Waking in winter is strange, it always feels too dark still to rise, the air too close, hands pressing down and whispering, urging you to stay a while longer. It takes lengthy and gentle persuasion to coax myself out of these warm solaces I have made, carefully unwrapping blankets like peeling back layers of wrapping paper. Stumbling around with shivering limbs and fuzzy eyes, those dark mornings didn’t even feel real sometimes. Summer mornings though bring another kind of unreality. Pastel hues, brighter than you might imagine, that tease you out from sleep before you even knew you were ready. 

I remember camping in the summer, waking early and still enveloped in the soft dyed light that peered through coloured canvases. I wriggled out from the tangle of sleeping bags amongst the murmuring of quietly pulled zips. Half falling out of the tent’s door, I stepped into the light. Just before it was light really, like I was looking at it through a layer of water. And there was water, a low hanging mist that dangled playfully around my feet, twisting up the just emerging colours. It danced in between the overgrown grass in the rambling campsite, amongst the nodding heads of wild flowers, the childish dot to dot of vibrant tents and chairs, of flags with trailing bunting. It was soft but not like the quieting winter morning, much more open. The cornflower blue was just beginning to spread in the sky over the barely fading pinks and reds, those blushing hues of sunrise. They were making way for the sun to find its place once more as it began to stretch out its legs again and somewhere far off, or maybe not so far, I remember hearing a camping kettle begin to whistle. Another early riser.

Walking though the fresh, cool grasses I skirted round the nodding wild flowers that still stood tall between the tents and watched the swallows that ducked and soared around the sleeping campers. I found myself almost tiptoeing as I walked, unwilling to disturb this peace that I had accidentally found myself in. To my right I heard the gentle humming of bees, to my left the whispering of branches in trees as the breeze caught them. Just the previous night we had heard an owl singing in it, gathered together in the tent, hushing one another while we worked out what it was. I skipped over tent ropes, pushed my hair from my face, and began to hear already the sounds of others waking. Soon the fields would be full of voices once again, the simpler quiet of the early morning almost forgotten but, of course, it would be here again tomorrow waiting patiently to shake off our sleep once more.

I am a lover of winter but these summer mornings have a place in my heart that goes deep. It’s these mornings in the light that still hold the soft singing of a kettle on an open stove, a beckoning up and onward, an invitation to gently shake off the winter slumbers, to rub my eyes and step out once again.
 

Hannah Franklin

Find Hannah writing at 'Sifting for Treasures' here

Picture this: a forest barely begun - just 25 years in the making - and a vision to create a festival celebrating the beauty, the power, and the wisdom of trees. Billed as an intoxicating experience where music, art, philosophy and sustainability weave together into an unforgettable, exhilarating weekend, the inaugural Timber Festival was a celebration of not only trees, but also all woodland culture, and the transformative power of forests.

I was invited to find out more by the festival organisers, Wild Rumpus; full disclaimer: my friend and I attended for free, but all opinions in this post are my own.

Friday began with an incredibly hot pitching of the tent before we immersed ourselves in the trees, with an outdoor performance of The Lost Words, by Robert Macfarlane and Jackie Morris: Seek Find Speak. (If you haven't heard of the book, it's a stand against the disappearance of wild words we often use in childhood: dandelion, conker, willow, otter... words that sadly no longer feature in the lexicon of our own children.) Led by a charm of Goldfinch performers, we were guided to Seek the words hidden in the branches, in the undergrowth, in the shady glades; Find the lost word in that location; and Speak it aloud, sometimes reading the spell-poems from the pages of the book, sometimes watching the Goldfinches enact its meaning.

The performers engaged not only the excited children following their enchanting calls, but also the whole troop of adults; for an ex-English teacher, and a committed logophile, it was brilliant.
 

Other strange but wonderful highlights from the weekend included 'In the Eyes of the Animal', an immersive virtual reality experience that allowed us to see through the eyes of four woodland creatures. It lasted only a few minutes, but felt like I was on another planet. Definitely an eye-opener. 

The performance from Canopy of Stars was also mesmerising, complete with a final storytelling session with plenty of audience participation! 

The talks on offer were wide-ranging, and we'd highlighted everything we wanted to go and see before we went (highly recommended!). Particularly entertaining were Stuart Maconie's keynote speech and Robert Macfarlane's reflections on how music and landscape are connected. But it was Sarah Spencer's 'Think Like a Tree' workshop that I found most enlightening. You might have read our post last month where Sarah introduces the concept, but following her advice in person, and listening to her wisdom, was truly worthwhile.

There were many other weird and wonderful things going on over the course of the weekend: The Dream Antelopes (above) and the Museum of the Moon (below) being just two examples. What we loved was being able to dip in and out of these without feeling too pressured that we were going to miss them. In fact, the feel of the whole weekend was slow and relaxed, and it was the calmest, most peaceful festival I've ever attended. 

Sunday closed and we left with willow stars that we'd made that day, nature pendants we'd created the day before, and a sense that the forest, the woods, and trees, really do have the power to transform our moods, our vision for the future, and our lives.

If you're interested in attending next year, you can sign up to the eNews at www.timberfestival.org.uk to be the first to hear about dates and early bird release tickets.⠀⠀
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Collaboration Note:  Thank you to Wild Rumpus and Timber Festival for inviting us to attend.  Images courtesy of Timber Festival. All words and thoughts are my own. 

Curiosity is the cornerstone of any creative mind.

An inquisitive nature that refuses to take things at face value.  A soul that looks deeper into the world around them and spends time reflecting, thinking, processing.  Curiosity is a blessing (and can also be a curse) but is also a trait that garners immense riches when applied to life outdoors.

It is curiosity that forced me outside into my garden on chill winter mornings in November, as I chronicled the tiny changes in the garden at a time of year I used to consider ‘dead’.  It is curiosity that has seen me poring over the tiniest of flowers and plants in the garden, as I become romantically entwined with a specific plant, rather than worrying about the state of the lawn.

But it is also this inquiring soul that has seen me start to amass a rather wonderful collection of curiosities, as I build a nature table made up of objects that are natural, beautiful and full of intrigue.

‘Cabinets of curiosities’ date back to c. 1600, and were collections of objects whose categorical boundaries were yet to be defined in Renaissance Europe.

As we move into more modern times, these became collections of many different forms, from archaeological and religious relics, to works of art, antiquities and of course, objects of natural history.  And for the curious mind, the outdoors offers a rich bounty of different curios to feed the soul and fire the creative within all of us.

Interestingly enough, these were rarely actual cabinets, with the term more loosely referring to an area of a room.  Alas; the curious mind digresses…

In a world where real meaning is often being eroded through apathy, technology (or both), there’s something wonderfully human about collecting different objects from the outdoors.  They require slow, considered saunters to discover them; a natural curiosity applied to a walk or time outdoors, free from the frenetic demands of modern life.

They are tangible, unfiltered and real, and I urge every one of you to start building your own nature table, or natural ‘cabinet of curiosities’ to stimulate the mind and nourish the soul.

On one level, they are aesthetically pleasing.  From the delicate veined patterns of last year’s hydrangea leaves, to the vivid hues of green and yellow lichen, there is a natural nourishment that comes from having a collection of natural ‘objects d’art’ to look at.  They may be ‘everyday’, but every day they also give forth new views, perspectives and thoughts.The delicate strength and sheer variety of materials in a bird’s nest, or the smooth lines of unidentified vertebrae: these objects bridge the curious mind to an uncensored and raw reminder of the real, natural world around us.  To hold these objects is to connect with nature in a way that is getting lost through smartphone sanitisation.

And lastly, they each represent something of true meaning.  I still remember the sheer excitement on my daughter’s face when we found an abandoned ram’s horn when pottering about near a stream.  The empty crab shell, colours jaded now, that represents a time of sheer joy and connection on a beach on Anglesey.  These things are far more than a collection of interesting objects: they are markers of meaning.

We live in a consumer society where we’re constantly told to amass, multiply, and collect.  That human desire to collect is not to be denied.  I just urge you to indulge that motivation in a way that (for me at least) feels infinitely more rewarding, stimulating, and indulging of our natural curiosities.

A nature table is a thing to be embraced.  And even if you live in the heart of a city, there are a thousand different objects just waitingto be found if you’re curious enough to seek them out.

Fancy sharing your collected finds? Use the hashtag #countrysidecuriosities on Instagram and we'll share our favourites!

Today we're introducing you to Francey Bunn, beekeeper, creative, and the owner of Tea and Wildflowers.

Nicola: We’d love you to start by telling us about Tea and Wildflowers and your creative journey so far?

Francey: Tea and Wildflowers is the name of my small business selling honey and beeswax products with potential to include handmade and old things in the future.  I came up with the name to fit with the idea of plant based living and to conjure the magic of my everyday. Childhood memories of long sunny afternoons with tea and books in our South London garden have stayed with me. The garden was packed with fruit trees and we enjoyed its bounty throughout the year: open tarts and mousses in the summer and jams and jellies to take us through to the next harvest. 

One year our apricot tree broke under the weight of fruit and my mother made so much jam.  I'd been wanting to keep bees for ages; it's a craft I feel I'm suited to because I love the summer and enjoy new knowledge and skill sharing. Beekeeping is about so much more than honey. Hanging out by the hives watching these beautiful insects take flight and return home laden with pollen on a golden afternoon is so joyful.

I put back my plans when we adopted our first dog an unruly GSD who took a while to settle and then four years ago I joined the local beekeepers' association hived a swarm or two and now have six colonies. Each of my queen bees has a name from medieval literature; Guinevere, Aliénor and Isolde were the first three I kept in the apiary nearest home. Hopefully the colonies will expand again this year; I usually inspect the hives as soon as we get temperatures of about 10C, typically a nice sunny day in March. I'm nervous to see if the colonies have survived especially when we've had snow and freezing conditions. I try to inspect the frames without too much disruption and am praying for the biscuit coloured slab of brood that proves the queen bee is happily laying eggs. If all is well I'll just put the hive roof back on and make weekly inspections thereafter.

Sometimes a small intervention is needed to keep the colony happy. I never rush things and often go back the following day after I've had a long think about what to do for the best. There's a lot of lifting of wooden boxes and as I have my hives in three different locations I drive round quite a bit and I have to be organised with my kit. I don't normally take frames of honey from the hives until July when I feel confident about surplus levels. The honey I sell is raw, filtered once only and comes from a single hive; a truly artisan product. I talk to the bees quite a lot, telling them about what's going on in my life, encouraging them and thanking them for sharing and we toast the bees with honey cocktails at our family harvest supper in October to show our appreciation.
 

Nicola: From where do you draw your inspiration?

Francey: I draw inspiration first from the landscape around me: small farms, green pastures, hills, valleys and woodland are part of my DNA and I need this kind of setting to prosper. I'm inspired too by women and men who have gone before me, from my own family and others I know through their writing and creativity. As a child I loved to read about adventurers like Laura Ingalls, Amelia Earhart and Grey Owl. I didn't become an aviator but I do my own version of Little House on the Prairie and of all the road trips my husband and I have made, it's the great wildernesses of the Pacific Northwest that continue to nourish us.

Perhaps most influential of all is my French heritage, stories from way back about growing vegetables, making cheese and drinking tisanes are my personal treasure trove.
My creativity runs through a collection of projects, harvesting honey, candle making, dyeing cloth and using herbs for health and well being, and they all have plants as their starting point.

Nicola: Can you tell us about the process of your work, from initial idea to the finished product?

Francey: I could usefully tell you about my candle making here. As a beekeeper I have quite a bit of wax at the end of the season and as I love candles I thought I'd try making some. I started with hand dipping which is the most made by hand method but the results weren't pleasing so I started researching moulds. I found a pine cone mould I thought looked pretty realistic and then considered some of my vintage baking tins. The sweet floral aroma of the beeswax persuaded me to sell my candles online and locally and they've been a runaway success. I needed to source more beeswax which I was able to do locally as I know quite a few keepers so this make is sustainable; I have plans for pharmacy jar candles this year.

Nicola: Can you tell us about where you live, what your workspace looks like and what a day in your life is like?

Francey: We've lived in a small village just north of the Cotswold Edge for a long while now and I'm grateful for the warm Atlantic breeze that sweeps up the Severn and Avon valleys keeping us above freezing temperatures for most of the year. My garden isn't vast and I've planted it to echo the surrounding landscape, trees and hedges and grass at different levels. There is a woodland area under some mature birch trees which I look out to from my little studio or summer house as it's known. I'm very fond of the old brick wall which runs the length of the garden. It belonged to the farm buildings serving the Manor House across the road: a lovely antique next to our modern house. A few visitors have commented about the absence of flowers in my garden. I'm happy with shades of green and brown with a few white pelargoniums to dress the porch in the summer.

I'm not a morning person so my day doesn't really start till after 9 but I often stay up late. You might have guessed that I'm a tea drinker and I have a different brew according to my mood.  My favourites are verveine, mint and lemon balm, all from the same plant family. I try to have a window of creativity in the morning and one in the afternoon when I might pour some candles, visit my hives, go on foraging walks and style photos to use on my website or for Instagram. Fun admin tasks like planning, ordering supplies and catching up on IG tend to be an evening thing. If I have a longer piece to write I do that in my PJs as I eat my morning porridge.


Nicola: When you aren’t creating what do you enjoy doing?

Francey: I like to spend time with my children which these days often involves the internet. My son lives in Arizona and I love chatting to him on Sunday evenings, his Sunday morning.  My daughters are quite a bit closer in London and Oxford and it's lovely to exchange visits and texts with them so regularly. They tell me they like to read about what I'm up to on Instagram and we swap ideas and recommendations all the time.

Swimming is my first choice for exercise, the feeling of being in water is so restorative and mindful. I'm a regular at the Cheltenham Lido in spring and summer and in winter I use indoor pools. My favourite swims though are in the sea but I have to be on holiday for those as we live about as far away from the coast as is possible here in the UK.

Nicola: We’d love to hear more about your love of photography and all things hand-made, and how you incorporate both of these into your daily life?

Francey: I can't really separate photography from writing, both tell stories and I like to use them together. I guess Instagram has made me see it this way. I love photos that tell parts of stories which we then fill in. I have a new website coming online this summer. I want to extend my IG, make it bigger and deeper. Concept wise it's a kind of grimoire but more natural secrets than supernatural ones. My first posts are about foraging, teas and tisanes and a short story about a beekeeper. I write because I am but it can be hard sometimes when the words are heavy and I'm just not getting my ideas across. Light is everything for a good photo so I know the places in the house and garden and the times of day that are more promising.  As with writing I keep trying things out, make small changes and try again.

Handmade things make my heart sing and I buy from small producers like Winchcombe pottery or I browse Etsy, but to be honest I don't buy much, I just look after the things I already have and sometimes reinterpret them with paint or dye. I like a pared down aesthetic so clutter is not my friend.

Nicola: And lastly, if anyone reading this would love to follow their own creative dream, what advice would you give them?

Francey: To anyone who's just started out on their creative journey and I'm not very far down that road, I would recommend a few things; scheduling short and long term goals, so last year it was setting up my shop on Etsy, finding local stockists and getting some kind of brand identity going, and this year, I've got some help with my Instagram and with my new website. It's so important to invest in yourself too because early success will give you the feeling of achievement you need. Working with others is also great for development. I've recently started a shared project with Heather, a herbalist I met on the Creative Countryside Winter Gathering in January (check her out on IG @northstarnomad); we are exchanging letters about dyeing cloth and growing honey plants like buckwheat, phacelia and quinoa to provide pollen and nectar for bees. I've made a start with dyeing linen using walnut shells and avocado skins. Seed sowing so I'll have some strong plugs to plant around the hives is next up. It was Heather's suggestion too, that we share some reading and we've chosen Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer to take us through the next few weeks.

I feel I need to say more about reading and how books including fiction are so important in the creative journey.  Whenever I have an idea, I develop it through reading and conversations with folk who have done something similar.  Only then can I start to work independently and make something of my own.

Follow Francey on Instagram, find her on Etsy or visit the website

Have you ever experienced one of those moments when something is said, and you know, for whatever reason, that it’s hugely significant, even though the reason for this might not be immediately apparent? I remember one of those moments now, only because it has finally gained the context that allows it to make sense, kind of like blinking yourself out of a dream and into the wakeful clearness of the day.

This particular moment happened at university, in a packed lecture hall during a lecture on Wordsworth’s 'Tintern Abbey'. Not only did the poem immediately establish itself as a firm favourite (even to this day vying for the position of absolute favourite with Keats’s 'To Autumn') but something else seemed to strike a chord when the lecturer, discussing Wordsworth’s walking tour and views over the landscape, said: “When you leave here today, remember that whatever you look at, someone, somewhere, either owns it or controls it in some way.”

For years after, that sentence swilled around loosely in a dark, neglected corner of my memory until eventually my interests meandered through the world of angling and its writers, spilling over into a more panoramic interest in nature writing and the wider natural world beyond the seas and estuaries and rivers I knew so well. Suddenly, a whole new world opened up to me: George Monbiot’s theses on “rewilding”; the often parochial, intimate observations of Deakin and Blythe, the country-crossing ramblings of MacFarlane and the ecologically-tinted wilderness wanderings of that great modern-day voyageur Sigurd F. Olson, to name just a few. I became fascinated with my own self-built grand fantasies of “wild secluded” Canadian wilderness and the “deep seclusion” of remote Scottish highland forests, lamenting the fact that there were no such comparable things near to me, vowing that ‘some day I would...’, a burgeoning sentence whose wide open spaces were filled with a rolling sequence of overblown, romanticised ambitions that would arrive and then disappear almost as suddenly, carried away upon their own energy as twigs in a stream.

But then, something happened. With further reading, came an awareness of the deeper themes and arguments that ran across decades and continents, leading me onto some strange assimilation of all these factors, and it was whilst I computed all of these ideas and influences into my own understanding of the natural world that the old phrase from my university lecture that seemed so long ago finally found a niche into which it could click, where it began to cast light upon these new ideas, kick-starting a new process of understanding.

I quickly realised that the phrase “natural world” belonged within quotation marks. Why? Because I could no more define it than could anyone else. My understanding of the “natural world” is uniquely my own, and thus, should be taken with a pinch of salt by anyone other than me, as should anyone else’s version. Perhaps the “natural world” as society has come to understand it is a concept that doesn’t actually exist. Maybe it never existed in any one true, idealised sense. This revelation was finally hammered home when, as chance would have it, I returned to the source of my early fascination, re-reading Lyrical Ballads, this time in preparation for teaching it to A-Level classes of my own.

I devoured the book quickly, looking for remembered phrases and lines as I might scan for friends on arriving at some party. There they were, tripping off the tongue once more until, that is, I returned to Tintern. The powerful words and images were still there alright, as majestic and poetic as ever they had been on my first reading years before; they had lost none of the Romantic power. But there, nestled alongside them were other more subtle things that I had long since forgotten, or perhaps missed entirely in the first place. For all of the seclusion and tranquillity and restorative power, there was also a calm and unfussy acceptance from Wordsworth, present in the “plots of cottage-ground”, “orchard-tufts”, “hedge-rows” and “pastoral farms” that were framed by “wreaths of smoke/Sent up, in silence, from among the trees”.

Here was a genius of the English pastoral, searching for silence and solitude and quiet contemplation, and having to find, instead, a negotiated version of the natural world. In a landscape as used and farmed and tamed as the British countryside, even the great searchers who had come in search of their own idea of nature had been forced to settle upon the version of it that was afforded them by the other people and purposes with whom they shared it: Wordsworth’s vision of Tintern; Keats witnessing the seasons change in the fields and granaries. Even the great Robert Frost could only find a road “less traveled by” in his American landscapes rather than one never before walked upon.

And here it was, laid bare in black and white lines of iambic pentameter: it is okay to negotiate. I don’t need someone else’s wilderness when I can find solitude whilst fishing an empty beach at dusk; I don’t have to hike through some distant forest when I can walk the slopes of the hills behind my home, following my well-worn route through its tree-tunnels; I can hear birdsong and wind-sifted leaves in Margam Country Park, a beautiful green space once owned by the Talbot family, and only ten minutes drive from my home, just as well as I can anywhere else. 

To some, this might be unacceptable. Maybe they are not prepared to settle for less, needing the raw confrontation of “Nature, red in tooth and claw”, but that is for them to search for and discover on their own terms. Good luck to them. I am perfectly happy to give a little, working with my negotiable nature, so that I can continue to receive so much in return.

This time last year I was starting to plan out the crowdfunding campaign to fund the first issue of Creative Countryside magazine. I had no idea whether it would work, whether anyone would care, or where I'd be twelve months on, but here we are, still going! Publishing an independent magazine has been full of pitfalls and learning curves, and because I'm constantly looking forward (to the next issue, the next gathering, the next season), I thought I'd share some of the things you can expect to see around here. If you're interested in what's changing, and what running Creative Countryside is like behind-the-scenes, then this is the post for you.

The Magazine

I set out determined to publish four issues a year. A quarterly magazine just felt right for something so aligned with nature and the seasons, and I'm happy to say that it's going to stay this way. I've deliberated over changing it to bi-annual (cheaper to print, more time to sell, more time to work on content) but for me, it's all about the seasons, so four issues it is.

You'll notice, however, that issue 4 is a lot bigger than previous issues - it's 120 pages (rather than 80), and I'm so pleased with this change. I felt limited in previous issues, and had so much content to share that I had to be very selective in my choices. I've tried to reflect the size increase fairly, so whereas previously £8 bought you 80 pages, £12 now buys you 120 pages. The magazine has always had the feel of a book anyway, so this change really cements that, and you can enjoy the content each year - it won't go out-of-date next month, and we won't be repeating the same style of content next year either. It's had a bit of a re-design too, to reflect everything I've learnt so far - you'll notice that our logo has also changed, and things are just a little more streamlined.

The magazine has always been printed on recycled paper; that's a non-negotiable for me. If I'm going to create something that uses up natural resources, I want to make it as environmentally-friendly as possible. Each magazine is sent out in a recycled jiffy bag (no plastic bubble wrap) and stockist orders are sent in recycled cardboard boxes. I now also use recycled plastic tape for larger orders.

The final change for the magazine is that the print run is going to be limited to 600. Initially my goal was just to sell as many copies as possible, to increase print run each time, and see the magazine stocked in as many shops as I could. But for a niche magazine, that's turned out not to be feasible. For now, it makes more sense to print a limited number, and to focus on increasing the number of subscribers and repeat customers. I'm not concerned about the numbers; I'm much more interested in building the community.

A quick note about the price too: I know a number of people find £12 an inordinate sum for a magazine, and there was a time when I might have been one of them. But if you consider the fact our magazine is quarterly, completely ad-free, and is the size and quality of a journal or book rather than your typical glossy magazine, I hope the reasons for the cover price become clearer. The magazine doesn't make me any money either: costs are covered, but that's about it, and it just isn't possible to print a publication of this type and sell for less.

Events

I longed to run events for Creative Countryside many months before they were actually introduced! Working as a creative entrepreneur, the days are often spent alone working on different elements of the business, but we all need connection, someone to bounce ideas off, a chance to just 'be' and take time to process our thoughts. Our seasonal gatherings give you the opportunity for all this, plus the chance to feast on seasonal food, take part in traditional rituals and ceremonies (wassailing, anyone?) and spend time in nature with like-minded folk. This year, we've hosted two gatherings so far: the first took place in January in the Peak District; the second in June in the Yorkshire Dales.

Plans for the future are shaping up, and I hope to run four main gatherings per year, plus a host of other seasonal events (supper clubs, informal meet-ups etc.). You can register your interest in future gatherings here.

If you're interested in running a workshop, or getting involved in any way with our events, send me an email - contact@creativecountryside.com

The Community

The Creative Countryside community took me by surprise. Sure, I was looking to build my email list, send out seasonal e-books, grow my following on social media; what I didn't expect was the friendships I'd form. Our core team is small and currently all are volunteers. We're just about breaking even (and I'm not taking a penny so far either - everything is going back into the business), so everyone who's here is doing it for the love of it; I can't tell you what that means. To know that there are a group of individuals out there who support everything that I've built and created, who contribute incredible creative content for the online journal and the printed magazine, is an incredible feeling. I'm so grateful to be surrounded by them, so go and show them some love if you're not already familiar with who's who.

One of my future goals is to expand this community, to provide a space (both online and offline) for like-minded folk to chat, connect and be inspired by the seasons. I'd love to hear from you if you have any thoughts, if you're craving any type of event/meeting space/product in particular. And if you'd like to stay informed of everything going on, don't forget to sign up to the newsletter!

Today, Maddy from A Slow Adventure shares her favourite ways to make the most of summer evenings. This piece is an extract from her article in issue 4 - head over here to order a copy of the magazine.

Explore

Perhaps the simplest way to take advantage of the longer evenings is to pull on your walking boots, or climb on your bike, and explore your local area. One mile or ten, new routes or old, alone or with others - it doesn’t matter. Just enjoy the journey, notice your surroundings, breathe in the fresh air… and maybe stop off at a pub on the way home.

Feast

Make the most of summer’s plentiful fresh produce and support your local market or farm shop at the same time by picking up some supplies and gathering together your favourite people for a picnic or barbecue - at home, in the park, on the beach or in the woods. If you’re feeling fancy, take your al fresco dining up a notch by hosting a summer supper in your garden. Choose a selection of simple dishes from a seasonally-inspired recipe collection - I recommend The Ethicurean Cookbook or Gill Meller’s Gather - and don’t forget the fairy lights. 

Forage

The season of ripe abundance, summer is a wonderful time for foraging. Look for elder blossom and wild strawberries, herbs and greens (sorrel, mint, fennel, late nettles hiding in patches of shade) and edible flowers such as yarrow, honeysuckle, dog rose, meadowsweet and mallow. You may find mushrooms, too - chanterelles in the woods, or giant puff balls in the fields. By the shore, keep an eye out for sea beet and purslane, samphire, and sea buckthorn berries. In the later months, wander the heathlands for bilberries and look to the trees for hazel and sweet chestnuts, rowan berries, damsons, crab apples and perhaps even cherries. As autumn begins to draw near, seek out the jewels of the hedgerows: blackberries, elderberries, sloes, rosehips and haws. Always forage responsibly by seeking permission from land owners where necessary, taking a reliable field guide, not picking or eating anything you’re unsure of, and leaving plenty of wild treasure behind for others.

Grow

There are few things more satisfying than cooking a meal using ingredients you’ve grown yourself, or filling a vase with flowers from your own cutting patch. Whether you have a huge garden, an allotment or a windowsill, there are plenty of fun and tasty things you can plant and nurture over the summer. If you get going early enough then courgettes, salad leaves, peas and beans should all provide a crop before the autumn. Buying fruits such as tomatoes and strawberries as more mature plants can also be a fun, quick and easy way to grow your own produce at home.

Observe

Every summer there are hundreds of cultural events held in green spaces around the country. From open air concerts, plays and film screenings to firework displays and historical re-enactments, there’s something for every interest, age and budget. Take a blanket, pack a picnic, and enjoy the show.

Play

Outdoor games are a fun group activity for children and adults alike, they’re usually inexpensive or free, and can be played in pretty much any location. Set up an obstacle course, fly a kite, play Pooh Sticks, or host your own Olympics. Make a skittle alley, turn your lawn into a croquet pitch, stack up the giant Jenga, hook rubber ducks out of a paddling pool, or pull together a rounders team. Egg and spoon race, anyone?

Splash

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing - absolutely nothing - half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” So says Ratty in this infamous line from The Wind in the Willows and, I have to say, I’m inclined to agree. Sail around a bay, canoe down a river, row across a lake, or wend your way down a canal on a barge. And if boating isn’t for you then try outdoor swimming instead, either in the wild or at your nearest lido.

Learn

Arm yourself with a nature guide and venture out on a quest to familiarise yourself with our native trees, plants and wildlife. Notice distinctive features, match species to habitats, memorise names and listen to sounds. Simply by paying closer attention to these details, you will soon build up a library of knowledge that will allow you to identify a flower by the shape of its petals or a bird by the tune of its song. If you don’t want to carry a book, there’s a wide range of nature-inspired apps available that store all the information you need on your phone.

Find Maddy writing on her blog or sharing seasonal tales on Instagram.
Image by Annie Spratt.

Intensive agricultural practices, skies devoid of birds, fields with very little insect life – we’ve all read or heard news items talking about the plight facing our countryside.  However, what many of us have little understanding of is just how rapid a decline in wildlife our British landscape is facing.  These are the issues which Mark Cocker seeks to explore and address in his latest book, Our Place – Can We Save Britain’s Wildlife Before it is Too Late?

As a naturalist and environmental tutor, Cocker’s writing and broadcasting on nature and wildlife have featured across a wealth of national media.  His work spans across the genres of biography, history, literary criticism and memoir including noted titles such as Claxton: Field Notes from a Small Planet (2014) and Birds and People (2013).  His book, Crow Country, was shortlisted for the Samuel Johnson Prize in 2008 and won the New Angle Prize for Literature in 2009.  He has also been The Guardian’s country diarist for almost thirty years.  The release of Our Place this year has seen him explore a topic clearly close to his heart - the fate of British nature since the twentieth century. 

Our Place begins with Cocker’s take on the history of the conservation movement through the exploration of six special places.  From the flatlands of Norfolk to the rugged terrain of Scotland, the book considers the ‘green’ ideas which led to the creation of institutions such as the National Trust and how in turn this has shaped our wild spaces.  Charting the achievements of notable figures such as Victorian visionary (and founder of the National Trust) Octavia Hill and key characters like Max Nicholson, the pioneering environmentalist, ornithologist and founder of the World Wildlife Fund as well as Derek Ratcliffe, one of the most influential naturalists of his generation, Cocker seeks to demonstrate how they helped change the face of conservation.  It is from this that we can begin to understand how and why our landscape looks as it does today.    

This is by no means an easy read for anyone with a love of wildlife and the outdoor, of green spaces and their preservation.  Cocker’s intention is not to mollycoddle, it is to bring awareness.  Our Place is a bold statement on the state of nature in Britain today.  However, running through the narrative is the constant reminder of Cocker’s deep love of the countryside.

‘We could see the landscape curving away westwards, quivering even at this hour, and ribbons in blue or pastel where plots of reed and marsh entwined.  And far off was the mill.  It was Cley.  I was there.  It was hot.  A love affair had begun.’

We all share this love to varying degrees – that much is true if you look at the membership of the large organisations Cocker details in the book.  Organisations which are dedicated to preserving and protecting vital parts of our national landscape.  However, what Cocker really wants us to think about is how many of us really play our part in keeping that landscape alive and well?  What will it take for our society to affect real change?  Can we achieve this before it is too late?

‘Replenishing our collective spirit involves our immersion in nature’s unfathomable and obliterating otherness, so that it can purge the travails and toxins of our own making. Nature’s great and irreversible continuities – the passage of the clouds, the turning of the seasons – measure all our smallnesses.  They put things in perspective.  They render us humble.  Nature is the go-to place when life seems too full of self-generated woe.’

Recently I attended an assembly at my daughters’ school where the headmistress talked about words being lost from the Oxford Junior Dictionary.  Words such as otter, kingfisher, conker, acorn – all part of a natural world lexicon that has been ousted to make room for new vocabulary for the modern age like broadband and the phrase ‘cut and paste’. 

It seemed to me that this struck a chord with the very point Our Place is trying to highlight.  If it so easy to erase these words from the dictionary with little notice or outcry, how long might it be before the very embodiments of these words are lost to us forever too?  Perhaps as Cocker emphasises so passionately, we simply aren’t doing enough to preserve our countryside. 

Our Place is a thought-provoking read which highlights the need for more action.  It’s a book which calls for change beyond the ‘kitchen-sink choices’ we all try to make in a bid to think and be more green.  For as Cocker cites in his final pages, if as a nation we are to quote William Blake and describe our landscape as a ‘green and pleasant land’ then we all need to do more.

All images courtesy of Annie Spratt

Was this Summer Gathering really only our second one? Surely we’ve been doing this for years, and all meet up quite regularly? So it seemed as our weekend began, everyone arriving throughout Friday afternoon and evening, greeting each other like old friends and falling into easy conversations over summer drinks and a gin cocktail or two.

Our abode this weekend sat nestled in the hills of Ravenstonedale in Cumbria, and we couldn’t have asked for a more perfect spot. That first evening saw the hills bathed in a deep, golden hue before night descended and the campfire was lit. Dried lavender was thrown on the flames, incense was lit, and stories were shared as the night drew in closer.

Saturday morning began and those who were early risers headed out to catch the sun as it crept over the horizon. We then walked barefoot through the dewy grass and stood in awe of the view that met us as we began our yoga session led by Elizabeth. Having never taken part in a yoga class before I’ll admit to being a little nervous. But Elizabeth kept it simple enough for novices like myself to follow, and I was soon absorbed in the calm in created within me.

A well-earned breakfast was followed by the first part of a workshop run by the wonderful Heather, who’s knowledge on wild herbs and their properties seemed truly boundless, as we learnt about that which surrounded us throughout the neighbouring fields and meadows.

Heather continued back in the kitchen and with an abundance of resources, we made the most beautiful herb butters and dream pillows. The butters were devoured later at the feast and I’m not sure regular butter will ever be enough again!

The ever-talented Annie led a photography workshop during the afternoon, answering any and all questions before we tested our new found skills outside and played around with some editing. Here is photographic evidence that I am now addicted to coffee and Lightroom equally…

Our Midsummer feast was bedecked with sunflowers and followed by a tree-dressing, where we grounded ourselves to the tree and tied a ribbon to a chosen branch. Conversations soon flowed around the campfire once more as we shrouded ourselves in blankets and talked into the night.

Sunday morning began as peacefully as Sunday mornings ever should, with Elizabeth taking us on a guided meditation with some (myself included) experiencing a moment of freedom and calm never felt before. Breakfast followed and nourished us for the day ahead.

The lovely Chelsea then took us on a mindful walk, where we learnt to ground ourselves by connecting our bare feet to the earth beneath, a practice I certainly intend to continue once home. We also took a moment to connect with the trees, and even had a hug or two, which was a new experience for many!

Lunch was eaten al-fresco, in dappled sunshine beneath the trees, and contact details were passed around to ensure we would not lose sight of the connections made in these few short days spent together. I left feeling inspired, empowered and full of warmth from friendships made within the Creative Countryside Community. Hoping to see you soon…

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Jessica Townsend creates slow and sustainable fashion at House of Flint. Follow her behind-the-scenes on Instagram here.

Nicola: I know you come from a long line of women, seamstress’s, embroiderers and homemakers, and that Nellie and Eve is named after your grandmothers.  Can you tell us more about the journey you took to beginning your business?

Helen: From a young age I have always been a maker, taught by my grandmothers and mother, I made clothes for myself and friends and pressed flowers in a press made by my father, which progressed into a range of hand produced greetings cards years later.

I indulged my love for antique quilts and vintage fabrics for several years, but it was when I moved to Wales 15 years ago that I found my true place in the countryside. A friend invited me to join her at the local spinners, weavers and dyers group held in the village, and from that day I was hooked on wool in all its glory. Actually making yarn from a raw fleece appealed to my love of all things natural and making completely by hand. Spinning yarn is still my favourite thing to do, it’s a gentle, mindful way to make something that has so many uses. I wanted to help promote the many overlooked uses of this sustainable fibre, and to pass on skills I had learned ….'Nellie and Eve’ was born.

Nicola: Your products are all made by hand in your workshop and reflect your love of a homespun lifestyle.  Can you share with us what a homespun lifestyle means to you?  

Helen: Homespun for me means making, baking and growing your own. Not buying new all the time, make do and mend, and treading gently on the land.

Nicola: Why is it so important to you to use locally sourced fleeces?

Helen: I live in Wales, surrounded by sheep with lovely wool on their backs. There is no need to go elsewhere for this natural, sustainable product. I know where it's farmed, I see how the sheep have been looked after, and that's incredibly important to me. In my own small way I'm helping my local community.

Nicola: We’d love to know more about the process of how your work develops from initial idea to the final piece.

Helen: It always starts with fleece. Depending on what I want to make, I will first wash the fleece in an old tin bath by hand in the garden. The wool is then left to dry naturally, before being carded (or combed) using a hand cranked carding machine. This process results in a smooth, airy wool batt which I can then spin into yarn or weave.

I spin the yarn using one of my six spinning wheels, each one helps me achieve different results and weight of finished yarn. They all have their place, really they do! I can spin up to 500 grams of yarn in about half an hour on one of them! But it usually takes a full day to have a spun, plyed skein (200g) that’s ready to be used in a knitting, weaving or crochet project. The wheels are also an essential tool when running ‘Learn to Spin Yarn’ workshops at my studio.

I use locally sourced super soft Shetland and Blue Faced Leicester as well as Jacob wool for my online hand spun yarn collection.

If I want to add some colour to my collection, I will pick plants from my garden or the hedgerows and use them to dye with. It's a long process to get to the point of knitting a jumper, or weaving a rug but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It's a labour of love and a lifestyle I enjoy; slow living.

Nicola: Can you tell us more about the workshops you run?  We’d love to know whom they are for and what it is you teach?

I run workshops in crochet, knitting, peg loom weaving, plant dyeing and hand spinning….all the things I love to do myself and that are fun to teach. I teach at various venues and festivals as well as my studio and love the interaction and connection with people that want to learn new skills. I teach anyone who wants to have a go, young or old, all are welcome. It’s incredibly rewarding, especially when I got a call from a customer saying that the only thing on her son's Christmas wish list was a loom and some wool. I had taught him to peg weave at a summer festival and was thrilled, this makes it all worthwhile.

Nicola: We’d love to know more about where you live, your workspace, and what a typical day is like for you?

I live on a hill in rural Carmarthenshire, south west Wales. My husband built my studio which sits nestled in the garden surrounded by fields of sheep, some of which provide me with fleeces.

A typical day for me will always start with coffee and a walk with my dogs, followed by checking emails and perhaps posting on social media. That’s when the typical day ends as my work is so varied. I may be packing up orders, preparing for an upcoming event or workshop, dyeing yarn with seasonal plants or swatching a new design, but at some time during the day I will always make time to spin some wool.

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

Helen: Follow your heart – it’s your true you - and stick with it. Keep it simple, honest and mindful.

You can find Helen at www.nellieandeve.co.uk, or follow on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.

I kept feeling the pull to hike, but I was so cozy in the white chair with the dog, a couple of blankets, and a wonderful story.  And, the rain kept floating in after the sun would finally peek through. As the sky brightened again, I unfurled from the chair and stretched my legs.  I put on mismatched wool socks and plodded down the steps. My husband and son rose to join me. As I tied my favorite hiking boots, I heard my son comment, “You know, it’s still actually raining.”  I could hear a few drops falling from the sky, but wondered if maybe they were falling from the leaves. 

The sky seemed to continue its quest for brightness as we pulled in the parking lot of a familiar, but not recently traveled trail.  The three of us set off down the path.

Three.  I am still working to balance this number.  We are a family of five. We are raising triplets, but so far this summer, two of the three are off on trails of their own.  At age 14, one is exploring paths through Europe with her violin and an orchestra of new friends. She is taking pictures and soaking in experiences on her own.  The other is with family in Los Angeles, also setting off on trails of her own. The one in LA will be home this week, the one in Europe still has two more weeks.

My momma heart is out of synch with this newness.  While there is so much beauty to seeing the world through the eyes of our two adventurers, there is also joy in having one at home to savor.  These three have been together since birth (before actually) and one to one time is something we have to be intentional about. It doesn’t happen as much as it should.

So this day, as the three of us took off down the path together-it was different, but also wonderful.  I trailed behind my husband and son who bounced, rolled and laughed in to the woods. I smiled as their silliness soaked in to my soul like the rain moistened earth.  Maybe it was their contagious joy, but my eyes immediately landed on a splash of purple just off the path. I knelt low to photograph a tiny purple flower with a stunning yellow center.  Rain drops delicately sprinkled on its petals. A few more steps, and movement caught my eye-I knelt down to get eye to eye with a bright green frog. A few more steps….and they boys turned to laugh.  They were sure we would miss dinner if I continued at this pace. I managed to make it a little longer between stops. They continued their banter, and I continued to notice. At one point my son joined me, hand in hand.  He even turned around with me when I worried I had missed an amazing pink flower. I looked. I inhaled the smells of post rain summer-earth, flowers, the microscopic beads of oil being released from the trees surrounding our path.  I noticed how the drops of rain in the sunlight looked like someone had opened a jar of glitter and sprinkled it from above. I delighted in how the world reflects in each drop of water. We gasped in unison when we saw a black snake slithering off the path, and then laughed at our response and that I did not stop to photograph it-we are not snake people.  We stopped to talk to a couple on the path. We noticed the level of the water, the way it enveloped trees that were once on land. Eventually we ended up back at the car. With moist earth in our boots and eyes twinkling from the fresh air, movement, and laughter.

As evening came, I treasured in my heart not only the images of beauty from along the path, but the laughter.  It was different from a silent walk alone in the woods, but equally as precious.  Their silliness lightened my heart, and maybe even opened my eyes.  My steps and their steps looked different, mine slow with deliberate stops, often.  Theirs weaving, slipping, and bouncing along-stopping only to turn and look for me.  All three of our paths coming together-hands, arms, lips to cheeks.  This is actually a lot like parenting teens, our pace, our steps-especially this summer, are moving differently. We are all joyfully taking it in, in our own ways, in our own places, at our own pace.  And yet, our paths come together-via phone calls, or pictures sent, and then eventually upon the landing of planes and the holding tight-hands, arms, lips to cheeks.

I imagine looking from above at the actual prints of our feet, marking the earth today-perhaps each of us in our own color.  I would watch the pausing to notice, the laughing, the bouncing, the slipping, the steps. Each marking our own way, with beauty and adventure, back home.  

It’s twilight, and I can only just make out the eaves of the house silhouetted against the sky.  A colony of bats flit in the tree tops, darting in and out of my field of vision, and it feels like I’m watching a game of tennis trying to keep up with them. The fire crackles and chuckles to my left, and I grasp every last bit of heat as the warmth of the sun has long disappeared. Tiny scurried movements alert me to the presence of a wood mouse, and I watch his blurry outline as he hurries back into the long grasses, pausing only once to sniff the air.

Remnants of a summer salad and glasses of kombucha are discarded on the grass; flies hum above in small clouds, eager for a feast of their own. The tea-light in our old lantern is about to burn out, and it’s almost time to embrace the darkness.

There’s something evocative and elusively magical about summer evenings. Hours stretch slowly, and even when the light fades, nature lures us outdoors. If you’d like to make the most of the season, why not adventure after your 9-5 and celebrate the twilight hours?

If, on the other hand, you’re more interested in embracing the sunlight, try waking early, travelling slowly, and make time for small celebrations, Keep an eye out for butterflies colouring the landscape and listen out for the garden warbler and the blackbird.

This piece is an extract from the editor's note of issue 4. Head over here to order a copy of the magazine.