Today we’re introducing you to Saskia Marjoram, who runs Saskia’s Flower Essences based in Somerset…

Eleanor: I’d love for you to start by telling us more about you and your business, who you are and what it is you do?

Saskia: Who I am feels like it changes on an almost daily basis so I find it hard to answer this one. The easy bit first: my name is Saskia Marjoram and I am one of the founders of a company called Saskia’s Flower Essences. We make flower essences in the same way as the Bach Flower Remedies which, if you’re unaware, are drops that you take under your tongue. They help to shift long held negative patterns and thought processes. These drops work on a vibrational level and contain the energy of the plant rather than its physical properties. Even now, 15 years later, I am completely amazed at how powerful and effective they are. It is as close to natural magic as I’ve gotten so far.

My background is in gardening and floristry. For a long time I was one of the florists for HRH Prince of Wales and I have been gardening professionally for over 30 years now. I find if I don’t have a chance to get my hands in the soil on a regular basis I lose the connection with the earth , which is absolutely vital for my health and well-being.

Eleanor: Can you tell me about where you find your inspiration?

Saskia: My inspiration comes from connecting with plants and the natural world. As a small child walking in the country I was always asking what the plants I saw were called. For me, being able to get deeper and deeper into knowing the plants growing around us and what they have to teach us is an absolute joy and privilege. Sitting with plants, observing them and how they grow and walking amongst them not only brings me inspiration but healing too.

Making flower essences isn’t a complex process but it does require an understanding and connection with plants, as well as a deep respect for them and their wisdom. Being able to collect their energy to bring healing to other people is what keeps me going. When I hear the stories of what our essences have done for people my heart sings and I know that’s what I’m here for.

Eleanor: I am also interested in knowing more about how you view creativity; is it something you can rely on every day, can you work at it, or do you have to wait for it to strike?

Saskia: For me the creative process is being able to open up to the universe and allow the messages to arrive freely. As a florist, especially when creating funeral tributes, I noticed that there was always a point of letting go, an opening up and trusting that divine wisdom flows through you. Although the work I do with essences, and more recently distilling plants to make hydrosols, isn’t considered by many to be a creative process I believe that, if we are open, we are constantly creating our own lives. When I am making up a specific combination for someone, as I do in consultations, I use a pendulum to help me decide which essences someone needs. Opening up to this energy feels very similar to open up to receive creativity.

There are certain flower essences that help with opening to our own creativity. Buttercup and Carrot spring to mind which are both in our Focus, Energise, Create combination which is great to take whenever you feel that your creativity isn’t flowing freely.

Eleanor: Can you tell me why nature and the seasons are important to you, and how they influence the work you do?

Saskia: Ah, that’s a much easier question and yet a very complex one too. I am a human and therefore part of nature and absolutely affected by the seasons as we all are. My connection to both is deep and as essential as breathing itself. Someone once pointed out that all the air we breathe has been exhaled by a plant at some time - I like that thought a lot - and of course without nature my ‘work’ wouldn’t exist. It feels that I am here to connect humans with plants so that we can learn the lessons they have to teach us.

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

Saskia: Do it. Whatever you are drawn to do, whether it means that you will be penniless and living in a shed on top of a hill, as I did for quite a while - do it. Listen to your dreams, remember why you are here and the gifts you have to bring to make this world a richer and more beautiful place and keep on keeping on. And if you get stuck remember that the plants will always help you, especially in the form of essences, to get you through the difficult parts. We are fed and supported on all levels by the plant kingdom so we can be as human as we are able. With all the resources that we are using as a species surely it is imperative that, whenever possible, we live our lives as fully and deeply as we can.

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Saskia’s flower essences and essence sprays are made and bottled in Somerset and are available to buy here. You can also find information about her workshops on flower essences and distilling plants. Give Saskia an email if you wish to be kept informed about her upcoming events.

As the days are getting colder and the nights are getting longer, we feel the urgency to slow down. It is time to withdraw into our cosy lairs and dream about the future. A future which benefits the seasoned environment, as well as satiates our human needs and desires.

Yet, there are questions begging to be asked: "When was the last time you had a screen-free day to spend hours fantasising how to achieve a sustainable future?" and "When was the last time you spent an entire weekend without a device by your side?" Most of us don't even know what that feels like anymore, though it is likely that we grew up without a constant stream of technology, so remembering is only a silent thought away. With digital devices shut off, the quiet that ensues is relaxing, calming, and downright grounding - especially if you have the time and place for a barefoot walk.

The human species has embraced technology with the tightest grip in such a short amount of time, that our brains and eyes are moving faster than we can comprehend. How can we fully absorb the growing flow of information? In favor of being entertained online, we have left behind the abundant wealth of nature, which is quick on the decline due to our habits of over-consumption. However, it is never too late to let go of that embrace, to slowly pull away and admit that perhaps it was not the 'love at first swipe' that we first imagined.

It is wonderful to know, that the best things in life still happen off the screen, just ask any wild child. 

Just the other day, my husband and daughter were playing out in a neighbouring field, throwing a stainless steel cup attached to a flat cotton wick for oil lamps (a homemade toy). Amidst all the fun of tossing high into the strong wind - to watch it fly - a fox appeared close to the hedgerow going about his/her business. It was a magical moment, just the three of them, no screens in sight, no camera to capture the moment. It was a connection with nature that will last a lifetime.

What does designing a sustainable life have to do with a chance-encounter of meeting a red fox? Everything.

See, when we are stuck behind screens (televisions, tablets or the like), we are mere observers in the game of life. It often appears that we are here to be entertained, rather than to be key players in the main event. We often choose what is easy and uncomplicated, preferring not to get our hands dirty. We've become a society of watchers, rather than doers, though we can change that too - if we want - and that is why sustainability starts at home.

It begins with limiting our addiction to technology, learning, once again, how to shut off the noise that clouds our heads with some important and much useless information. It takes gathering the time and courage to get outside, and hike further afield then we are used to exploring. It takes getting outside of our comfort zone, off of the couch and out of our climate-controlled homes.

If there is one single thing that we need to realise quickly about sustainability, it is that we all make an impact - in the right or wrong direction. Let go of your "need" for plastic, and seek out natural, renewable alternatives instead. Go minimalist and pare down your wardrobe, keeping only the essentials. Then practice your handcrafting skills and knit, crochet and sew the next garments that enter your closet. Do a wonderful job and they may just last a lifetime! Lighten your load and practice buying nothing new for an extended period of time - there are so many ways to reduce your impact on this Earth.

Designing a sustainable life is not a trend, it is an important aspect of our modern life - for if we fail to change, nature will no longer be on our side.

And since we are inspired by nature every day, most of you reading this are too, the prospect of losing bits and pieces of our environment is a thought too great to bear. We'd rather live simply, so that all bears (white, black, tall and small) can roam the forests freely, just as nature intended.

Do your dreams of a sustainable life keep nature in mind?

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Today Callum Saunders tells us a little about ‘his’ countryside, and what it means to him.

Where in the world is ‘your’ countryside?

Callum: A small pocket of the South Downs in and around Lewes, East Sussex.  It’s where I grew up, and despite a move up north, it’s where I continually gravitate to: it’s ‘home’ for me, and always will be.  I’ve walked these soft chalky paths, man and boy.  There’s something that connects me to this place, and I can’t imagine being without these soft curves of rolling Downland, with skylarks singing overhead.  That said, I have also been in the Peak District for seven years now, and the High Peak is becoming something of a second home to me, in and around where I live in Glossop.

Earliest countryside memory?

Callum: Probably with one of my sisters, up on the Downs!  We have a very old photo of us both standing amongst thousands upon thousands of red poppies and I vividly remember that scene.  These days, there are hardly any poppies upon the Downs where I grew up, but I vividly remember that scene and standing amongst them with my sister.

Why do you love the countryside?

Callum: I think there are a number of reasons.  I genuinely think that it’s in my genes, and that love of nature has been passed down.  I’m the paternal grandson of a Sussex sheep farmer.  For me it’s also an escape from the weekly grind of work and commuting; a life ‘contained’ within trains, trams and offices.  That ability to access the outdoors in the evening and the weekend is important to me – not an escape ‘from’ the job, but an escape back ‘to’ what is real and important in life.

You have 24 hours, anywhere: describe your ideal day in the countryside.

Callum: Definitely back home in Sussex.  Probably an early start and a morning walk up to Mount Caburn, between Lewes and Glynde.  The summit is the remains of an iron age hill fort, and it has over 140 burial pits.  It’s a place that feels historic, as well as providing wonderful vistas of the Ouse Valley all around it.  Then onto Barcombe, a village outside of Lewes, and a day boating on the river Ouse, from the marvellous Anchor Inn pub.  After that, probably a walk along the Ouse to Hamsey Church and back, before enjoying a few pints of Harvey’s Sussex Best at the John Harvey Tavern in Lewes.

Favourite season and why? 

Callum: It always used to be autumn – I adore the cold, crisp beauty of leaves and trees in decline.  But more recently it has become spring, as I have become more of a gardener.  The long-awaited reawakening of life is welcomed, and I think May is my favourite month: you have lots of plants and flowers coming to life in the garden, along with some warmer weather, and yet you still have the promise of months of light, life and laughter ahead of you.

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Callum is a nature writer, poet and photographer who lives in the Peak District, when not back home in Sussex tramping his beloved South Downs.  His day job as a strategic planner in a marketing agency fuels the passion for the simplicity of life outdoors with his young family at the weekend.  Callum’s work explores the connections between the landscape of the earth, as well as of the soul.

Find him writing at A Seasoned Soul, or on Twitter and Instagram.

On the journal today is Katrina Rodabaugh, a slow fashion and sustainability warrior. We talk to her about her latest book Mending Matters: Stitch, Patch, and Repair Your Favorite Denim & More. She kindly sent us a copy for a review which we’ll share with you soon!

CC: Tell us about Mending Matters and the journey you took to writing your own book?

K: Mending Matters was the result of launching a personal art project, Make Thrift Mend, in August 2013. I launched the project just months after the Rana Plaza garment factory collapse in Dhaka Bangladesh in April 2013 killing over 1,100 people. After the collapse I decided I wouldn’t buy new clothing for one year. Instead I’d focus on making simple garments by hand, supporting thrift stores and secondhand shops, and mending what I already owned.

Soon after mending my clothing a friend asked me to teach my first mending workshop at a fabric store where she worked. It sold out quickly, much to my surprise. I offered a second workshop and that sold out quickly too. That’s when I realized people were eager to learn repair work. That was five years ago and I’ve been focusing on sustainable fashion ever since. Mending Matters is the culmination of teaching mending to thousands of students and wanting to have a way to teach people all over the world. The book allows folks to learn my techniques from their homes instead of traveling to my workshops.

CC: I know you’re inspired by slow fashion. Can you tell us why this is so important to you, and how it influences the way you live and work?

K: Sustainability has always been central to my values. I was an Environmental Studies major in college and then went straight to work for nonprofit arts organizations like galleries, theaters, and art centers. Then I went to graduate school for creative writing and focused on poetry and book arts. So, I was working in arts offices by day, making fiber installations and poetry by night, and trying to live as sustainable as possible.

When the Rana Plaza factory collapsed I realized I had overlooked fashion in my attempts at sustainable living. I was recycling everything, keeping a compost bin in my urban apartment, and supporting my local organic farms but I was buying clothes from the sales racks of major fashion retailers. So, Slow Fashion really helped to deepen my commitment to sustainable living and also align my fiber arts, writing, and environmental concerns with my closet.

CC: I’d love to know what has been the biggest challenge, and the best surprise in writing your own book?

K: This is my second book so I really feel like I could be much more present and have more realistic expectations with this book. I think the biggest challenge is always editing—how to really focus the book on just one topic when there’s so much I want to share. And the best surprise is always the collaborators. The people that supported this book are truly incredible people. By the time the book publishes it’s not just my book anymore. It’s a book by my editor, agent, photographer, models, graphic designer, publicist, and all the folks at Abrams Books and then it’s the book of the reader too. I like thinking of the book as a community effort—it doesn’t exist in a vacuum but instead it’s a collaborative process that continues all the way to the reader mending her jeans.

CC: Can you tell us about your home, your workspace, and what a typical day looked like for you during the writing process?

K: Well, I’ve had to give up any idea of “typical” in the last few years. My husband and I are both working artists and self-employed so our daily schedules shift all the time. But in October 2015 we moved 3,000 miles from a small apartment in Oakland, CA to the rural area of the Hudson Valley in Upstate NY. We bought a 200-year-old farmhouse and immediately started DIY renovations. Our young sons were then just three-years-old and six-months-old. It was a wild time. In January 2016 I sent the book proposal for Mending Matters to a handful of agents and signed with my amazing agent in March. We signed with my publisher in November 2016 and the book was just officially published on October 16, 2018.

So, for the past three years, parenting two young children, DIY renovating an 1820s homestead, and writing this book while being self-employed was really an act in time management, diligent focus, fierce priorities, and a good dose of humor. I couldn’t do all the things I wanted to do in a given day or even a given month. So, I just had to really focus on the deadlines, prioritize the photo shoots, and trust my incredible team of colleagues at Abrams to carry the book to publication. Which they did so beautifully. It was a great reminder that many brains are better than one.

CC: When you aren’t mending, how do you enjoy spending your time?

K: If I’m not in my studio or at my computer I’m probably working on our farmhouse, barns, gardens, or caring for our sons—oftentimes these things overlap, of course. We’ve really leaned into creating the family homestead we dreamed. So, we’ve added chickens and bees and each summer we expand the garden or further renovate the barns into our studio spaces. There are very blurred lines between my work, my home, and my family life but I do try to leave the work behind sometimes and just go canoeing with the boys, have a bonfire in the backyard and roast marshmallows, or go take a family hike. Leisure time is very scarce as a working mom but I relish in the moments when we can really unwind as a family.

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

K: Go for it! You’ll probably never feel ready. You’ll never know everything you need to know or perfectly calculate all the risks. But trust yourself that you’ll figure it out as you go. I think we confuse recklessness with risk-taking. You can be adventurous and take risks and still be very reasonable and responsible. In some ways, it might actually be more responsible to follow our dreams than let them wither. Especially if they’re persistent.

If there’s something you know in your heart you really want to create, build, or achieve, then let that be your guide. Nurture it. Honor it. Protect it. Work towards it like it truly matters. And then, at some point, lean into the not-knowing and start doing. I always think of it as the balance between my heart and my head. My head leads the way with calculating risk, researching, and devising a plan that seems reasonable. But then, at some point, my heart takes the lead and I move into action and just try to hold on for the journey.

Mending matters will be make lovely and practical sustainable gift don’t you think?

Follow Katirina over on Instagram

Jo Moseley, is a keen advocate of picking up plastic, an inspiring speaker, having fun on her stand up paddleboard, breaking boundaries and creating her own destiny. On the journal today, she shares with us her 2 minute beach cleans - for the good of our future.

“Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed”

Mary Oliver

The October sun beams down from a bright blue sky. I stand on my paddleboard and spot the sheep munching their way to the top of the crag. Dogs scamper along the path as their owners try to keep up. A young woman strolls along chatting and laughing into her phone. She turns her face upwards to soak up the afternoon’s golden rays. I think of Mary Oliver’s words and breathe deeply, joyfully, gratefully, for this opportunity.

Like many women in their 50s, my life is busy. Happily flying solo with my sons and keeping a watching brief on my Dad, time for myself is precious and yet vital. Moments like this, tiny adventures on my paddleboard or running in the hills, bring a joy that lasts for days. I return nourished, my soul topped up with happiness and appreciation, ready to tackle the To Do List.

As I glide along the calm waters, free of distraction and with a beautiful autumnal afternoon to myself, I reflect upon the last few months. What have I learned? What has changed around and within me? What do I want to create more of in 2019?

One thing springs to mind – my 365 Days of Love project. Something so simple that has brought such joy. On a chilly January 1st, huddled next to the fire, I scribbled down my hopes and intentions for the year ahead. Amongst them, to do a 2 minute beach clean or litter pick wherever I am each day. Whether that’s walking along the shoreline, running in the hills or dashing to work in town, a commitment to take 2 minutes of each day to pick up litter and stop it from reaching our oceans.

I’ve always loved being at the coast, spending my childhood summers cartwheeling on the beach, throwing myself into the cold northern waves and collecting sea glass from the beach. Over the years, I noticed that amongst the shells and tiny fragments of pottery and glass washed up on the shore, there was more and more plastic. Bottles, crisp packets, bits of bags, discarded fishing net…. Not huge amounts, but more than should be. I sought out other beach cleaners and joined a wonderful community on social media sharing our finds and learning from each other. Watching Sir David Attenborough’s Blue Planet 2 reinforced my commitment to do my little bit to help against plastic pollution.

Two minutes each day. This is going to be a tiny habit, my way of saying thank you for the joy and sense of peace and possibility the hills and waves give me. I call it 365 Days of Love based on a quote from Mother Teresa. “Not of all of us can do great things. But we can all do small things with great love.” This is my small thing with great love.

And yet, I never imagined that something so simple would make such a difference to my life or create so many happy memories. I think back to an early morning run along the cliffs, hopping across the mud to collect a balloon precariously blowing on the edge.

A Sunday paddleboarding with my son to a secluded beach, watching him proudly carry two large plastic containers back to the board. After a sunrise swim, in awe as the seagulls swooped from above and the world awakened, I picked up a broken bucket and spade from the beach. Walking, chatting in the late afternoon glow through the sand dunes of a chilly Northumbrian beach, laughing at how we can’t pass a piece of rubbish without stopping to pick it up!

This year, I have noticed the seasons change more closely and more intimately than before. I’ve run through freshly lain snow and muddy puddles carrying someone else’s rubbish and been thankful for the opportunity. I’ve plotted where the snowdrops grow and when to keep an eye out for the brief gloriousness of the blossoming peonies. On the longest day in June, I ignored the call of the vacuum cleaner for a scramble up the crag to watch the sun set late in the evening. I’ve explored under the roots and branches that hang above the river and watched the heron watching me as I pull a plastic bottle only visible from a paddleboard. I know the week the house on the corner will burst into a riot of red as the leaves that clothe the Yorkshire stone change colour. I’ve smelled the wild garlic and heard the call of the geese. I may not know the names of all the trees or birds but I feel a sense of guardianship I have not experienced before. This is my home and I want to take care of it. One piece of litter, one plastic bottle at a time.

I know I am not alone. The friendships I have met online and in the real world simply because of those two minutes each day have brought such kindness into my life. So many of us, scattered not just across the UK but across the globe, doing our little bit to make a difference. We are cheerleading and encouraging each other. We are a shoulder to lean on when we feel disheartened. I belong not just to the places I look after but to a community. A family of doers, of carers, of people who don’t just talk about making a difference but who actually go out in all weathers and make good on their promises.

Yesterday, as I walked in the bracing wind, I met a dog walker “Hello!’ she said, “What have you picked up today?”. I giggle to myself. I’m the middle aged mother with a bag of litter and proud of it!

Yes, as I stand on my board and look out at the hills of Yorkshire, I know that what I thought was a 2018 project will become a 2019 one too. The hills and waves give me so much – a place to calm my anxious brain, to unfurl my body and feel the joy of simply moving, a sense of possibility as I untangle the day and the challenges I am facing. Taking two minutes each day to say thank you is a habit I have come to love. In giving back, I have gained so much.

As the afternoon draws to a close I pack up my board and head home. Grateful, put back together, joyfully nourished by the fresh air. A small pile of sweet wrappers, an old milkshake cup and bits of broken tennis balls I’ve picked up from the hedgerow by my side. My 2 minute thank you for a cherished memory

You can follow Jo on Instagram and we urge you to do so!

“Slow living is conscious, intentional, mindful, and living deeply.”

(source)

The slow living philosophy is growing. We are (slowly) coming to the realisation that a fast-paced consumerist society is not the key to happiness or fulfilment. Instead, we crave a less-is-more approach with a focus on quality of life, in whatever form that takes for each individual.

For some, that might mean a huge lifestyle change - opting for a tiny home; changing jobs; keeping chickens - but for others it might just be that extra twenty minutes in the morning, sat in candlelight with a simple breakfast and mug of tea. The varied individual approaches matter very little; of more importance is the idea we should savour every minute instead of count them.

Last month, a break away from the norm forced me to explore my own vision of slow living, and question whether or not I’d been embracing it fully; perhaps unsurprisingly, I returned home with a head full of changes I wanted - needed - to make.

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Family-owned Warborne Farm sits in the south of the New Forest, not too far from the coast. Run on organic principles for the past three decades, it is very much still a working farm, and tractors chug in and out of the yard daily, much to my son’s delight! Dan and I visited with Monty (18 months at the time) and stayed in the Grain Loft, a rustic barn conversion on the first floor. Monty’s favourite part was - by far - the walk on window, through which he could see chickens pecking all day long. Each morning of our visit began with a request to go see the chickens, but 6am was a little early for the birds, and all was still dark below until around 7.

With no real agenda, the days began slowly, wrapped up reading books in bed and padding through to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and begin making breakfast. Candles were lit at every meal, and instead of rushing to finish and move on to the next activity, we lingered at the table, happy to chat and read a few pages more.

Staying in the New Forest meant a daily walk was of course on the cards. We ventured into the woods searching for ponies and falling autumn leaves, and stretched our legs on the heath to find cows, cobwebs and drizzling rain.

Back at the farm, we picked tomatoes, herbs and garlic for dinner that evening. Eggs from the chickens were a staple during our stay, too. We’re no strangers to growing our own - our veg patch feeds our extended family throughout the year, and we’re self-sufficient in many things over the summer months - but in a different location I was reminded how enjoyable these tasks can be. Every action can bring pleasure, if approached with the right mindset.

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Almost a month has passed since we returned from our trip to Warborne, and slowly, I’m making some changes. A single beeswax candle burns in the centre of the table for each meal; a celebration of the meal ahead. We’ve slowed our morning routine to incorporate reading in bed as a family, not rushing to move downstairs too soon. I’ve also stopped pressurising myself to do activities and trips with Monty, choosing instead to embrace the slow everyday; collecting windfall apples, meandering around the top field, pausing to look at berries and leaves, tractor-watching around the village. Sometimes a look at someone else’s everyday is enough to make you re-prioritise your own. Thank you Warborne Farm for being that reminder.

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Collaboration Note:  Thank you to Fanny and George at Warborne Farm for inviting us to stay.  All words, thoughts and images are my own. 

Today we’re introducing you to Elliot Channer, a wildlife sculptor and artist.

Eleanor: I’d love for you to start by telling us more about you and your business, who you are and what it is you do?

Elliot: I have been a wildlife sculptor for 4 years, exhibiting across the country with numerous galleries. I have now set about creating my own online gallery focusing solely on wildlife art. Avocet Fine Art represent some of the UK’s finest wildlife and equine artists and provides affordable, high quality originals, prints and sculpture.  

Eleanor: Can you tell me about where you find your inspiration?

Elliot: Inspiration for my sculpture comes from the natural world: from British garden birds and animals to exotic birds of paradise. I gather all the visual information I can and create a metal armature onto which I add clay slowing allowing the form to develop.

Eleanor: I am also interested in knowing more about how you view creativity; is it something you can rely on every day, can you work at it, or do you have to wait for it to strike?

Elliot: I find creativity to be quite unpredictable. It can take hold and I will work non-stop throughout the day but, at other times, when it simply isn’t happening, I ensure everything is working well with Avocet: uploading new works; contacting artists and clients and keeping social media up to date.

Eleanor: Where do you work? What’s important about your work space?

Elliot: I work from my studio in Staffordshire, both for sculpting and working with Avocet. The space reflects my interest in art, displaying my work and other pieces I have collected - from reclaimed carved pieces to a Violet Astor print (one of the artists represented by Avocet.)

Eleanor: Can you tell me why nature and wildlife are important to you, and how they influence the work you do?

Elliot: I have been interested in wildlife from an early age and find nature hugely inspiring. I enjoy the challenge of translating the life and dynamism of animals into solid bronze. I spend many hours outdoors looking for inspiration for my next sculpture. Through Avocet I now have the pleasure of being involved with other artists who share my inspiration of the natural world.   

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

Elliot: My advice would be to go for it. It’s important to listen to people who have been in your situation, and to be patient.  

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Find out more about Elliot on his website, shop his pieces here, or follow him on instagram and twitter.

Last week I took myself off for a solitary walk. This is something I often do when I’m feeling overwhelmed or, in this particular case, a bit flat. I suspect it’s got a lot to do with our Hebridean climate: relentless rain and brooding grey skies which seem to hang around for weeks on end, oppressive and almost smothering. The mountains disappear into the thick mists leaving you enveloped in a confining, murky little world. So naturally I seized the first opportunity to escape that came along (child in school: tick; essential jobs done: tick; a break in the weather: tick) and went down past the grounds of an old country estate, along a track overlooking the cliffs and the Cuillin hills, past pine forests and down to the shore.

Yes, the views were spectacular. A boat bobbing about in the blue water and the equally blue skies dotted with fast-moving little clouds, those mountains once again in full view and sunlit. The trail continued past a little white crofter’s cottage, over a rushing burn and then curled steeply upwards into the densely-packed firs.

But I’ve always been interested in the details. I’m passionate about all things botanical and now, when summer feels long gone, there’s so much still to see

The bracken is blanketing the hillsides and banks down to the sea, but their bright emerald has given way to soft copper. The fronds are dry and brittle, frozen into delicate curlicues. Thistles have dried out and gone to seed. The heather is fading, the tough stems beneath bleached to silver and the violet flowers turning sepia.

Patches of gorse are reduced to masses of brown thorns. They look as though they’d be more at home in an arid landscape than this richly green island. And the umbellifers have been transformed into simple, stark structures; they could almost be fashioned from metal. Grasses are blanched too and their calico colours glow in the low autumn sun.

All this denuding allows us to really study and appreciate the forms of our familiar wayside plants. Little vessels of seeds, skeletal stems. For an artist like me, it’s a lesson in simplicity (something I’m constantly trying to achieve). Pared-back and unadorned, we can really understand what makes each species different from the next. Yes, in the warmer seasons they have their flowers and leaves. But when everything is suddenly reduced to a muted palette of pewter, sepia and rust we have to look more closely and notice the subtleties and beauty that lies beneath.

I love the verdancy of May and June, the richness of July and August. But it’s now when the armfuls of teasels, the rattling foxglove stems full of seeds come home with me to live in the workroom. Pots of them, each one asking to be sketched quickly and simply without fuss or detail. Even out in the garden there are plants which, for me, are more appealing once their time has passed. Sunflowers are at their most beautiful when their petals turn to saffron-coloured tissue paper and their seeds are on display. Lilies and poppies too, and alliums transformed into delicate wiry globes studded with tiny black seeds.

Don’t lament the lack of colour. Nature has so much magic and ingenuity to be found now that all is revealed…

Once we’re in the heart of autumn, there’s nothing I love more than to embrace every piece of autumn’s magic that surrounds me.

I’ll come back home and warm my hands around a steaming mug of tea and empty my pockets of foraged autumn treasures. I’ll fill the home with warmth, bundle knitted throws across the beds and sofas, set candles alight and let their soft glow fill the rooms, and allow the subtle scent of spices sweep in through the kitchen as autumn treats are left to bake in the oven.

And so, until this season fades, I’ll have plenty of memories savoured from autumn to last through the grey and moody winter days.

I want to savour this season as much as I can, before winter catches autumn in its grasp. Before the trees shudder in winter’s harsh icy winds; leaving them unclothed from their robes of gold. Before the first frost forms over chilly nights, entrapping everything in its icy crystals. And before the afternoon sun is drifted off to sleep as winter’s darkness creeps in earlier.

But before winter arrives, I’ll relish this season that brings me joy and cosiness. I’ll head out into the hills and mountains where mist from mornings sweep through the landscapes and hang within the golden trees, hugging them in a mystical blanket of cloud. Sink my boots into paths of dry crisp leaves, kicking them up in the air and listening to them crunch and rustle under my feet.

I’ll get lost amongst the forests and wander off the beaten track, and let the soft autumn sun that gleams through the canopies warm my cold blushed cheeks and nose. Sit by a lake and watch as the sycamore seeds pirouette in the breeze and land gracefully upon the water. Enjoy gatherings around a crackling bonfire, toasting marshmallows and watching fireworks soar up above, illuminating the night sky with bursts of colour.

Kayleigh Wright

For the French, summer ends on the 31st August. By September 1st suitcases are back under beds, campgrounds are returned to fields and the bistro tables are stacked in a corner. Autumn isn’t for holidays, or campouts. It’s for chestnuts and open fires, first batch cider and jam.

So, why do the seasons bleed into each other so much on our side of the channel? Is it because we hope, every year, for an Indian Summer, or because we have multiple summers; bursts of blue-sky days throughout the year that we throw ourselves into because we know they won’t last?

Last Christmas I was gifted a Firebox. It sat, oiled and beautifully black, in its canvas bag while I waited for summer.

Now we’re looking to Christmas again but my Firebox is grey, mottled with rusty creaks and misshapen corners. The bar across the middle is bowed from heat and the weight of feasts. We handle it with gloves to protect the smoke-parched skin of our fingers and as the nights get cool we layer silk liners underneath so we can keep cooking throughout the autumn. Dry leaves and a breeze: perfect campfire conditions. So we keep our eyes to the sky, summer’s over but it’s activities don’t have to be.

Courgette Flatbreads

If you’ve got a few courgettes left over from the summer harvest, this simple recipe is a great introduction to campfire cooking.

Ingredients

• Courgettes (1 large one p/p)

• Lemon - rind & juice

• Fresh rosemary

• Chilli flakes

• Olive oil

Method

Measure out 125ml of flour (any available, wholemeal/plain mix is particularly good) and season. Stir ½ tsp of yeast into 15ml of warm water. Add to the flour along with a tbsp of olive oil. Add boiling water until it forms a soft dough. Kneed and leave to rest for 20 minutes. Before griddling, divide the dough and flatten into discs.

Chop the courgettes into thin discs and zest the lemon. Heat a little oil in a large, flat pan and add the courgettes to soften. During cooking add the lemon zest, chopped rosemary, chilli flakes and seasoning. Once the courgettes are soft, push them to the edge of the pan and cook the flatbreads one at a time. Turn the flatbreads until they’re charred on both sides.

When everything’s cooked put the flatbreads on plates, top with hummus or cream cheese and spoon on the courgettes. If you like it zesty, you can squeeze over the lemon juice at this point, or toss in a few cherry tomatoes if you have them.

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Sweet Potato Hash

Ingredients

• Sweet Potatoes, roughly chopped into small pieces

• Onion, diced

• Eggs (1pp)

• Cumin seeds

• Thyme, rosemary or oregano

Method

Cook the onion and sweet potato until soft and starting to caramelize. Add the herbs and season well. When you’re happy with the potato, break it up with a fork to make a jumbly, lumyp mess. Clear holes in the mixture and crack an egg into each one of these spaces. The pan should be hot enough to cook the eggs quickly, then scoop onto plates with some fire-charred vegetables or an apple and hazelnut salad.

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Chilli Beans

An extra warming bowl, perfect for cold hands!

Ingredients

• Kidney, black or mixed beans (1 can does 2 people)

• Small tin of sweet corn

• Small red onion

• Red pepper

• Chopped tomatoes or passata

• Paprika

• Chilli

• Cumin seeds

• Mixed herbs

• Stock cube

Method

Heat oil in a large, shallow pan and fry the onion and pepper. Add the rinsed beans and sweet corn and fry for a few minutes. Crumble in half a stock cube per can of beans, stir in a generous mix of the herbs & spices before pouring in the chopped tomatoes or passata. You want to coat the beans, rather than make a sauce, so allow the tomatoes to reduce as they cook. If the mix starts to stick, add more tomatoes or a little water. Season to taste and enjoy a bowlful with avocado, salad or simply on its own.

The concept of new starts always arrives hand in hand with January 1st as the New Year rolls out with the clock's final chime. Despite that, the bleakness of January doesn't always inspire the optimistic positivity that we might hope for. I think there's a second new start though, and it comes a little more graciously and with a lot less flamboyance. September arrives with the retreat of summer, more quietly and calmly than we might expect and with it comes the second chance we might be yearning for after the boldness of a long summer.

As temperatures begin to even out, I always find a soothing satisfaction when things start to slow down a little and a chill creeps back into the air with nimble fingers. Alongside that runs another more ineffable sense of freshness. Maybe it's the new academic term that carries with it my inexplicable love affair with crisp notebooks and sharpened pencils. I'm sure I revel in this feeling a lot more now that I'm not actually returning to school myself but there's something oddly attractive about the idea of a new school year ahead. More than that, September signals the arrival of a changing weather, as leaves begin to darken and fall and everything hums with the anticipation of a change in the air.  Just like a catchy song, I find it infectious and I drift easily into admiring the changing colours. What else might change now? What might the next season hold for me?

September also brings us closer to the autumn equinox, which this year falls on the 23rd of the month. After that day, the nights begin to extend a little longer and though this heralds a longer darkness it always seems somehow soothing to me too. It offers a time to recharge ourselves, rest a little. Like seeds begin the surface, the beginning of autumn can signal a time to go inward and then grow out. Autumn is a time of change, a gateway to the next season and while for some Autumn seems the gateway to an ending, I want to check in with that transformative part. It does define the end of summer and soon the entrance of winter with cold days and long nights but for me though, it isn't about ending but about beginning the next cycle.

It's a period that reflects reality because we all move through these cycles and as autumn starts to slow us down it also reminds us of the importance of taking things more slowly, of savouring the smaller moments. It's a time to shed what might no longer be needed, to harvest and cherish what we do need and to prepare for all that we want to come. It could be a time to reconnect with friends and families during cosier nights in or a time to enact an autumn clean and reflect and focus on the projects that might have been forgotten in the heat of the summer or even begin a new one.

Autumn always reminds me of how transitory things are and though it can bring a sense of loss to watch the summer fade, it also carries a reminder that can keep us mindful. It reminds me that just as the seasons will change so will we and that (clichéd though it may be to say) everything is temporary and that doesn't have to be a negative thing. We can use this to remember that even the hardest things will come to pass and that what can seem as insurmountable or as dark as a long winter night will come to pass too. It encourages me to try and live in the moment and appreciate what I have. We're so linked to the natural cycles around us and Autumn is a fitting reminder that everything, including us, has both highs and lows that we can keep on moving and progressing through.

Hannah Franklin

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It is Autumn. Slowly bringing us home again to the innate desire for cosy, family, connection. Warming chatter to share the wonder of the natural changes of the season amongst us. Children playing in the leaves, relishing the adventure that nature provides. It comes but once every year. It is Autumn.

We are safely within its grasp. Beckoned into nature to witness its stirring performance of transformation. Blink and you miss the spectacle of colour, the tie-dying of every piece of fauna and flora, the breeze’s change of tempo and the trees’ hoarse whispers in the wind.

May I ask you to take a walk in my company, down a woodland trail with a golden canopy to keep our stories from flying away as they fill the air. May I ask you to take gentle care to notice every beautiful detail of this season with me: let's remember it all.

I seek:

Tiny hazel caps scattered across the frosted grass.

Leaves chasing each other in the cooling breeze across meadow grass and crooked pavements.

The warmth of golden colours sends stirring feelings through our bodies, touching our souls with a reassuring 'welcome home.'

I see:

Sun-kissed skin and cold, rosy cheeks, with scarves enveloping our necks as we embrace the chill of first light.

A sea of golden leafy puddles to jump in.

A carpet of earthy colours to guide our way on a favourite trail.

The wildlife slowing down in their quiet way, forming dens and safe hideaways while gathering the trees’ offerings as they fall to the ground.

I hear:

The pure chirps of a robin’s morning chorus as the sun rises.

A soft humming in the trees as they prepare to let their leaves go from the safety of their aging branches.

I feel:

Promises of nestling down into a warming slumber as the sunsets visit earlier each evening.

The excitement of change as the long summer closes down, and the familiar sights around us transform before our very eyes.

Energy touching every flower as it curls up and prepares to fade back into the soil having bloomed so tirelessly in weeks before.

Time. Slowing down. Asking that we do the same.

What do you seek, see, hear and feel this Autumn? I hope you experience it all with awe and wonder with whatever you may find.

Amelia Goodall

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