descending a rickety wooden ladder nestled in to a crevasse.  Her hands shook as she slowly descended. 

As she dropped heavily to the ground from the last rung a cool breeze enveloped her and she exhaled slow as this reassuring touch surrounded her.  The smell of damp rocks and rich earth greeted her as she turned to catch up.  Though her knees wobbled after the first obstacle, her confidence grew and she raised her head high.  She moved slowly along the path, savouring the beauty. 

For a time, she struggled to catch up, as if being last was a voice whispering that she was not enough.  But as she continued to crawl on her hands and knees through tunnels of rock and pull herself up on to small ledges, she realised being last was allowing her to savour the experience.  Savour the adventure.  Savour the journey.  To fully realise that adventure trails were made for 41 year olds, just like her. 

Lottie tickles our tastebuds!

The months of March, April and May are often a funny, in-between experience. Some days are bright and kissed with a sunshine so warm, it feels as if summer has arrived, months early. Other days, however, are resolutely, almost doggedly grey and bitter with a sharp breeze, clinging onto the last throws of winter. And of course there are the days in which the weather is neither here nor there and you will choose to wear tights, or not to wear tights, and your decision will ultimately be wrong. As is the way with these undecided days.

Cooking in these months is also susceptible to this odd in-between, where pie or salad could be craved from one day to the next.  

This spaghetti is excellent at bridging the gap between winter and summer eating, boasting both fresh flavours and comforting pasta. It also does not jump the gun on what’s in season, whilst we’re all still waiting patiently for the asparagus harvest.

Frozen beans and peas are to thank for this. Because whilst we’re desperately ready for a change in season, this year’s summer produce is still growing, benefitting from the first warm days of the year just as we are, but still not ready to be picked and stirred into our suppers.

So in spring heat waves, while we still have to wait a little longer for Panzanella, laden with overripe tomatoes and British berries sweet with sunshine, we can feast on this spaghetti. It is ready to satisfy your spring supper cravings as soon as the first warm breeze rolls in and will still comfort you when that breeze inevitably and erratically turns cold once more.

Spring One Pot Spaghetti with Lemon, Peas
and Broad Beans

Serves 4 generously

• 400g spaghetti

• 800ml vegetable stock

• 200ml white wine (or an additional 200ml vegetable stock)

• 50ml olive oil

• 1 white onion, sliced thinly

• 2 garlic cloves, sliced thinly

• 200g frozen peas

• 200g frozen broad beans

• 150g spinach

• 1 lemon, zest and juice

• a handful of soft herbs like mint or basil, torn.

• 40g Parmesan, grated, plus extra to serve

• salt and pepper

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Put the spaghetti, vegetable stock, olive oil, onion, garlic and lemon zest into a large pot and put over a medium for 7 minutes, or 3 minutes less than the packet cooking time, stirring the spaghetti as it cooks.

2. Add the beans, peas, and spinach and cook for a further three minutes until the frozen beans are cooked through and the spaghetti is cooked.

3. Remove from the heat and stir through the soft herbs, Parmesan and lemon juice. Leave to stand for a minute or so to let the lemony sauce thicken.

4. Serve with a little more Parmesan if you like, and additional herbs.

You can find Lottie on Instagram and Twitter 

Nicola:  Can you start by telling us about Cowparsley at Home and the journey you took to start your own business?

Alison:  The countryside, most notably my time spent on Dartmoor, has had a huge and lasting influence on my life; both as a playground through my childhood, and as a comfort and anchor during challenging times in my adult life. When my daughter, now 25, left home I needed something to nurture ... and so Cowparsley was born.

Nicola:  You describe your products as being ‘Comfortably English’ in design, as well as subtle and understated.  Can you describe the theme of your products and what inspires you in your creative process?

Alison:  I had rather a nomadic upbringing, with many home and school changes due to my Father’s occupation in the Royal Air Force. This left me with a strong desire to ‘root’ myself. Due to this home became increasingly important to me.  

I am drawn to the comfort of time-worn houses, where the comfortable style and decoration have evolved over time, reflecting the personality and needs of the families living there. I love the wild romance of English gardens.  Flowers are essential to my wellbeing.  

All these influences appear throughout my designs and inform the themes I choose. I don’t follow trends.  I can only work with what I love and has meaning to me. 

Nicola:  Can you share with us where you live, what your workspace looks like, and how a day in your life unfolds?

Alison:  I live in a small village on the edge of the Blackdown Hills in Somerset. We converted an old hay barn into a workshop. This is where I work on my wallpaper designs, often making mood boards to help me tell the story behind the patterns. I have an online shop, so as orders come in I pack and then send them from the post office in a neighbouring village. My product range is small but all made to the highest quality.  This is far more important to me than mass sales. I use social media, in particular, Instagram and Pinterest, to promote and market the brand.

Nicola:  I know you are currently rethinking the direction of Cowparsley at Home.  Decisions like this aren’t easy when you have put so much energy into creating your business.  But I also think they are important stories to tell.  We’d love to hear yours if you are comfortable talking about it?

Alison:  I often wonder if one can be both creative and business-minded equally and successfully?  I struggle with the latter. The reality of running a business can be daunting.  As I work alone it is isolating at times and hard to remain confident in what you are doing.

I have recently made the decision to step back from Cowparsley and the pressures of the business to rekindle my love of working alongside other creative people who inspire and empower me. This decision means Cowparsley will be taking a back seat in the future.

Nicola:  I also know you have started working alongside Grace Alexander, who featured in Issue 3 of the Creative Countryside magazine, on her cut flower and seed business. I’d love for you to tell us how you came to start working together and what excites you most about this new opportunity?

Alison:  Many years ago I did a floristry course, and although technically helpful I found it rather restricting.   However, flowers remain hugely important to me. I love the wildness and the ‘natural just picked from the garden or hedgerow style’.

I have recently started working alongside Grace Alexander, who I met when I attended a few of her flower workshops at Forde Abbey. Grace has a unique, natural and refreshingly honest approach to how she grows her cut flowers and packages her beautiful seeds.  Grace knew I was looking to reconnect with flowers and the land again.  She offered me a couple of days working with her and gardener Danny Burlingham in her flower field, helping to style photographs for both home and garden.

Nicola:  And lastly, if someone reading your story was inspired to follow their own creative dream, what advice would you give them?

Alison:  For anyone thinking of starting out in a creative business I would say never let age be a barrier.  Also, think about what you want from the business.  Will it be full or part-time?  Do you need it to provide a regular income?  It is a very competitive market out there. Be true to yourself and be authentic. Working alone can be isolating though, so find other creatives you can bounce ideas off and who will offer support.  But most of all, if it makes you happy then do it!

Photography by Jake Eastham and Alun Callander.
You can find out more about Cowparsley on Instagram and their website.

Rebecca Robinson renews herself through Shinrin-yoku

For many years, I have worked in the city. My mornings have passed me by, breakfast-less, in a blur of rushing. I have been on trains full of commuters staring at their phones, never looking up to see the world passing by their window at 120 mph. I have been one of them. But sometimes, something jolts me out of autopilot. I suddenly notice my surroundings and the people around me, a sea of suits and briefcases. I smell the coffee that other passengers gulp from their overpriced cups, barely noticing the taste. I watch as everyone strides purposefully through grey streets to make it to work on time – for many their only exercise before sitting at a desk and staring at a screen for 8 hours. As we walk, the congestion of the roads and the sound of car horns assault our senses, and the sameness of the daily grind makes us switch off. Our awareness shuts down and we stop seeing life around us. We walk past the homeless man who is in the same spot every morning, yet we no longer even notice him, and we fail to see the small flower that has struggled to grow between the cracks in the pavement.

Wake up and smell the coffee

Being caught up in city life can feel thrilling. The fast-paced nature is exciting, and the multitude of department stores and coffee shops to indulge in on your lunch hour can be one of life’s little pleasures, but the temptation to shop and spend money we don’t have is a strong one. The occasional treat is nice, but when it becomes an expensive habit that keeps us in debt and prevents us from connecting with our selves and nature, we need to stop and think. I became aware of how often I had been treating myself, using hot chocolate with cream and slices of cake as a conduit to ‘me time’. A costly habit; one where you lose pounds from your wallet yet add pounds to your hips. Modern city life has its appeal but leads to apathy and a disconnect from real life. We miss what’s happening right under our noses in our natural environment because we stay cooped up indoors, tethered to our screens.

When I had my epiphany, brought on by a combination of reading about Shinrin-yoku (the Japanese wellbeing practice of ‘forest bathing’) and looking at my bank statement - which had landed with a particularly heavy thud that month - I realised something had to change. Materialism was becoming too big a part of my life, it was costing me money and I was losing a part of myself in the process. Being indoors all day at work and on my lunch-break was severing my connection to the natural world that I have always loved. We are part of nature, and reconnecting with our wild inner self is something that calls to us all, yet we often dampen down and anaesthetise our yearning for something more real with the pulsating lights of city life and an accumulation of more ‘stuff’.

Aside from materialism and the negative effects on our wallets, I had read about the negative physical effects of living in a city. Air pollution from particulates - such as black carbon from car engines - can seep into our bodies and make us ill. I became acutely aware of the lack of trees - which pump out oxygen and absorb pollution -  and I craved more of nature. The effects on our mood and mental health are well-documented with studies showing that noise pollution and city-living can make us anxious, stressed and depressed. The city was losing its allure, and I began my quest to claim back nature for my own wellbeing.

I bought a digital alarm clock to wake me with a simulated sunrise and the song of birdsong, yet neither I nor my husband could make it work correctly. Again, I had reached out to ‘buy’ a piece of nature rather than opting for the real thing. After I returned it to the shop, I then began to open the curtains and let the real morning light flood in. I embraced the seasons. I listened to actual birdsong in the morning as I dressed, tuning in with the natural world around me. I began meditating on the train to work, looking at the landscape flash by. I was amazed at how much of the natural world I had tuned out of. It was there to see, but I had just stopped looking. I noticed trees growing at the side of the railway, grass growing wild and abundant between the tracks, clusters of snowdrops forcing their way through winter’s cold, hard earth, and moss growing on the entrance of damp, north-facing tunnel walls. Nature was all around me, and the more I looked, the more I saw. A v-formation of geese flew overhead, symbolising freedom. I made it my mission to carry on looking for nature in my everyday life. I started to go out on my lunch break, just sitting in nature and writing poetry about the natural world within the city around me.

Into the Woods

My reignited senses and focus on reclaiming the wild had started to make me feel better – happier, calmer, with renewed concentration, awareness and vitality.  Yet I was keen for more of nature and wanted to try Shinrin-yoku. ‘Forest Bathing’ does not involve stripping off to a bikini, but instead means walking deep into woodland and soaking up the atmosphere.

It is a type of nature-mindfulness which began in Japan in the 1980s and has long been a part of Japanese medicine, with extensive studies showing the physical and mental benefits of immersing yourself in the forest. Trees are believed to give off compounds that boost the number of natural killer (NK) cells we have in our body, thus boosting our immune system and helping us recover more quickly from illness. The NHS state on their website that ‘access to green space … reduces cortisol (stress) levels, increases physical activity and speeds recovery if you have been ill’. Since 2009, the NHS Forest project has seen 150 NHS sites plant thousands of trees on NHS land, enabling more people to access green spaces whilst at hospital to improve patients’ lifestyles and aid recovery processes. For more information, visit https://nhsforest.org/.  Reading the evidence that shows how our environment and health are linked is empowering. A walk in the woods seems to lower our heart rate and blood pressure, improving our energy levels and mood, making us happier, calmer, more relaxed, with increased focus and fewer symptoms of depression and anxiety.

The woods were calling to me, just as they have called to others throughout time, urging us to reconnect with our true nature and renew ourselves. ‘It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts,’ wrote Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.’ So, I began my journey to a local area of woodland. Even if you live in a city, there will be somewhere nearby with trees if you look.

When I arrived at the opening to the woods, I stood still for a moment to take a deep breath, drawing in a lungful of air so pure you could almost taste it. It is true that when we are around trees the air seems fresher. I walked slowly, meandering along paths that snaked across the leaf-covered earth beneath my feet. Using my senses, I drank in everything. The feel of the ground, the pebbles beneath the soles of my shoes, the air on my cheeks. I noticed the colours of the leaves, the patterns etched into tree-bark, even spotting lovers’ names carved into the trunks. Dappled light shone and danced through the canopy of leaves above my head. The rushing of a stream cut its way through the forest. I walked toward the sound. Sliding over rocks, crashing over waterfalls, it energised the air. Its sound mingled with the chattering of wildlife and the singing of birds. As I breathed in the scent of the evergreens, breathing slowly, deeply, rhythmically, I entered a meditative state where I felt aware, focused, yet deeply calm.

After 45 minutes of forest bathing, my hunched shoulders had dropped, tension had drained from my body, and I felt rested and restored. After my mindful walk through the woods, I slowly made my way home, promising myself that I would make more time for the healing powers of nature in my life. As conservationist John Muir wrote, ‘Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilised people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity.’ I promised myself that I would look for the wild in the every day, I would notice nature wherever I went, and I would keep the countryside within me, knowing - in truth - that it had been there all along.

Find Rebecca on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook using @rrobinsonwriter

The daffodils have wilted and the snowdrops have long gone. We've had a few days of sunshine and warm weather, so that can only mean one thing: blossom season has arrived. If you haven't already had your fill on Instagram, here's a flurry of blossom images from the lovely Annie Spratt. If you're interested in taking photographs of flowers, or anything in nature, you might find Annie's walking seasonal photography workshop at our Summer Gathering of interest - click here for more information.

Do you remember that exact moment from your childhood - sploshing in through the back door, sopping wet and dripping all over the floor after enjoying a series of muddy puddles, with an enormous smile on your face?  Do you recall that criticizing expression on an adult’s profile that dampened/squashed/ruined your delight with a mere glance?

It is absolutely true that children know how to have more fun, especially when it comes to experiencing the novelties of nature. Everything is a new, exciting experience for them, from jumping into a pile of leaves, to letting the water in the creek gently caress their tiny hands, and oh, the joys that can be had with clay!

Us adults? We are far too reserved to have spontaneous fun like that. We don’t want to waste time, or create more work by getting dirty. We tend to opt for the easy way out, staying clean and dry, every chance we get - after all, going to work, working from home, life in general and raising a family is definitely tiring. Yet, we are missing out on those very experiences that make us feel - and come - alive!

Unfortunately, the “easy way out”, the ultimate way to relax, has become that of the technological and digital kind. Traversing life on the internet is a clean activity, it is mostly indoors and it doesn’t strain our muscles, and it is certainly not dependent on rain. It’s safe enough to hide behind our screens, and let our children do the same, in part because everyone else is doing it; we have grown accustomed to it.

We check our email at various times of day, waiting for letters that have not yet arrived. We search for likes and comments on social media, simply because we want to be seen and heard. But, to be seen and heard, felt and understood, we need to communicate in other ways.

In order to rediscover life beyond the screen, we must admit that smartphones don’t need us quite as much as we need them. We need to know that people will wait for our reply, and that busyness and checking in is exhausting.

To get back to a simpler way of life - way before all this phone, laptop and connectedness craze started - takes courage!

It takes removing ourselves from electrical impulses, and replacing them with grounding instincts, which can be as uncomplicated as walking barefoot on the beach, or on your own grassy lawn.

The modern term for this healing time without distracting screens is digital detox. The concept is so novel that it has yet to be translated into every language. It is as easy as turning off your Wi-Fi for an entire day, or logging out of Facebook for a week, so that you are not tempted in any way to check in on what you are missing. Here’s a kind hint: it is much of a nothingness.

It may feel strange at first to disconnect, to be unavailable online. Just know that it gets easier every time you make the effort to do it.

And that life beyond the screen?

It is filled with hours and hours of meaningful things to do, it is teeming with face-to-face meetings over tea and coffee, it contains gardens, plants and animals of both the furry and feathered kind. And it is yours for the taking!

What can you do without a screen to entertain yourself, assuming that the word boredom does not exist?

• Go for a walk in nature, far or near, on the sand or under trees.

• Take photographs with a camera (not your phone) or sketch what you see in your journal.

• Cook using your intuition and heart, skipping the recipes and meal plans.

• Spend copious time with the people you know and love in person: playing, talking, dreaming, laughing.

Remember how much merrymaking and enjoyment you had as a child before computers and cell phones entered the sacred space of the family home. Those mechanical objects used to belong to businesses, yet somewhere along the way we have claimed them for our own, in the hopes that they would make our lives efficient, easier. And they have done that to a certain extent, but we have also brought into our private homes a good deal of the work stress and expectations of 24-hour availability…

If the mere idea of too much technology frustrates you, it is the ideal time to provide distance between you and your devices.

Start small, shutting your phone completely off at night. Log out of all accounts, making an extra step for yourself to check back in. Digital detox for one day a week, then for two. Gradually work your way up to an entire week of free time, carved out just for you.

What is stopping you from rediscovering life beyond the screen?

If you are so inclined, you can even Digital Detox With Us, in Breb, Romania. We can provide the backdrop of a beautiful landscape in which to (re)experience nature, gather up some foraging and homesteading skills and join in the daily activities (chopping wood, organic gardening, making fire and carrying water) of like-minded people, engaging in meaningful and essential conversations about the environment.

Spring has just made a tentative entrance, and we all breathe a sigh of relief as the temperatures gradually start to rise. The days become longer and our state of near-hibernation is thrown back like a discarded blanket. First come the snowdrops, bravely flowering despite the chill winds and hail. Then, at last, the daffodils begin to bloom. Those yellow trumpets herald the true retreat of winter. Swathes of gold along the verges; so many bright stars atop grey-green leaves and stems. They punctuate the still bare and colourless garden and join other early spring favourites - pussy willow, Ribes Sanguineum (the flowering currant) and, not long after, tulips.

I’ve always preferred native plants and flowers. Non-showy specimens which would look equally at home in a woodland or meadow as in the cottage garden. One exception would be the dahlia; there’s something irresistible about those oil pastel-bright blooms in late summer, particularly when they’re growing amongst the herbs and vegetables.

But another personal favourite is the hellebore. A member of the Ranunculaceae (buttercup) family, it’s a herbaceous perennial which originated in parts of Europe and Asia. It’s fully hardy and easy to grow providing you have an area of rich, well-drained soil and dappled shade. Some hellebores are perfectly happy in containers so most gardens, big or small, should be able to accommodate a plant or two.

Hellebores can easily be overlooked when it comes to late winter and early spring flowers. They’re far more subtle, less attention-seeking than the fizzing sulphurs of daffodils, aconites and Forsythia. Some of the blooms are so dark you might not even spot them at first glance. The flower heads, in most cases, face downwards so you’ll need to lift them gently to take a closer look. But once you do, you’ll be smitten.

There’s quite the array of varieties: single or double-flowered, simple flower forms or deeply frilled. The pure white of the Helleborus niger (or ‘Lenten Rose’, as it’s often known) through pistachio and dusty pink to rich yellowy-creams, claret, deep damson and almost-black of H. hybridus x Harvington Black. There’s even an incredible deep blue-black with an iridescent sheen, H. Blue Metallic Lady.

If rich, moody colour is your thing then hellebores will work for you. But the paler types have beautiful markings: speckles, veining and deeply-tinted edges. The blooms can be displayed by floating the heads in water (their drooping nature means that stems in a vase won’t show the flowers to their best advantage).

If you enjoy exploring gardens - National Trust properties, stately homes or well-maintained parks - you’re likely to find hellebores at this time of year. Head for shady spots and look out for the clumps of glossy leaves and sturdy-looking flowers, almost like wax specimens which have been fashioned for botanical study. There’s something almost Victorian about them, particularly the gothic darker varieties. Once you’ve seen hellebores you’ll want to grow some of your own, either pale and pretty or deep and dusky.

Note: hellebores can be poisonous if eaten, and can irritate the skin so take care when handling them and ensure children and pets don’t ingest them.

Nicola: So we can get to know you better, can you start by telling us about yourself and Gnowangerup Cottage?

Tom:  Hi Everyone, I’m Tom.  I’m a 30-something, checked shirt and galvanised watering can addict from Norfolk. I studied History and Archaeology at Hull University and currently work with students with learning disabilities at a Landbased College.

I inherited Gnowangerup Cottage from my grandparents who emigrated to Australia in the 60s. They were due to go to Melbourne but were offered their money back if they got off at Perth in Western Australia, which they agreed to do. They stayed in an army camp and worked until they could afford to buy some land...which was called Gnowangerup! It’s Aboriginal for the place where the Mallee Fowl nests. When they came back to the UK they were looking for a place to buy.  They came across this place they used to cycle past and dream of owning. The bank was foreclosing on it, so they snapped it up and named it after the land in Fremantle near Perth.

The Cottage was originally built in the 1830s and was two separate one-up, one-down farm worker dwellings. My grandparents built on a little extra and added to the land with a source of wood for the fire, a few fruit trees, and space to keep chickens and have an allotment style garden.

My Gnowangerup Cottage Instagram and Blog began when a friend encouraged me to start documenting the ‘good life’ of producing your own fruit and vegetables, and trying to gain a degree of self-sufficiency. Over the years my Instagram has changed into a place to share my wildlife photography; however I still keep elements of gardening and general country life running through it.

Nicola:  Tell us about the Norfolk countryside and what you enjoy most about living there?

Tom:  What I love most about the Norfolk countryside is the diversity of habitats! We have the wonderful north Norfolk coast with amazing variety, from tidal creeks and salt marshes, to huge expanses of unspoilt beaches. The beaches are important to both Common and Grey Seals for giving birth to their pups, and also important to wintering birds such as Sanderlings coming over from Siberia.

In the south we have the Brecks, a landscape of tranquil forest, open heathland and agricultural land that is home to many unique or distinctive birds, plants and animals. Somewhere in the middle are the Norfolk Broads, Britain's largest protected wetland, and third largest inland waterway, with the status of a national park. It is also home to some of the most rare plants and animals in the UK, such as the Bittern and the Swallowtail Butterfly. I love the slow pace of life and lack of streetlights, but perhaps not so much the terrible WiFi!

Nicola:  You are very passionate about nature.  Can you tell us where this passion comes from, and why it’s such an important part of your everyday life?

Tom:  Growing up in the Norfolk countryside with parents who loved nature was a massive influence. They weren’t experts, but would always point out different birds and tell me facts. Having the observers books on the shelf helped too! It’s really important to me because it is my way of relaxing and de-stressing. How much more relaxing can it get than sitting in the middle of the woods listening to the birds singing and the bees buzzing?

Nicola:  I love the nature photography you share on Instagram and on your website.  Can you tell us how you got into photography and what you love most about it?

Tom:  I’m very fortunate in that my grandparents invested in some land many years ago that includes woodland and an old disused railway line close to the cottage. Exploring it as a kid I saw lots of amazing wildlife that I wanted to capture on film. Also the stunning filming on shows like Planet Earth and Spring Watch are an inspiration, and make me want to get out there and see it for myself.  I’m lucky enough to have a place to go where others won’t disturb me.

What I love most about photography is the anticipation of not knowing what you will see next! It's an adrenaline rush similar to fishing, when the float bobs or the fly line twitches. It gives me a chance to get out into the countryside and test my skills, and to get close to completely wild animals. It's great when you set up in a spot that feels good and you're rewarded.

 Nicola:  When you aren’t pottering about your garden, and taking amazing photos of nature, how do you enjoy spending your time?

Tom:  It goes without saying that those are my two favourite hobbies! I really love taking my camera and walking around my local RSPB and Norfolk Wildlife Trust reserves, as well as exploring the countryside. I am currently spending a lot of time modernising the cottage, with the help of my dad who is a builder by trade. My other passions are sailing on the Norfolk Broads and riding my motorbike, although I freely admit I’m a fair weather rider! I love looking after my chickens, and I have all the equipment ready to start beekeeping!  

Nicola:  And lastly, if you had one message you wanted to share with our readers about looking after our natural environment and the creatures that live in it, what would it be?

Tom:  It’s so easy to get disheartened by the global issues we face today around the use of plastics and the destruction of habitats. I think the most accessible way to look after our wildlife is in our own backyards. This is something we have direct control over, and I try to think of wildlife in everything I do in the garden. It is so easy to make your garden more wildlife friendly. Everyone can leave a patch of lawn to grow longer, plant pollinator friendly flowers, put out bird food and nest boxes, and create a bug hotel and a pond! 

Visit Tom's website, or follow him on Instagram, Twitter and Pinterest. 

Image ©Holly J C Wilkinson

I’ve been in Cornwall for just over 4 years now and within that time I have met some talented makers and creative folk.  When you’re within a creative environment like that of Falmouth and Cornwall there is an abundance of different kinds of disciplines and practices taking place. From painters, illustrators, crafty types and makers. I thought I would share some of the work of these people as I think it’s so important to share with each other your creative inspirations and have a continuous dialogue with other creatives around you.  The ladies I’m going to talk about all have a multidisciplinary approach to making that I think makes each of their practices engaging. 

Megan Fatharly

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Megan Jordan

Meg Jordan is a maker whose main practice rages from textile, woodwork and mixed media craft. It’s her interest in combining different materials that makes her work engaging. An exploration of how these various materials can be combined to create tactile objects of intrigue, filled with patterns and made with care and understanding of each material.

Some of my favourite pieces of Meg’s are her wooden pieces where she has stitched intricate patterns onto the surface. It’s important to note how she is taking traditional, craft skills and manipulating these and applying them in a variety of ways to surface and function. I think this exploration is so interesting, the opposition of function and just work to look at. The physicality of her work is shown through the process of making and attention to finer details.

Find out more about Megan:

Instagram

Website

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Joanna Lillie

Joanna is an illustrator maker whose application of material and how she translates her ideas into these mediums is really engaging. Her creative language is fluid and she is able to translate this visual code to a variety of materials, some of my favourites being her clay structures and colour work.

This is something that as a creative I am trying to hone, I think it’s great to be experimental but when I make, I think I lose a sense of myself with each process and at times it can feel disconnected.  Joanna’s clay work is small and intimate and each detail is painted with care. Each mark is immediate too and adds to the character of what she is depicting. 

Find out more about Joanna:

Instagram

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Jasmine Mills

Jas’s work is currently in a transition stage where she is letting the work direct her influences. She’s currently working on the context of her work which I think when your work is more ambiguous and fleeting is important. There is only so much intuition you can use before it runs dry. I think as an artist she has a good balance between the making and thinking but within that trusting when a painting is resolved.

She is a painter who makes bold colour choices but through experimentation and refining has found a way of making this work. She has repetitive elements in her work that I think are important to note, certain marks and ambiguous landscapes that make an appearance keep the viewer intertwined with her narratives

Find out more about Jasmine:

Website

Instagram

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Catherine Vallely

Cat is another illustrator maker whose experimental approach to material to create her inquisitive characters is something I’ve not seen in a while. Her making and drawing is again very physical but she is selective in how she combines these elements to create compositions that engage the handmade and hand drawn.  

She uses found organic matter so create wonderful and unique characters, giving dead plants and found objects a new lease of life. These tactile qualities add warmth to her work and narratives.

Find out more about Catherine:

Website

Instagram

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It has been a long wait this year, but at last, I’ve heard the sound that for me marks the beginning of spring: that unmistakable buzz of a large, fuzzy bumblebee.

I don’t need to see her. From the sound alone I can tell she’s a queen buff-tailed bumblebee (Bombus terrestris). And then I spot her. She buzzes and bumbles over the lawn in a low, zig-zagging flight. The search for a nesting place has begun.

Bumblebee queens emerge from hibernation in the spring, hungry, and in desperate need of pollen and nectar to replenish their dwindling energy reserves. My first sighting is no exception. She leaves her zig-zagging and makes a bee-line to the patch of hellebores at the back of the garden. Soon she has disappeared into one of the wide speckled blooms.

Over the coming weeks she will spend her time re-fuel and investigate potential places to build her nest, burrowing into old mouse holes, or the compost heap; crawling under the shed and into piles of leaves. It’s certainly no coincidence that last year a buff-tailed bumblebee colony was established close to the hellebore patch: bumblebee queens often to choose to nest where there is a plentiful source of food nearby to help produce their first batch of eggs.

Elsewhere in the garden, spring bulbs and blossom, lungwort, fritillaries, and primroses all offer early garden forage for bumbles while cheering up the beds and borders through these earliest months of the year. We leave clusters of violets and celandines that have seeded themselves around the garden from the woods beyond, and plant our own choices in clumps and drifts. Planting in this way provides plenty of forage in each place, helping the bees to conserve their energy by reducing the need to fly too far between plants.

Soon other kinds of bumblebee will begin to emerge, and we will welcome the first solitary bees too. The gentle Andrena carantonica that appear each year in the upstairs bedrooms; tawny mining bees (Andrena fulva) who make volcano-shaped nest entrances in the borders; ashy mining bees (Andrena cineraria) with their characteristic grey moustaches; the red mason bees (Osmia bicornis) that like to sun themselves on the south and west facing walls of the house; and the hairy-footed flower bees (Anthophora plumipes) that zip at speed from flower to flower among the comfrey plants.

But for now, I am content to listen out for that deep buzz of the big bumblebee queens, hoping to spot more before they enter the confinement of their nests for the rest of the year.

Music. Forests. Art. Ideas. Sounds good, right?

Timber is a new festival exploring the transformative impact of forests, with an exciting programme of artists, performers and areas. Music, art, philosophy and sustainability will weave together into an exhilarating weekend in the heart of the National Forest, one of Britain’s boldest environmental projects.

Festivalgoers will adventure through for its inaugural edition this July (6th-8th), exploring what woodlands can mean to us and how we can re-imagine our relationship with our environment.  There will be the opportunity to play and create in an arboreal wonderland, where the tonic of wildness rules supreme. 

It's all taking place in the National Forest, the first forest to be created at scale in England for over 1000 years. Spanning parts of Derbyshire, Leicestershire and Staffordshire, the first trees in the National Forest were planted over 25 years ago, to transform a landscape that had been left scarred and derelict by the closure of the Midlands coalfield. It's a forest for the nation, a national asset that demonstrates a revolutionary approach to forestry, showing how well-designed woodlands can enrich the lives of people, businesses and wildlife, while helping to address climate change.

Highlights include the world premiere of Seek, Find, Speak, the outdoor theatre companion to The Lost Words, music headliners Jane Weaver and This Is The Kit, a keynote address from Stuart Maconie, the English festival premiere of Jony Easterby’s new interactive performance Tree and Wood, and the greenfield festival premiere of Luke Jerram’s Museum of the Moon.

I'm particularly looking forward to Marshmallow Laser Fest: In the Eyes of the Animal, where you can discover what it’s like to be an animal in the forest through the eyes of four woodland species in an immersive virtual reality experience (have a look at the video below for a taster).

There will also be a fire garden, forest films, a masked ball, storytelling, a coppice maze, woodland workshops, forest bathing, foraging, and a seven metre sculpture of the moon(!).

I'm delighted that Creative Countryside is supporting this not-for-profit festival with sustainability at its heart. 

Fancy joining me in July? Get your earlybird ticket here.

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Collaboration Note:  Thank you to Timber Festival for inviting us to attend.  All thoughts are my own. 

The settlement of Melvaig looks distinctly unsettled. There’s spaces between the cottages that wait to be filled but instead new residents build on plots flung out at awkward angles from the village and coastline. In many cases, it’s hard to tell when a house is actually an elaborate garden shed. Or a house built to look like a shed. Yet the village is somehow more than a random scattering; two chocolate collies pounding across the lawn might have something to do with that. They’re a single sign of life on this remote stretch of land beyond the loch.

Melvaig ends where a private track swoops towards the headland at an alarming gradient we guess to be at least 25%. This is the end of the road. This is where we’ve come to ride.

In a redundant passing place we get back the breath that the steep climb stole. From here the cottages of Melvaig are cowering, every hillock and tree has been claimed as shelter from the briney Hebridean wind. I can taste salt on my lips; it stings the cracks.

This is Highland riding.

Our prize is the lonely tarmac that carries us past beaches where waves are turquoise right up to the moment they smash white against vertical cliffs. Sheep cling to grassy clumps. One brazen lamb stands firm as we cycle past, more curious than his friends who scatter at the whistle of air through our spokes. As we leave the blue weight of Skye behind, the horizon appears translucent; a piece of silk hangs between us and the rest of the world. We’re cycling towards the headland now and a surge of adrenaline sears right into my fingertips as I push towards the void ahead. We’re only a few miles from the last cottage yet we’re pioneers.

That’s why I’ll never tire of cycling Scotland’s roads. In minutes we can be alone. We ride full of triumph at being the only ones to venture into an undiscovered corner – even if it’s not true.

In the wind, we think we might never make it home. My pedals are getting heavier and I can measure every rise and fall of the road by the volume of my breath. A lighthouse is a lonely place by definition but the road leading towards Rua Reidh feels truly abandoned. Tangled whips of wool struggle in their barbed wire traps and draw attention to my own hair which is being forced from under my helmet at the mercy of the wind.

A needle sharp tip is our first glimpse of the lighthouse. I blink rapidly to clear the hair from my eyes. The bulk of white washed concrete emerges just as the tarmac dissolves into gravel and eventually bare rock. A front of weather sweeps east. I’m having no trouble imagining the treacherous storms that wrap around the headland tormenting the lighthouse keeper, and more recently, adventurous guests.

We’ve not only run out of road, we’ve run out of land. There’s nothing for it but to turn our bikes around and head back to Melvaig. We’ll keep the sea to our right as it fills the loch and slows to linger on the shallow sands of Gairloch.