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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Find out more:

Website: www.thesimpsonsisters.co.uk

Facebook: www.facebook.com/SimpsonSisters

Instagram: www.instagram.com/simpsonsisters

A circle with paving

Prairie grasses in the Piet Oudolf garden

Pretty gabled roof

A see through and over gate

Repeating colours looking up to the chimney stack

An internal wall of beech

(Clockwise from top right)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learn Your Environment

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

Lighting

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

Know Your Equipment

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

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

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

• Will you need a tripod?

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

• Did you bring a laptop, and charger?

• Are photos properly syncing on your cloud?

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

Look for Rare Features

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

Aim For Unique Angle

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

Use Lightroom

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

Are you Ready?

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

Brendan Hufford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Find out more about Anya here:

Website

Instagram

Pinterest

Facebook

All images courtesy of the very lovely Annie Spratt, unless otherwise stated.

I can't quite believe it's taken me over three weeks to formulate the words to tell you about the very first Creative Countryside Winter Gathering. What began as a late night musing on Instagram led to 18 of us holed up in the Peak District for the first weekend of the new year. It was rejuvenating, inspiring, incredibly hard work(!), and taught me so much about how I want to build this community from now on.

My sister, Jess, came along as my indispensable co-host, and we arrived mid-afternoon on the Friday at Dalehead Bunkhouse, near Edale, to set up. Darkness steadily rolled in as we decorated with greenery and prepared for the first attendees to arrive. I'd chosen a location nearby a train station (I don't know about you, but arriving by train always feels a bit more stress-free), and after a couple of pick-ups we were settled for the night. 

We began with cider bellini cocktails (which turned out to be a bit more lethal than we'd imagined...) and coupled with a roaring fire, they helped encourage the group of strangers to bond and connect. Before dinner, Mugdha from Kindred & Kind led a herbal tea talk and tasting, and as someone who absolutely hates licquorice, the blend that included it was surprisingly delicious! Jess and I then got on with food preparations, before leading everyone through to feast on creamy mushroom and herb pasta followed by mulled winter fruits and spiced gingerbread.

Conversation flowed in the candlelight and slowly people moved up to bed, or closer to the fire for late night reading. Sleep eluded me that night, but we were up early to make the most of the day.

Just as the sun was rising, Elizabeth led an inspiring meditation with around half the group. I've always struggled with the concept, but her advice that you're supposed to get distracted, that it's coming back to focus that's of most importance, really rang true. The flames of the fire crackled and popped as we were still with our thoughts and Elizabeth's guidance. The second half of the group had left early to explore the hills, and returned just in time for buckwheat pancakes for breakfast.

I managed to escape for half an hour or so to explore with my camera, and it was wonderful to see so many others doing the same, despite the early hour. Creative Countryside's online editor Chelsea then led us over the hills and through the valley on a mindfulness walk. The brief rainstorm lent even more meaning to her words, as were guided to take note of the feel of the mossy wall, acknowledge our senses, and connect with our emotions. A potential stumbling block - a deep boggy pit right next to a stile - was avoided thanks to the characterful farmer who let us walk down his track, albeit with the caveat, "Don't make a habit of it!"

We returned with handfuls of foraged greenery, a few berries, and skeletons of winter grasses, ready to begin our foliage crown workshop, led by Jess. Event bags were handed out, and included craft aprons from Pursuit England, a luxurious green bath potion from Magic Organic Apothecary, lavender firelighters from Rebecca Fletcher, The Almanac by Lia Leendertz, and smudge sticks to cleanse the air from Kindred & Wild.

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Eleanor Cheetham

Lunch was a warm cumin roasted carrot and lentil salad, with a cashew nut cheese that I'd never made before, which turned out to be incredibly popular! It was followed by two workshops: pouring our own beeswax candles, and learning all about the process from Francey at Tea and Wildflowers, and a very relaxed mini wreath-making session. It was wonderful to watch as some became engrossed in the creative act of wreath design, and our candles took on so much more meaning once we'd added our words to the glass jars - all taken from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 

Image: Jess Townsend

Image: Jess Townsend

Before our Twelfth Night feast, we ventured out into the half-darkness to wassail. After wishing each other wassail (or 'good health') and taking a sip of mulled organic Wyld Wood cider from the antique cider mug, we poured cider onto the roots of an apple tree I'd brought from our orchard at home, adding a cider-soaked piece of toast into its boughs, hoping for a prosperous apple harvest for the year ahead. The ceremony then moved on to a raucous session of banging pots and pans to rid the air of evil (insect) spirits, and we closed by eating an apple from my orchard at home, and I encouraged everyone to plant the core and start their own apple-growing.

Image: Jess Townsend

The temperature had dropped and we returned indoors. Our handmade beeswax candles decorated the table, and we feasted on spiced celeriac soup with za'atar, honey-roasted vegetables with quinoa and pesto, and mini apple crumbles. We lingered at the dinner table before venturing outside again to do a spot of stargazing. Shooting stars flashed across the sky as we picked out constellations and attempted to take photographs. 

Image: Sarah Porteus

Image: Sarah Porteus

Our final morning began with a few heading up to Mam Tor to watch the sunrise. The rest of us grabbed a bowl of Nordic spiced porridge and packed up the last of our possessions. A few left early with a long drive ahead, but we stayed awhile in Edale, exploring the village and surrounding fields, and enjoying a hearty pub lunch before saying our goodbyes.

Image: Sarah Porteus

Image: Sarah Porteus

I'm not brilliant with texting people back or replying to emails immediately, and I definitely haven't done half the things I've wanted to with the online Creative Countryside community so far, but in a way these real life meet-ups are the antidote to all of that chaos. I met Chelsea for the first time, and Sarah, our folklore editor, too.  So many of the people that attended have been involved in the magazine. And some I'd never really chatted to before. It was a real mix of truly interesting creatives, and I'm so grateful to have had the chance to get to know them more.

At this time of year when the grey and moody language of winter sets the tone for the month of January, I find myself in need of a little nurturing for the soul.  Mornings covered in frost, the light glinting on the horizon through a sea of fog and the glow of Christmas past make me long for the tiniest glimmer that spring is on its way.  However, I’ve found that for me the best antidote to a bad case of January blues is to try to embrace what the season may hold and savour winter’s last hurrah.

Heading off into the woods for the weekend, our little family of four did just that.  Off the beaten track in the New Forest is Warborne Farm, a family-run 100 acre farm which boasts a selection of lovingly converted boutique barns.  Perfect for retreats, families, couples and those who need nothing but cosiness, long walks and a chance to while away the hours in the wilderness of the forest.

Arriving after dark, The Grain Loft, our home from home for the weekend was lit up with the glow of a roaring fire within the woodburner.  Warmth, cosiness and the rustic feel of natural materials intermingled with exposed piping and industrial chic set the tone for the décor.  Handmade to perfection - from the sheep fleeces on the beds from the farm’s own flock and light fitting made from the original pulley system used for hauling up hessian sacks of grain for storing, to shutters handmade by Kate’s mum Ann, bedside tables carved from blocks of Douglas Fir from the New Forest and sills once part of an old sunken barge found emerging from the mudflats.  Modern, rustic but luxurious to boot. 

Everything has been created with an ambience of slow living in mind, helping guests to switch off from the hustle and bustle and reclaim time for themselves.  Perhaps one of the most special and unexpected features of our stay in The Grain Loft was a viewing window in the floor of the sitting room, from which we could watch and marvel at our neighbours below – a family of Boer goats.  I cannot tell you how magical it was to being able to witness the sweet scene beneath our feet.  I’ve never felt more like Heidi. 

Dragging ourselves away from goats and mugs of bedtime hot chocolate, the girls’ bedroom proved to be the stuff of little girls’ dreams.  Former stalls in the loft have been converted into a stunning 4 berth dorm complete with beds furnished with hay mattresses made from ox-eye daisies, ladies bedstraw and other wild flowers from the farm’s meadows.  Our bedroom didn’t disappoint either.  Soft sheepskin and downy pillows ensured a night of dreaming we were snuggled up in a chalet deep in the snowy Alps.  It’s these beautiful little touches which make staying at Warborne so magical.  A cavernous copper bath and time spent reading and chatting by the fire with a large glass of wine ensured the perfect digital detox. 

Waking to a day of planned adventures, the surrounding heathland ensured that we had time to daydream whilst spotting wild ponies, collecting pine cones and getting muddy and rosy-cheeked with our dogs.  There’s also the seaside town of Lymington to explore if you wish to venture out for supplies and take a bracing walk along the sea walls.  However there’s heaps to draw you back to the farm.  Picking your own organic vegetables from the plentiful polytunnels, finding buckets by the front door with treats to feed the farm’s Kune Kune pigs and being able to collect your own eggs for breakfast from the hen house are all highly recommended.  We loved savouring the simple things and enjoying the beauty of midwinter at its best.  No need for screen time, although there are televisions and Wifi in each of the barns should you not be able to resist.  Our little ones spent hours just running about, visiting the farm’s many animals and bouncing off the top of the bales in the hay barn. 

There’s a touch of old fashioned farm living about Warborne Farm.  Our weekend stay gave us much needed time, space and freedom to enjoy a little midwinter magic.  I think that perhaps the most important thing I shall take away with me is just finding a space to be able to let myself switch off and enjoy my wintry surroundings.  It’s those moments I shall savour rather than try to rush the time away until we welcome spring again with open arms.  As Johanna Spyri, the author of Heidi wrote, “Let's enjoy the beautiful things we can see, my dear, and not think about those we cannot.”

Not every fairytale has a fairy godmother, altruistic and giving, always on hand to grant a wish and wave a magic wand to set everything right for the downtrodden hero or heroine of the story. Some protagonists of the old folk stories weren’t always lucky as Cinderella and Dorothy, the less fortunate hero and heroines didn’t encounter Glinda the good witch of the North, instead they happened across the terrifying being that is Baba Yaga.

I find Baba Yaga a most intriguing character in Slavic mythology. Always drawn to the more austere and gothic edges of folklore as opposed to the rose tinted happy endings of modern fairy tales, Baba Yaga captivates my attention as there are so many conflicting tales surrounding her, none of which can give any clue of her true desires and intentions. She is a chaotic neutral force that grants help when asked but her methods are never pretty, sometimes leaving the protagonist feeling like they should have never begged her help in the first place.

Unpredictable and volatile, Baba Yaga is sometimes perceived as a mother nature figure but one trope that is always consistent throughout the lore that surrounds her is that she eats those unfortunates who cannot complete her tasks. Depicted as heinously ugly to behold, she is a crone with iron teeth and a long nose who travels through the sky in a mortar and pestle.

Another intriguing feature of hers that appeals to the fifteen year old goth version of me is  that of her house.  One of the most iconic motifs surrounding the Baba Yaga mythos is that she lives in a hut in the centre of the deep dark woods (like many witches of folklore) but what sets her hut apart from your run-of-the-mill forest witch is that her hut is has it’s own pair of long, giant & gnarled chicken legs. The hut is believed to be alive (As much as a hut can be alive) and possess its own personality. The hut roves about the forest, like an elemental force of its own, perhaps seeking out those in need of Baba Yaga. People can often tell when they are in Baba Yaga’s presence before seeing her for when she is around, the winds turn wild and whistle through the trees which creak and groan as the air turns bitter cold.

Baba Yaga appears throughout history, first referenced in text in a Russian Grammar book in 1755 as a figure lifted from Slavic folklore. It’s likely that her origins derived from many ancient oral tales that later were built upon, frayed and reconstructed into written folk stories.

Although unmoral and dangerous, Baba Yaga never goes after anyone unprovoked and the stories that surround her are generally told from the point of view of the people that encounter her. One such story is the that of Vasilisa, a Cinderella-like character who’s stepmother and sisters severely mistreat her. Her family send her into the forest on an impossible quest for the fire of Baba Yaga (who serves in this tale as a wicked fairy godmother) and Vasilisa finds herself faced with completing a variety of exhausting tasks set by the witch under the threat of her life. Upon completing the tasks, Baba Yaga sends her back to her family with the fire as requested however when Vasilisa brings it home, the fire which is contained inside a  magic skull, burns her family to death as punishment for their cruelty. Not exactly the nicest way to treat even those who’ve wronged you but it’s not the way of Baba Yaga to be forgiving or gentle.

I don’t know about you, but when it comes to villainy I feel a little weary and tired of an antagonist that is inherently evil. Their motives are normally along the  lines of world domination (here’s looking at you Voldemort) or they’re just terrible people and want to eat small children. I struggle with the concept that people can be all good or all evil which in modern fairy tales often has a clearly defining line. Those who are considered evil and villainous often have a backstory that details a history of suffering or abuse or it’s completely unexplained and they are just outright chaotic bad and only ever do bad things to people.

I find the notion of a neutral villain far more appealing; Baba Yaga is an elemental force that has no definable intentions and does terrible things because she has no moral compass although she is willing to help those who prove themselves. Villainy isn’t perhaps an apt word for a character like Baba Yaga, for she comes from a branch of folktale where there is no defining line of good and bad. The characters of older tales tend to find themselves on a spectrum of good to evil but ultimately it’s their actions that define them.

This approach to character design feels more raw, realistic and relatable. Is it not the most appealing part of a fairy tale to find ourselves in a surreal experience but able to relate to the protagonists? I don’t know about you but these days I’m slightly apathetic towards the myriad of fairy tales featuring melodramatic heroes, peril-prone altruistic and altogether vanilla heroines and villains who are both predictable and shallow in their intentions. Give me a flawed protagonist any day and while you’re at it, an antagonist that has perhaps more than just humble personality traits of narcissism and megalomania, one that surprises, twists and turns the plot. One both unpredictable and wild, unfathomable and enduring; one like Baba Yaga.

Slow down. Release anxiety. Pay attention to what is happening around you. Give thanks for whatever abundance you’ve found. Don’t take things or moments for granted. Be wise with your time.

The universe whispered these messages to me over and over and over again until I was ready to listen (read: until I had ignored them long enough to find a practical solution to my problems). If I’m being honest, the prospect of tiny living was a means to an end (hello, just paid off my student loans and I don’t love being in debt), but our foray into a simpler lifestyle has brought so much more than financial freedom.

Long before I ever met him, my now-husband, Matt, learned about the tiny house movement and planned on living out his bachelor days in a custom tiny home on wheels- it would provide him simplicity, freedom, and enable his tendencies to be outside at every moment possible. But then we met and started dating and a couple of years later we were married and the idea of tiny houses were a dream from the past. Around the time of our first anniversary, I started contemplating going back to school, but wary of the mountain of debt that was sure to accrue, brought up tiny homes again. Smaller space plus cheaper rent equals more money to do xyz. At first, my Matt didn’t take me seriously. In fact, it wasn’t until I made him drive to a city three hours away to attend a festival where we could tour multiple tiny homes (for design inspiration, of course) that he realized this wasn’t just a whim.

We spent the next year dreaming, designing, and building our home with the help of my father and grandfather, both of whom have decades of construction experience. I so enjoyed designing the aesthetic of the home and getting to collaborate on creating solutions to make our house as functional as possible. We worked in the evenings and almost every weekend building our dream home, and just after our second anniversary, we pulled out of the driveway with our home in tow.
 

We’re approaching six months of tiny living, in our new, beautiful home in a new, beautiful place nestled up to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, and this is what I’ve learned:

It is so incredibly important to slow down. Those messages from the universe are resonant with our new lifestyle, but I still have to actively chase after peaceful and conscious moments, choose to be intentional with the ways I spend my time, and create space in my daily agenda for gratitude. Slow living doesn’t come natural to many of us, but once you dip a toe, the pool of calm and presence and ritual is one that draws you in.
 

For those of you aching for a respite, tired of the daily busy-ness, I wish you slow moments. You don’t need a tiny house to be more present. Steep a kettle of tea, spend an evening by the fireplace with a book, or cast on a new knitting project to keep your hands busy. Send a note to a pen-pal or call your mom just to say hello. Set aside five minutes to meditate before you go to bed. Get outside and take a walk. Take in the beauty of your surroundings. Just a few minutes of mindful slowness a day makes a world of difference.

Sarah Beth

https://www.slowlyandtrue.com/

‘Weather cannot be divorced from the outdoors experience and nor should it be.’ Tristan Gooley

If you’re someone who spends time outside in the UK then you’ll be acutely aware of the weather. We have to be because it can determine if a day goes to plan or not and more than once I’ve wished I could enjoy the outdoors without the elements but as Gooley says, we shouldn’t. With a little understanding and patience, the elements can yield clues for navigating. Yes, we have maps, GPS, and even our phones so we’re not reliant on natural navigation anymore but there’s still value in observing how the natural world is behaving around us.

It’s essential to observe the weather from the outset of your journey because often clues are in the changes. If you don’t know which way the wind was blowing an hour ago, you won’t know it’s turned.

In fact, wind direction is a great place to start. The ancient Greek name for different winds was interchangeable with the direction they came from; for example, Boreas, the name for the cold wind from the north (and the God of winter) could be used to mean the direction north. In the ancient world the characteristics of a wind would be analysed to detect from where it blew but in modern times we’ve flipped this so we look at the direction to try and predict what’s coming. Where a wind comes from gives us clues about what it might bring with it. A westerly wind coming off the sea will bring damp, maybe rain. As we saw last year, a southerly wind can turn the sky orange with Saharan dust while also bringing heat and dry air.

Historically the clarity of air has been used to predict weather too. The sky appears a darker shade of blue when the air is extremely dry or at high altitude because the short waves of blue light aren’t being scattered by clouds or pollutants in the atmosphere. The Polynesians used the twinkling of the stars to judge weather conditions, as twinkling is caused by wispy cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere.

While this all sounds more like weather forecasting than navigation, they are incredibly closely linked. If you can tell where the wind comes from and what it might have encountered on its way, i.e. mountains or sea, from the weather it brings, then you can learn about a landscape even if you can’t see it.

If you know the prevailing wind direction of a place then natural features become points on a vast compass. Trees bent like cartoon hags go with the direction of the prevailing wind and are easy to spot. More subtle is the weathering of a hill or mountainside. The slope facing into the wind (windward) might have less vegetation, smoother rock, and curves while the sheltered side (leeward) will gather dust, leaves and shingle and will usually be dryer than the windward side.   

While this is only a small introduction to a huge topic, winter is a fantastic time to tune into nature. Start small, notice changes in the wind while out walking and slowly you’ll become more perceptive.

Happy navigating!