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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that life beyond the screen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is stopping you from rediscovering life beyond the screen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Image ©Holly J C Wilkinson

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

Megan Fatharly

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Megan Jordan

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

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

Find out more about Megan:

Instagram

Website

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Joanna Lillie

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

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

Find out more about Joanna:

Instagram

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Jasmine Mills

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

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

Find out more about Jasmine:

Website

Instagram

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Catherine Vallely

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

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

Find out more about Catherine:

Website

Instagram

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is Highland riding.

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

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

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

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

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

At times it seemed as though spring would never arrive. There have been false starts aplenty, with snow-covered daffodils a frequent sight, but now - finally - it feels as though there's been a shift. 

Snowdrops have given up the fight and have dropped for the last time. Crocuses are starting to be brave. Even the morning chorus is crescendoing. And there's something in the air, or something lacking, more to the point; even in the winds, the sharpness of winter has faded. 

I've been squirrelled away indoors finishing issue three of the magazine, and the two mornings a week I dedicate to Creative Countryside have been spent editing articles, finalising layouts, and proof-reading. It's always an incredibly busy time, but I love the process of compiling the work of so many talented writers, photographers and illustrators.

These images were taken when I visited Bryn Eglur (@thewelshhouse) back in February, just before the snow arrived. The days were sunlit, and the daffodils were just emerging, and I had a quiet few hours to myself to write, plan and think. It's not often these opportunities arise, so I made the most of every minute. Reading in the bath. Watching the sun set over the fields. Listening for the owl.

My husband, Dan, took these photos on his analogue camera, also relishing the chance to take some time for himself and a creative pursuit. I love the way he's captured the low light pouring through the window panes. I think it's the light that I'll remember most about visiting the cottage.

If you'd like to see more, Bryn Eglur is also featured in issue 3 of the magazine, available to order here. 

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Collaboration Note:  Thank you to Dorian at The Welsh House for inviting us to stay.  All words, thoughts and images are my own. 

I grew up with a forest fascination. My mother’s side of the family are Polish, so there’s always been a tradition of folk stories; I remember one in particular about a little girl whose stepmother demands roses in midwinter, snowdrops in summer and so on. She hides down the well and meets twelve mysterious figures who each provide her with what she requires in order to appease the wicked stepmother.

The forests I grew up exploring were, in actuality, smaller areas of woodland. Deciduous woods with a wonderful variety of fungi, berries and flowers. Streams and silver birches, oaks and sycamores, sweet chestnut and ash. Occasionally we’d go hunting pinecones in the fir plantations near the local reservoir, but we generally spent most of our outdoor tree time in the leafy woods. Ferns and wild garlic in the spring, conkers and rosehips in the autumn. The kind of woods you see in those old Ladybird books.

But now we reside in Scotland. The north of Scotland, to be precise: the Hebrides. Most of our woodland here is of the evergreen variety; pine and spruce. Real fairytale forests, where the light is dim and the ground is soft and velvety with mosses and deep, deep layers of dropped needles. There’s a kind of silence that’s very particular to a pine forest. The low boughs and thick carpeting deaden any outside noise. All you’ll hear is the odd crack of a breaking branch or the call of a bird. There’s an atmosphere very specific to this type of woodland.

It’s easy for the imagination to run wild when you’re standing alone in a pine forest. Everywhere looks the same, like you’re surrounded by mirrors. It’s dark and suggestive and strange shapes manifest themselves; wind whispers eerily through the branches. It doesn’t take much to envisage hungry wolves weaving stealthily past or goblins hiding in the roots of fallen trees.

It may be a subliminal thing, but recently my reading of choice (from the library) has been all about the woods. I just finished Pollard by Laura Beatty, a novel about Anne - a girl who doesn’t ‘fit in’, subsequently leaves her family and takes up permanent residence in the woods near her home. It’s set in the present day and makes for a wonderful read. In turns brutal and whimsical, the story is told both through the eyes of Anne and the ever-watching trees.

Next up is one I’ve wanted to read for a long time. Sara Maitland’s Gossip from the Forest promises many evenings of indulging my love of fairytales and forests by exploring the relationship between the two.

Some of my all-time favourite stories are set within the woods, from the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House series to Hansel and Gretel. Likewise, my favourite parts of stories are those where adventures unfold amongst the trees: The Wind in the Willows springs to mind. And who could resist the beautifully-illustrated storybooks of childhood? Jill Barklem’s Brambly Hedge books, Winnie the Pooh, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe…

Some of the most evocative writing I’ve ever read is by Angela Carter, in the opening pages of The Erl-King (one of the short stories in The Bloody Chamber). The dank foreboding of a secretly inhabited autumnal forest, explored alone, is described beautifully. You can almost feel the damp, still air and smell the dying vegetation as it slowly collapses back into the ground.

So here we are. Those pine forests which looked so enchanted just a few short weeks ago, snow-covered and twilit, are now hosting signs of life. They’re beckoning. It’s time to find a little-used, winding path and follow it into a secret world where talking creatures, witches and magic might just exist.

Nicola:  Can you tell us about Jules Hogan Knitwear?  We’d love to know how your business has evolved to where it is today?

Jules:  I started the collection in 2010 while working full-time for a knitwear design studio in London. We focused on knit as constructed textiles with a hint within the design of the fabrics’ end use, mainly garments for men and women. These designs were sold worldwide to fashion designers and retail shops. Developing designs at a fast pace, and commuting on and off for 20 years, began to take its toll.

I wanted to slow down, enjoy the therapeutic process of making and have improved life balance.  My focus was to develop ideas from initial inspiration, through to the design of the fabric and making a final piece. Making decisions on yarn quality, fibre content, silhouette and working with British companies where possible.

I initially began by making fashion and home accessories, and this developed into garments.  Working on exclusive colour palettes for stockists and bespoke orders has become a fundamental and enjoyable element of the business. I enjoy this collaborative aspect, which pushes my boundaries and helps me look at things through fresh eyes.

Nicola: Where does the inspiration for your work come from?

Jules: Inspiration and technique have remained constant throughout my work. I am drawn to tradition; the effect of weather on materials, land and seascapes, simple geometric patterns and striping with the use of subtle neutrals, bright highlights and blended yarn.

 I am constantly taking photos of the everyday, things spotted on my daily walks and take visual notes of things I see. The collection is constantly evolving, and an initial idea fuels another and then another, coming up with a fresh development.

Nicola:  We’d love to know more about where you live, the space you work from and what a normal day is like for you? 

Jules:  I live in Tilehurst Village, which is on the outskirts of Reading near the countryside and open fields. My studio is a meander down the garden.  It’s my creative haven with several re-conditioned vintage-knitting machines, both hand flat and industrial, yarn, mood boards, and books.

Each day is slightly different depending on what is in the order book.  It usually starts with Instagram over breakfast, catching up with the accounts I follow and interacting with posts.  I then check my emails before heading into the studio around 9 am.  

I am very disciplined during the day and refer to my planner for tasks that need to be achieved. I like to have a few solid hours knitting in the morning before stopping for lunch around 1 pm.  I then walk Jaxon up to the park or woods, taking photos of anything that inspires me.  Or I use this time to refresh my mind and think things through.  The afternoon is usually spent doing some more knitting, putting garments together or finishing.

Nicola:  I know you are committed to quality and use the finest British materials, including Scottish spun lambswool, sourced from a family mill that has been spinning yarn in Scotland since 1766.  Can you tell us a little more about that story?

Jules:  I have been using this yarn quality for over 20 years, so it was at the top of the list to use in my collection. The shade card is extensive with colours that reflect my work, good neutrals, and deep saturated colours. I mainly use the melange shades that have many fibers of different colours spun together, to make a new colour giving depth and texture.

The mill has a policy of animal welfare and the dyes meet British Standard. 

Nicola:  Can you also tell us about your process from the initial idea for a knitwear piece to the final product?

Jules:  Even though each piece appears simple there are also technical elements to consider. It starts with a sketch, calculations to work out the number of rows and stitches, where a pattern will start and end. I also spend time experimenting with small samples of colour, trying out different combinations.

The machine is threaded up adjusting the tension so that the yarn runs freely through the feeders and carriage of the machine.  I follow the sketch in my notebook so I know where to change colour, place markers for a sleeve and where to shape the neck. Garments are fully fashioned (shaping by moving stitches from one needle to another), and this takes time but gives a beautiful effect.

When a piece is finished it is cast off, lightly pressed, put together using a linker (a sewing machine for knitting), washed, air dried and pressed again.The final part of the process is sewing in care labels and attaching swing tags. 

Nicola:  You say your pieces are simple, handcrafted knitwear for those that like to make a quiet statement. We’d love for you to tell us what this means to you and how you interpret this in your work?

Jules:  I make knitwear to enhance but not overpower the wearer. Colour palettes flatter different skin tones, and the highlights of bright colour add a bit of surprise and individuality. Silhouette masks areas that don’t want to be shown, while allowing certain parts of the body to peep through. It's about making people feel great about themselves.  

Nicola:  And lastly, I’d love for you to describe the type of person you think your knitwear is most suited to and why? 

Jules:  It is quite difficult to describe a type of person, as my customers are so varied, but through observation, I would say, people that care about provenance, the story behind the work, and appreciate handcraft.

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Nicola: You are a writer and artist who specialises in nature, landscapes, rural heritage and ethical living.  Can you tell us more about the work you do and the journey you took to be doing what you love?

Tiffany:  I’ve always loved nature, birds, trees and being outdoors.  But the love I had during my childhood was abandoned slightly over my teenage years when I discovered boys, alcohol and other exciting things.  After finishing college I studied English Literature in Bristol and then moved to London to complete my Masters in English at UCL.

It was here my curiosity for the natural world crept quietly back into my life after I started volunteering with the London Wildlife Trust in ancient woodland called Sydenham Hill Wood. This helped me rediscover my love for wildlife and, although I had always wanted to be a writer, I realised nature writing was my true calling.   Combined with my hobby as a wildlife artist, I wanted to try and communicate the wonders of the natural world to others through my writing and artwork.

Now I produce both of these on a freelance basis for magazines and newspapers, and I also recently appeared on Radio 4’s Tweet of the Day and Kirstie’s Handmade Christmas on Channel 4.

My first book will be published in March, Food You Can Forage with Bloomsbury books, and I am about to be commissioned for my second - a narrative non-fiction book on our relationship with the night sky.  

Nicola:  You grew up in the chalky hills of the South Downs.  How did this inspire what you write and teach about today?  

Tiffany: I’ve spent most of my life in the South Downs, having now returned here after a few years away in Bristol and London. For me, it's a magical landscape bursting with wildlife, culture, and history. So many of my childhood memories originate from adventures outdoors in woodlands or along the coast, finding badger skulls and collecting conkers.

It was recently recognized as a National Park by the government, and I think this reflects how vibrant the area is. From the haunted yew trees at Kingley Vale to the flower-smothered gardens of Lewes, the South Downs are a huge part of who I am and will forever weave themselves into my work.

Nicola:  Describe to us why nature is so important to you, and your passion for engaging others with the natural world.  

Tiffany: It’s been said a thousand times over the last few years, but Nature Deficit Disorder is becoming a real problem in our society. Studies have shown that when we choose not to spend time in nature it affects our mental and physical health, as well as disconnecting us from our natural roots and rhythms.  When I hear a great tit’s see-saw song in late winter, and know that spring is almost here, I am filled with the most intense sensation of joy that not even a stuffed crust pizza or photo of Harrison Ford (Blade Runner-era) can replicate.

Everyone can benefit.

From spending more time in nature and, aside from the positive effect it can have on our wellbeing, it is essential to the future of our planet. David Attenborough once said: ‘No one will protect what they don’t care about, and no one will care about what they have never experienced.'

I want to secure a healthy environment for my children and grandchildren, and I hope that my writing and art will inspire others to cherish wildlife and nurture a new relationship with the natural world.  

Nicola:  Can you tell us about where you live and what a typical day looks like for you at the moment?

Tiffany: My days are extremely varied at the moment and, in the words of Prufrock, tend to be measured out ‘with coffee spoons’.  I live in east Hampshire with my partner, right in the middle of the South Downs National Park. We live in a little flat in the pretty market town where we both grew up, although we didn’t meet until many years later!  I’m currently in an exciting but scary stage of my life, as I recently made the decision to leave my job and pursue a freelance career with my writing and art. So over February, I’ve been tying off the loose ends at my job at Butser Ancient Farm, where I’ve worked as Creative Developer for over three years.

From March onwards I'll be spending most of my days writing, painting and getting distracted by the long-tailed tits hopping around outside our window, as well as spending lots of time outdoors for inspiration.  I try to find time to go running a few times a week (something I only discovered recently), and I enjoy riding around the Hangers on a friend’s horse that I help look after. I also have an exciting calendar of talks, festivals and events lined up for this year, so I’llbe preparing for those and traveling around the country over the spring and summer months.

 Nicola:  Your first book, Food You Can Forage, is due out on the 8 th of March.  Can you tell us what the book is about and why you wanted to write it?

Tiffany: My first book is all about foraging wild food and embracing the countryside, something that I am passionate to share with everyone.  In my experience, foraging can often seem intimidating to beginners, or something they associate with horror stories in the news. But foraging can be an adventure for friends and families at any age, and I wanted to present it as a relaxed and rounded hobby that takes you outdoors into the countryside and ends with something delicious on the kitchen table. I really wanted to celebrate the hobby as a new way to engage with the natural world, so I also included sections on different habitats, what wildlife you can spot, folklore and mythology, my own illustrations, photos and a selection of tested recipes at the back.  

I think the best thing about foraging is that it can unite everyone through a shared love of food.So even if you aren’t naturally drawn to spending time outside, this might entice you to take a walk in the woods in search of a moment of wildness.

Nicola:  What did you enjoy most about writing your book?

Tiffany: It has to be writing the recipes! There are twenty recipes in the book, and I couldn’t help including two of my favourite food groups: booze and cake.  We had hours of fun testing samples, deciding which type of gorse petal mead tasted best, or how much icing to drizzle over spiced elderberry buns. I’ve never written recipes for publication before but I love cooking and spending time in the kitchen, so it was brilliant to be able to share some of my favourite creations. I really wanted to include recipes as it makes the art of foraging so much more rewarding when you can transform your discoveries into a snack or meal, rather than just harvesting things and leaving them to wilt tragically by the coat-rack.

Nicola:  And finally, if anyone reading this has a creative dream they would love to follow, what advice would you give them?  

Tiffany: In my experience, being able to pursue a dream in the creative arts is all about opening yourself up to the universe. There are so many wonderful writers and artists in the world, each with their own voices that need to be heard, but I’ve found that the most successful artists I know are those that are proactive, seeking out opportunities for themselves.

 My book deal actually came about through a lucky encounter - I wrote a blog post on foraging that was seen by the right person at the right time, and I’m grateful every day for that jammy moment that changed my life. But before that I spent many years throwing everything I had out into the abyss, writing and painting and creating things that I hoped would lead to new opportunities.

I went to networking events, joined online forums, interacted with others on Twitter, and tried my best to share my work with the world in the hope that it might lead somewhere - and it did!  I would encourage everyone to keep creating, particularly at a time when the world needs hope and creativity more than ever, and to try your best not to let the more mundane routines of life squeeze out precious hours of creative time. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, so long as you are in tune with the world and keep your heart and mind open to new opportunities.

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A tiny, fragile milk-flower clustered resolutely in the bitter and frosted winter’s soil - bringer of hope to some yet loathed by so many. Believed by some to have been brought to England by monks, the humble Snowdrop hails from the mountainous Alpine regions where the world is much colder and winters much harsher. Today, although not native to this country it’s commonly found in the British Isles, rearing it’s pearly head in time to coincide with celebration of Imbolc/Candlemass around the beginning of February;

‘The snowdrop, in purest white arraie,

First rears her hedde on Candlemas daie.

While the Crocus hastens to the shrine
Of Primrose lone on St Valentine.’ 

-an excerpt from an Old English floral calendar dating back to the 19th century.

One of my preferred folklores that surrounds the plant is an ancient German tale;

At the beginning of all things when life was new, the Snow sought to borrow a colour. The flowers were much admired by all the elements but they guarded their colour’s jealousy and when the Snow pleaded with them, they turned their backs in contempt for they believed the Snow cold and unpleasant. The tiny humble snowdrops took pity on the Snow for none of the other flowers had shown it any kindness and so they came forth and offered up to the Snow their colour.

The Snow gratefully accepted and became white forevermore, just like the Snowdrops. In its gratitude, the Snow permitted the little pearly flowers the protection to appear in winter, to be impervious to the ice and bitter chill. From then on, the Snow and the Snowdrops coexisted side by side as friends.

Fascinating little flowers, according to hearsay the plants are able to generate their own heat, however, there’s little in the way of proof. Known to have medicinal properties, the Galanthus nivalis currently being used in treatment for Alzheimer's. Their Latin name is dreadfully pretty as it translates as ‘Milkflower of the snow’ - this is possibly my favourite variant on the name as well as a Welsh word for them, ‘Eirlys’ which translates as ‘Snow Lilly.’

A much-adored sight around the bleak late winter days in modern day Britain, the ‘Fair Maid of February’ as they are also known, favour shady areas such as woodlands and are perhaps most notably and somewhat grimly found clustered upon graves and carpeting the floors of Britain’s churchyards. Perhaps this is the reason for some darker lore that surrounds the Snowdrops; for some say that they are an omen of death.

In Victorian superstition, it’s told that you must never bring the Snowdrop into the house for that will bring ill-fortune and in some more extreme versions of the tale, death will occur in the family within the year. Many cling to and practice this superstition still claiming resolutely that a plucked snowdrop brought upon their threshold was the reason they were widowed. Other old English superstitions dictate that by bringing in a Snowdrop, the milk will turn sour and eggs shall spoil. I’d rather not believe that picking this beautiful little flower would be a bringer of ills and sadness, however it’s most probably for the best that it’s not plucked from its roots and taken indoors where it’ll only wither but instead left with its fellows, creating a wondrous blanket of white across the woodlands and churchyards.

Better than a bringer of death is the flower’s associations as a bringer of hope and purity; the green coloured stem of the snowdrop symbolises and links with the Pagan ideals of health and wellbeing whilst the white symbolises the light of the winter sun which is now beginning to grow stronger as the days lengthen.

One of the most popularly documented stories surrounding the origins of the Snowdrop is actually a Christian creation tale. It tells of the moments following Adam & Eve’s exile from the garden of Eden where hopeless and dejected, they shiver as the snows swirl around them and the frost bites at their toes. An Angel descends from the Heavens to relate the message that Eden is no longer their privilege and that they must swiftly move on. Frightened and awed by the Angel and apprehensive of the nameless world that lies beyond, Adam and Eve take each other's hand and wander towards the unfamiliar and cruel new lands, heads bowed and tearful.

It is here that the Angel feels deep sorrow in his heart so he reaches out a hand where the soft snowfall lands in its perfect kaleidoscope of shapes, twinkling crystals in his palm; perfect and unmelting. The Angel brings the snowflakes to his face and breaths upon them, transforming the glittering ice into soft, pearly flowers; the first Snowdrops. “Take these little flowers,” says the Angel to Adam and Eve, “take them as a sign of hope. A sign for your kind and for the earth outside.” The Angel casts the tiny flowers into a halo that surrounds the two people and they carry this blessing of hope with them out into the world beyond.

Whether you believe the many dark superstitions that surround this flower or not, you cannot deny that it is a messenger of the seasons, that the darkest moment of winter has passed and that there are happenings of life in the roots beneath the earth; spring is imminent.

The Scottish poet George Wilson concludes his poem ‘The Origin of the snowdrop’ with the lines;

"And thus the snowdrop, like the bow
That spans the cloudy sky,
Becomes a symbol whence we know
That brighter days are nigh ; ”