Today we're thrilled to feature a small, creative business that takes its inspiration from the natural world. Jess at Wold Couture designs the most beautiful wedding dresses and accessories, drawing on her local environment to inspire and motivate her creative process. Over to her...

The dress that launched Wold Couture: initially inspired by the dawn chorus, it later came to be known as the Cobweb Dress.

Wold Couture began in essence when I lived and worked in London, but it only truly came into its own when I moved back to the Lincolnshire Wolds - where I spent most of my childhood - and became inspired by the surrounding beauty once more.

Though I designed and made bridal-wear in London, the business itself was launched from one dress inspired by the dew-covered cobwebs I saw as I walked through the Wolds. This dress still features in the bridal collections today, and is, I believe, testament to the power and longevity of natural patterns and design.

Our style overall is quite romantic and incorporates some vintage twists as well as lots of delicate decoration influenced by nature. Both decoration and silhouette are inspired in part by what I find outdoors - flowers, clouds, the shapes of trees - but I find the best ideas come when you’re not looking for them. On a weekend walk to somewhere new, in the bath, whilst travelling – sometimes a design comes fully formed into my mind and I’m not entirely sure how it got there.

Dresses inspired by (left) stratus clouds, (top right) alto-stratus clouds and (bottom right) trailing roses.

The design is just one part though, and what comes next is much more work. To take this idea and turn it into a fully formed and functioning dress certainly takes an alarming amount of coffee, very little sleep and plenty of arguments with the sewing machine. I design and make in my workshop in a sea of fabric and by the time I am done I need another week just to find the floor again. Luckily, the view from my window out onto the fields ensures a constant supply of inspiration, particularly because the view changes not only seasonally, but throughout each day too. Early evening is the most beautiful time to look out, and I can watch the sunset and cloud formations across the vast expanse of the Lincolnshire skyline - it's wonderful!

Currently, I'm working on a few exciting projects. First is a look-book for two of my favourite dresses that I'll send to potential stockists - it's been great fun scouting locations to shoot the dresses, whether in an urban environment to contrast with the design, or out in the countryside near home.

Alongside this we are also finishing up a new accessories range which will soon be available online. As the business is so intertwined with where its located, I think it's so important to keep connected in as many ways as possible. Recently I started tutoring at a local gallery (click here to find out more) - the courses cover everything from upcycling to hand embroidery, and are a great way to chat about ideas, share my passion with fellow creatives, and get more involved in the local community. Finally(!), I'm also studying myself - I'm halfway through a masters degree in fashion with hopes to launch a collection of sustainable ‘slow’ fashion sometime next year.

Wold Couture has always been about bespoke design, but over the next few months we'll be focusing more on the collections, which will enable me to do more of what I love: designing.  If all goes to plan we hope to be employing a small team of seamstresses to work on both bridal and fashion collections in order to maintain our 'Made in England' brand. I can't wait.

Thanks Jess - sustainable 'slow' fashion sounds just up our street!

If your creative business takes inspiration from the natural world, and you'd like to be featured in a similar post on Creative Countryside, get in touch by emailing contact@creativecountryside.com. There is no payment involved; we just like to showcase creative talent whenever we can!

Usually celebrated on February 2nd (or the eve of February 1st), Imbolc (pronounced 'im'olk') is one of the four Celtic fire festivals that make up the wheel of the year, and celebrates the passing of winter and the return of spring. It comes at a time when many of us are longing for the end of cold, dark days, and serves as a reminder that brighter mornings and new growth are on the horizon.

As Imbolc is also St Brigid's Day, celebrations of this Celtic fertility goddess are also held to signify her transformation from the crone of winter to the maiden of spring, and often take the form of lighting candles, fires, and celebrating the sunlight. Appropriately, snowdrops are one of her symbols, and form as a further reminder that the bleakness of winter is waning.

The day is also a great opportunity to reassess any goals you set yourself back at the start of January, as the start of spring we plant the seeds that will grow and nourish us for the rest of the year. Spring-clean whatever you want to be rid of (both literally and metaphorically) and set forth on a new journey of optimism and hope. You could also plant some actual seeds to symbolise the promise of this new season.

Head over here for more ideas on how to celebrate the festival.

Today we have some exciting news, and some new faces to introduce! After a short search for our new online editors, I'm thrilled to announce that we've selected four talented creatives, who will be appearing regularly in the journal and helping to build our community. If you're not already familiar with their work, let me introduce these lovely ladies...
 

Stories Editor: Kayte from Simple and Season

Kayte was one of the first writers to get in touch about writing for the magazine, and two of her pieces will be featured in issue 1. Blogging about simple pleasures, seasonal foods and her explorations in the countryside, her tagline pretty much sums everything up - 'Making the most of our time on Earth, in time with the Earth.' - oh, and her Instagram feed is a wonder.
 

Nature Editor: Sarah from Mitenska and Frond & Feather

I've been a fan of Sarah's nostalgic prose and beautiful photographs for some time, so I was delighted when she applied for the position. Her design work inspired by nature at Frond & Feather will be featured in issue 1 of the magazine, as will her writing,  Describing herself as a 'naturalist' she regularly posts about savouring life's little moments with her family in the Pennines, where she lives surrounded by moorland, woodland and fields.
 

Folklore Editor: Sarah from The Salty Sea Blog

Sarah's photography is magical, ethereal, and evokes tales of Celtic folklore - not surprising when you learn she lives in Cornwall, and recently studied both writing and photography. Her lyrical musings will also be featured in issue 1, and she'll be cropping up in the journal with tales of mystery and wild ramblings. If you're based down south, you should definitely bookmark her photography website too.
 

Adventure Editor: Chelsea from Loving Life in Wellies

Chelsea is all about adventures and country living in Wales. She writes about hiking, camping, kayaking and getting out of your comfort zone, and this year aims to walk 1,000 miles (she's already a tenth of the way there!). Her piece on embracing the outdoors in winter will be featured in issue 2, but in the mean time you can catch her in the journal, encouraging us all to get outside and embrace adventure.
 

Choosing our new editors was an exciting process, but it was also a difficult one. Thankfully, we've also been able to take on some other new writers to contribute to the journal on a more sporadic basis, so keep an eye out for lots of new and inspiring posts!

Though not necessarily classed as 'nature writing', these six books take inspiration from the natural world in different and captivating ways. If you can carve out a little time in your busy day, reading a few pages is always a pleasure, so pick one and get started!

1. If (like me) you're about to start a family, Common Ground, by Rob Cowen, will definitely appeal. It weaves the story of a father expecting his first child with exploration of a small strip of land on the edge of a town. Unobtrusive and lifeless though it may appear, this wasteland provides the backdrop for a journey through the local landscape, with lyrical investigations of plants, animals, insects and humans.
    
2. I've long admired the writing of Sara Maitland, and the magical Gossip from the Forest: The Tangled Roots of our Forests and Fairytales certainly doesn't disappoint. She argues that forests are twofold, both beautiful and terrifying, and that it is this combination that creates the backdrop to fairytales. Filled with re-imaginings and seasonal wanderings, it is a book of many guises that celebrates these ancient and primal landscapes, and muses on their significance.
    
3. If I were to choose books simply by their covers, Holloway, a collaboration between Robert Macfarlane, Stanley Donwood and Dan Richards, would be top of the list. This short book explores a landscape of shadows, spectres and great strangeness, and coupled with ghostly illustrations, provides the perfect way to spend half an hour or so.
    
4. Travel back fifty years to the Scottish Highlands, and you'll reach the moment Katharine Stewart moved with her family to A Croft in the Hills. This powerful memoir evokes nostalgia for a lost era, but also highlights the hardships many would have experienced. Expect bitter Scottish winters, the trials of looking after livestock, and the simple pleasures of a back-to-basics lifestyle.
    
5. A little different from my usual style, Findings, by Kathleen Jamie, is a curation of moments plucked straight from the author's travels. It doesn't follow a narrative as such, but instead opts for short prose essays on topics such as peregrines, the winter solstice and the carcass of a whale. A totally different approach that is nevertheless intriguing and, at times, surprising.
    
6. If you don't even have time for the half an hour it takes to read Holloway, try John Lewis-Stempel's The Wood in Winter. Published by Candlestick Press as an alternative to sending a card, this pamphlet follows a nature walk into a wood in midwinter, tying in old festivals and traditions, and reminding us of our own deep connection to the earth.

Reading books inspired by the outdoors is an easy way to reconnect with the natural world. Check out last week's post - Nature & Culture: Finding a Common Ground - if you'd like more tips on how to achieve this in other ways.

Celebrating trees and woods. Image courtesy of Common Ground.

Nature and culture are often viewed as two distinct concepts. Nature is wild, it is 'out there' rather than 'in here', and sometimes it feels as though you have to make the choice to immerse yourself in the natural world. Yet it is a part of our culture, and of our everyday lives: it is the tiny green shoots emerging between the pavement cracks, the droplets of rain on the end of our nose, the crow perched on the tallest branch of the tree on the corner, creaking a sombre tune.

If we remind ourselves that nature is not just conservation and climate change, it can often be surprising how many opportunities we have to immerse ourselves in its restorative powers, allowing it to influence our lives and choices, and therefore our culture. The arts and environmental charity Common Ground aims to remind us of just that.

Projects both old and new mark a return to that 'age-old intertwining of human life and the natural world', and range from creating community orchards, to celebrating local customs, or 'distinctiveness'. Their intention is 'to connect people with their local environment through music, art exhibitions, film-making, publishing, community gatherings and education, creating the inspiration and some of the tools that can help communities make meaningful, long-lasting connections with their home ground.'

Rules for Local Distinctiveness. Image courtesy of Common Ground,

Reading this reminds me of all of the things Creative Countryside is aiming to achieve, and of the ethos that the magazine will adopt. So intertwined are our goals, that you can read all about one of the oldest Common Ground projects - Apple Day - in the first issue (September 2017). But as we transition into spring, perhaps one of the most pertinent and engaging resources from the organisation is last year's edition of LEAF! (the newspaper for trees, woods and people) which features green men, nest building and seasonal food, and can be downloaded from this page. 

Of course, there are many more projects you can get involved with, but if you're not quite ready for that yet, I'll leave you with a few ways that you can reconnect with nature and your local environment this season:

• support local initiatives by attending events and gatherings (how about heading along to your local Wildlife Trust event?)

• stick up for local trees and woods by joining (or starting!) your nearest Tree Charter Branch

• get inspired by watching rare and unseen footage of local festivals, village life and lost crafts

• read nature-inspired poetry or books (come back next week for a list of recommendations, or sign up to our newsletter for seasonal suggestions).

It's easier than you think to connect your life and culture to the natural world, so what are you waiting for?

Most of us exist and thrive under the illusion that we need to do more, to be more, and are always be looking for ways to become bigger and better. If we're not constantly searching for the next promotion, a bigger house, more money, it feels as though we're not following the right path. Simply being happy and satisfied with our current lot, and valuing relationships, craft and the environment over all else, is definitely not the norm.

Often, the realisation hits that this ongoing desire for more only increases our stress levels and leaves us burnt out. Our health and wellbeing suffer, as we work harder, work longer hours and continue to make sacrifices - whether consciously or not. But this realisation doesn't necessarily mean anything will change. In her Guardian article, Madeleine Bunting argues that "Small is beautiful is the cry of the romantic idealist, and there seem to be none left": she appears to be right.

Modern society dictates that bigger and better is the norm. If we're going to be able to afford our own home and go on holiday and just exist comfortably, there's no other option than to keep aiming for this: there is no apparent alternative, because we cannot exist without money (although this man definitely tried), so we must make more to achieve our goals.

But what if we changed the goalposts? What if instead of having to go big or go home, we could change what we wanted from life, and as a result, reduce the necessity to be reliant on more? I'm not suggesting that we give up on becoming homeowners, or never do anything spontaneous or exciting, but that changing our small goals, our stepping stones if you like, could be the key to still achieving what we want, without spending all of our time grinding through life. There are always sacrifices to be made, but it's our choice what these sacrifices are. The question that must guide us through life's choices is not how much more do I need? but what is important to me here?

Let's say you wanted to reduce the number of hours you work a week, so that you can spend more time with your family, because relationships are what you've decided are important to you. This goes against the grain, because you're actually aiming for small rather than big, and often working part-time (or anything less than a 40-hour week really) is viewed with derision, but why shouldn't we want more time for ourselves and our loved ones? The only problem arises when you realise that you can't afford to reduce the number of hours you work. So you have to make a sacrifice.

Your options are:

1. Sacrifice your time (and possibly wellbeing) and stay in the same position you are now.

2. Sacrifice something else, by making something else smaller in your life. Perhaps it could be the amount you spend on food, or the number of times you drive when you could walk? It could be something more impactful, like downsizing your home (the Tiny House Movement is thriving!), or giving it up entirely. Your 'sacrifice' needn't be all that terrible: look on it as an adventure, an opportunity.

If you want something badly enough, there will be a way to achieve it, and it doesn't necessarily require a bigger investment. To work less, aim for less. To escape the cycle, change what you're aiming for in life. It's not easy, it won't happen overnight, and you'll still have to work hard. But surely, in our world of conglomerates, of billion pound deals, and of ever-expanding commercialism, a small, simple life that separates itself from these things, and values all living beings over pounds and pence, is worth striving for?

At the start of a new year, resolutions are flying around all over the place, decorations are shed, and it's back to reality. For most, that means a much busier lifestyle, with more complications and demands on our time, so it seems quite apt today to be focusing on living a slower, simpler existence, and how setting goals with this in mind can help to ease the transition.

The crux of slow living lies in knowing what you want and what’s important to you. How do we know what we’re slowing down for if we haven’t decided what’s important?

So let’s get started.

First, list the 3 most important things that you want to prioritise in your life. These should be things that you might not feel you have time for, or that have fallen by the wayside as your life has slowly got more and more chaotic. Why 3? It’s both achievable and allows us to push the boundaries of what we really want. Try to limit it to 3, and if you’ve got more ideas you can follow the same process later once you’ve worked through the steps to prioritise them in your life.

You’ve now got a basic grounding, but in order to set goals we need to transform these priorities into something more specific. For example, instead of just writing “family,” change it to “visit my parents at least once a week.” We’re using the idea of SMART targets here – Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, Timely.

Obviously you’re not going to be able to fit anything new in during the times you currently have to spend at work, in appointments etc. So you’ll need to figure out when your best day / time of the day is in order to squeeze in your goals. Somethings that can mean getting up a little earlier, or cutting out that extra hour spent browsing social media, but prioritising your important things means living a happier and more fulfilling life.

Here's the important bit...

Once you’ve scheduled them in, try including them one at a time. The problem with resolutions is that we're expected to include all of them immediately, and no one has the time or mind-space for that.  You might succeed for the first week, or even the second, but then something will slip and the first thing you’ll lose and forget about is what you’ve most recently implemented. Try one goal at a time (and ideally focus on this one goal for a whole month) and you’ll be developing a ritual rather than just a standing entry in your diary or planner.

There's been a lot written on this blog about slow living, so if you're feeling inspired, here's a few more ideas to get you started on your slow living journey:

• An Introduction to Slow Living
• A Slow Approach to the Online World
• Slow Food: The Importance of Celebration
• Essential Tools for Slow Living

First Row (L-R): @hanbullivant; @geoffreyandgrace; @c_colli. Second Row (L-R): @featherandwild; @niki.at.the.cottage; @peonyandpraxis. Third Row (L-R): @simpleandseason; @a_season_in_thyme; @littlegreenshed.

Back at the start of December, I started a new hashtag on Instagram - #aseasonaldecember. It started with a longing to curate a set of images that embodied the natural changes in the month, images that celebrated seasonal outings and inspired others to live more wholeheartedly; it worked perfected. If you haven't seen the hashtag, there are some wonderful images to explore, and I've featured some of my favourites above.

To continue into the new year, I've decided to use a new hashtag with similar grounding - #aseasonalyear. Think documenting changes in the seasons in a very personal way, by telling stories through images and words that inspire and cheer others as we wander through the next twelve months.

I'd love for you to join in, if you like? In the mean time, wishing you a wonderful start to 2017.

If you're a subscriber, you'll have already received the first edition of the newsletter - A Seasonal Year - but if you're not don't worry, because today's post offers a compact version to inspire you to live slowly and seasonally throughout the winter months. Don't want to miss next month's newsletter?

Winter Rituals

• Prepare the house for colder weather: light candles; get a stack of logs ready for the fire; choose rich, jewel colours for your accessories; choose a reading spot; and festoon your home with greenery.
   
• Embrace daylight whenever possible: get outside for a walk at least once a day; position yourself near to a window when working; try and watch the sunrise and sunset as often as possible.
   
• Plan for the year ahead: choose a word (or two) to focus on and set long-term goals; order seeds for the vegetable patch / allotment / kitchen windowsill, and plan out your summer harvest.

Three Seasonal Recipes

1. Pheasant casserole with celeriac mash
2. Bubble and squeak
3. Chestnut and chocolate torte

Three Seasonal Reads

L-R: Burial Rites by Hannah Kent; Village Christmas by Laurie Lee; A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

 

Final Thoughts...

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
Edith Sitwell

Over the past few weeks we've been recruiting lots of lovely creatives to help make the first issue of Creative Countryside a reality. I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has been in touch - I'm thrilled to have so many like-minded others on board, and I can't wait to receive the articles and images that have so far been commissioned.

If you'd like to be involved, there's still time: the deadline for getting in touch is 1st December, and we're happy to hear from writers, illustrators and photographers interested in slow, seasonal living.

But back to it. Here's a first look at the front cover of the first issue - gather - due to be released in Autumn 2017.

---

---

I'd love to hear what you think of it.

In addition, if you're interested in keeping up-to-date with the magazine, and would like to be the first to hear when it's published, then sign up below.

Some big news today: we're going offline. No, not in the 'we're shutting down the blog and giving up' sense. But instead, let's slow down and simplify, and create something more tangible.

I've been struggling with what to do with this space for some time now, being torn between wanting to share the ideas I'm passionate about, and just not feeling it. A little while ago, I figured out why. Writing this blog, whilst wonderful at providing opportunities to connect with other like-minded people, and a space to document my life, has nevertheless dragged me down at times. If I commit to something, then I want it to be a success. And for a blog to be a success, you have to commit to not only writing high quality content, but also shouting about it loud enough for others to hear. This means spending an awful long time at the computer, online.

I find anything on a screen much more taxing and much less enjoyable to read than something palpable and made of paper, and I realised that I can't be the only one. There are a whole range of new independent magazines out there surviving, so why not another? The feel of a new magazine, ready to be unwrapped and savoured over many days brings me far greater joy than reading blogs online, and having designed magazines and newspapers throughout my childhood, I think it's now time to be brave and get on with creating a publication I can be proud of.

Slow living is something I've written extensively about on this blog, and so it seems a natural progression to move on to slow journalism for Creative Countryside's next venture. While this online space will remain, and I may even write here on occasion, my focus is shifting. The magazine's theme will be similar to that of this blog, and I hope that as a result you will stick around for more seasonal inspiration, creative ideas and musings on how to live a wholehearted, joyful life.

If it sounds like something you'd like to know more about, or get involved with, click here for more information and for details on our current opportunities.

The early morning temperature is hovering around four degrees centigrade, which is quite mild for winter, but when only a thin layer of fabric separates you from that cold air, it doesn’t feel it. I dress quickly and for warmth, though the first layer against my skin feels like damp ice. Poking the embers of last night’s fire, we’re tempted to light another, but daylight is seeping through the fibres, and the blackbird is already welcoming the day with a tune. Instead, we don colourful knitwear and walk the short distance up to the bridleway with Bella.

The footpath leads vertically away from the village, cutting through the four-and-a-half acres of our land, before hugging the hedgerows the rest of the way, and ending up behind the house we’ve left behind. In summer, you can see as far as the wooded pheasantry to the left, and the radar golf ball to the right, a spherical and unusual addition to the arable landscape. Today, however, fog shrouds the fields, and the air is so thick and cloying that I can only make out the base of the tree trunks, squat and steady. Walks this early are usually silent, as we let our senses adjust, and Bella disappears into this quiet, shadowy world, becoming part of a fairy-tale with Little Red Cap, Hansel and Gretel, and the Snow Child. Lost innocents, drifting.

I whistle for her return, and on the walk back, pocket changes in the season: the slow blush of berries on the hedgerow; hoary cobwebs dripping with dew; the red breast of the robin. These images are forever immortalised in Christmas cards and literature, yet here they are, still existing, still real in this village edgeland. A magpie darts over the robin, before perching on a branch not too far away. From a distance, its tail looks like a dark, unopened fan, feathers clustered like folds waiting to be unfurled.  I whisper under my breath the old-age lore - one for sorrow – before looking desperately around for a second – two for joy – I see nothing.

Brushing aside superstition, I duck under the dripping archway of branches that mark the entrance to our second field. The land belongs officially to my parents, who have built not only their home here, but also a self-reliant lifestyle. Ducks uark in the distance, and chickens peck at fallen apples in the orchard to our left. The sheep in the top field are scattered in their pen, and don’t seem to mind the ever-changing weather. Although the temperature is waning, there is still produce to be picked in the vegetable patch: curly tendrils of kale, strangely-shaped carrots, and rainbow chard that seems to last forever, impervious to anything but the cooking pot. It is this simple existence that we have come to join, building our own house and becoming a part of the daily routine. But bricks and mortar seem a long way off.