January in Pictures

We've had misty days, damp and dank days, crisp frosts, blue skies, bright and piercing sunshine and nights that were well below freezing. The seasonal stream has swollen, the ground going from rock hard to soft to squelchy in a matter of hours.

Birds have been singing, the green woodpecker has been swooping and feasting in the garden, a heron stopped by for a day or two, flying upwards leisurely when disturbed.

The calling sound of the pheasant, we've got black ones around here with glints of green in their tails, is a regular sound, as is the voice of my eldest cockerel.

Inside the soft scent of vanilla and ginger hit your senses, as my son gets stuck into his baking project. Plans of my own are being hatched and researched. My head has been scratched endlessly; my brain almost unpleasantly stuffed with information.

I never wish January away. It's a month that gets a hard time. After all, how could the month following December with it's bright lights, joyful music, carols and laughter, compete?

But I relish its quietness, the solitude, the nesting. It's a chance to recover, to plan and a time of anticipation.

Five Instagram Accounts I Love

Despite its faults, and the changes, I'm still in love with this little app. I've connected with a wonderful range of people and communities on there and I always look forward to seeing what is happening in their beautiful photographs. This morning my own account ticked over to 7000 followers. I know if you aren't into social media or fussed about followers you can be thinking, yeah - whatever.

However. I think I've always been quite honest in that I'm intentionally building a social media platform. I think it's important, as a writer, that I have a following, that I have people out there in the world who genuinely enjoy my writing and what I have to say. Not only does this build my confidence, which then allows me to be braver with my writing, but I'm hoping it'll make me more attractive to publishers.

Perhaps, most importantly, though, it allows me to chat and connect with other people, in what can be a solitary profession.

Because of this I wanted to highlight some of my favourites on instagram. I think these accounts reflect my tastes brilliantly.

1.Penguin in the post

Verity has such a gorgeous account. I look forward to seeing her beautiful books every day.

2. Niki at the Cottage

I've been following Niki for ages and ages. Not only are Niki's photos beautiful but she is perhaps one of the most supportive people I've met on instagram.

3. My Chaos and Coffee

Look at that pig on the top right. That gorgeous beast is probably one of my most favourite Instagram photos - ever!

4. Alice Draws the Line

I found Alice earlier this year. I became fascinated and mesmerised by her beautiful nature drawings. She sells her work on etsy and I've already purchased two of her notebooks.

5. Wellies and Love

Wellies and love manages to capture everything I love about the countryside.

Who are your favourites?

Joy out of the darkness

It is like those years happened in another lifetime. To another person. Yet, I distinctly remember when I was living through those years, thinking, will this never end? It'll be easier, I said to myself, when I was no longer in pain from the birth, when he sleeps through the night, when I stop breastfeeding, when he becomes a toddler. But each stage brought different challenges. Just when you thought you were getting on top of a particular stage, it all changed, all over again. And your world became a different sort of chaotic.

My world was very small during those early years. In fact, when I look back, I can see myself in our old lounge. Never the kitchen, the garden or my bedroom. Just in the lounge. My world was very tiny indeed.

I now see pictures of my friends online taking their baby into London or a farm, out and about, having adventures. I feel envy. Not an ugly envy but an admiring envy. The furthest I went with my baby was a walk into my local town. The first time I got back home from this short walk I was in terrific pain and in tears. I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen, took some painkillers, changed the baby's nappy and walked back into the lounge. Into the darkness. And that's where I stayed for months.

It was on this same walk, many many months later, when it occurred to me that what I was feeling wasn't normal. Two words were whispered into my ear. I can still see exactly where I was stood with the Mamas & Papas pram. On the left hand side of the busy road, waiting for a break in the traffic to cross. I don't remember much at all from those months and year but I do remember this.

Postnatal depression.

Those were the two words. I don't know where they came from. I hadn't seen a programme about it, I hadn't read about it, hadn't really heard about it; except for a questionnaire the health visitor had read out to me in the baby weighing clinic months before (I lied in answer to all the questions; utterly terrified they would think me a bad mum if I replied negatively to any of them). It wasn't talked about. It certainly wasn't in any baby book I'd read, or in any baby magazine.

I continued my walk into town. Feeling a little lighter. Despite not knowing whether this was what I had, or what the symptoms were, I thought there might be an explanation for how I was feeling. That I wasn't failing as a mother. That I wasn't a bad mother. I tried not to listen to another voice whispering in my ear that this was an easy excuse for being so rubbish at caring for my son.

Returning home I fired up the computer. I did a search on those two words. There was a checklist. Good, I liked checklists.

‘Do you choose to stay at home and avoid social situations?’ Er, yes.

'Do you fear health professionals in case you are criticised with how you are raising your baby?’ Doesn't everyone?

The questions continued. The majority of them I said yes to.

The relief I felt that I wasn't a bad mother outweighed any guilt I had about succumbing to depression. (Yes, that's right I did feel guilt for being depressed. This guilt didn't last.)

With help, with realisation, with the ability to talk about what I was going through, I extended my world. I took tentative steps out of the lounge, started to try new things like a baby swimming class, made new friends. Not every day was sunny. But the darkness was receding.

Tomorrow my son, my first born, turns thirteen. He's five foot ten to my five foot six. He's strong (oh my goodness the guilt I felt about giving up breastfeeding at three months) and broad. His feet are bigger than his dad's. He's polite, good company and a real joy to be around.

There was a time when I felt cheated. When my mind was better and I realised all that I'd missed out on. I don't feel that now. Because, since then, we've made a lifetime (for him) of more memories. Time does heal. And your baby grows up. But he's still my baby. My joy. And I'm so happy he came along.

Sorry, but for reasons known only to Wordpress, the comments have been disabled on this post. Please do contact me on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook in the meantime (links at top right).

Bee-ing joyful

I blame the chickens for my obsession with attracting bees into the garden. After all, before they came along, I had no interest in the outdoors whatsoever. No interest in nature, in flowers, in trees. As for gardening. That was for old people, right? But, something weird happened when we moved to the countryside and started our chicken and duck-keeping adventures. I became aware of seasons, of the life cycle of trees, of bird song and insects. And I became aware of the plight of bees. The decline in bee numbers has been known about for some time, certainly longer than the four years we've lived in the countryside. I remember the Doctor Who episode, The Stolen Earth, when Donna tells the Doctor that the bees were disappearing. This was the first time I'd heard mention of it, in 2008, and to be completely honest I didn't give it any further thought until 2012 when our life change began.

After we'd cleared our land of thistles, nettles and docks, I wanted to put something back. These three plants may be weeds to us; ugly, unsightly and painful to touch, but they're vital for insects.

So I began planting trees. We stuck in about fifteen goat willow setts which produce flowers in early spring. An early source of pollen and nectar for bees. Then I added fruit trees. An orchard consisting of plum, damson, pear and apple trees. All showing off beautiful blossom in the spring for the bees.

bee on allium

The more time I spent outside planting trees and tending to my chickens, the more inspired I became. My imagination started to kick in. I voluntarily(!) watched gardening programmes, sent off for brochures and books and made more and more tree orders. With buzzards and red kites regularly flying into and around the garden, you can’t help but be more fascinated by nature.

So in went a windbreak of trees and a hedgerow with hawthorn, wild rose, blackthorn and crab apple. Good for insects and good for birds. I'm well aware that we're fortunate to have a lovely piece of land and I wanted to make sure it was working hard for nature.

But I hadn't finished. I wanted to create a wildflower meadow, too. And a bank of snowdrops and bluebells. There were highs and lows. I've learnt that, in gardening, there are some you win and some you lose.

Then it was time to tackle the garden closer to the house. Wheelbarrows of clay were extracted. Wheelbarrows of topsoil and manure were imported. Gradually we started to add plants. Colour, scent, vibrancy. And this year has been our best year yet. Helped by my inability to resist buying plants that state 'bee friendly' on the label.

I'm delighted that brands are now getting on board and highlighting the plight of bees. After all, there'd be no apple crumble, damson jam or cups of tea without the bee's hard work. And that would be a very bland world to live in indeed. Taylors of Harrogate have teamed up with Kew Gardens to create a bee hotel. Why? Because they firmly believe that bees need to be protected and are therefore encouraging people like you and me to make our gardens more bee friendly.

I know that not everyone has the space to plant an orchard or hedgerow. But there are things you can do in the smallest of gardens. I've put a small bee house up near the clematis, alliums and verbena (you can see it on the mini-film I've made below). You can either buy one of these houses for a few pounds or make one yourself. You could scatter wildflower seed and, even on a small balcony, can have a planter with some bee attracting flowers (my summer alliums are covered in bees at the moment).

This year, for the first time, I allowed part of our lawn to grow (a bee friendly alternative that actually saves you work!) I was utterly delighted when, amongst the grasses, buttercups, selfheal and clover, a number of bee orchids appeared. An unexpected delight.

My daughter is becoming as obsessed as I am. She volunteered to dress up in her bee costume for my mini-film and has made two posters for her bedroom wall to save the bees and the butterflies. We both keep looking at the bee house to see if anyone has decided to make it their home.

If you are inspired to help the bees do have a look at Taylors of Harrogate's gorgeous bee website (you could win a trip to Kew Gardens), as well as Kew Garden's Grow Wild website and the Bumblebee Conservation Trust.

bee on verbena

Taylors of Harrogate and Save the Bees

This blog post is part of the Taylors of Harrogate bee campaign but the words, as always, are completely my own. (And my favourite flavour, if you haven't already guessed, is the rose lemonade.)

No Place Like Home

Lying on the beach, costume wet from jumping the waves, digging my feet into the softest of sands, grains clinging everywhere; which I know is going to mildly irritate later when I walk back to the hotel, I finally relax. This is utter bliss. The temperature is a warm thirty degrees, a wind coming off the sea cooling my skin. Later, mild discomfort from the sand aside, we'll be back at the hotel, maybe having a coffee by the pool, listening to music on my iPad (thanks to the brilliance of Spotify and decent wifi) then walking down to the local town during the evening for a pizza, a glass of cava and a raspberry ice cream from the parlour.

I'm sighing as I write that. Oh to have one week out of fifty two that doesn't involve the school run, cleaning out chicken houses, clearing up after mucky ducks, cutting the grass, deadlines, the ongoing and never-ending admin...It's, well, weird. Relaxing, joyful, wonderful. But weird. It takes a few days to fully relax and by the time I am fully relaxed it's time to pack the suitcases to head back home.

But you know what? I'm ready to go home. Those eight days were amazing. But I missed home.

Yes, I missed the animals. Their noisy morning clucks when they've laid an egg, the way the ducks try and charge me when my back is turned, my dog's wet nose nuzzling my hand, and the cat coming to sit on my bed during the evening (she's here purring away on the edge of the bed as I type). I missed the green. The bird song. The distant fields changing colour.

Going away on holiday is fantastic. Returning home, seeing everything we've worked hard on through fresh eyes, is joyful.

A very British Summer

I feel sorry for the British Summer. There's so much pressure on it to be blue-skied with unlimited hot sun. Day after day. Or at least at the weekends. Then, when it offers something different: perhaps rain, or sunshine and showers, or just cloud, one question echoes loudly across the land. Where is summer?

Yes there is something restorative about feeling the sun's warm rays on your face. On your shoulders whilst you walk around outside. Having the sun merrily encourage you to get together with friends: to eat barbecue, to drink prosecco. I get that.

But I also think summer can be found elsewhere whether it is boiling hot at the weekend or not.

It's in the fields as the crops turn from muted green to gold; wheat rustling as you walk past, barley rising and swaying, like a yellow ocean. The earth cracking underneath your feet. Bees buzzing on the flowers that are popping up everywhere. Pink and yellow grasses catching the sun; glinting in the evening light.

The British Summer is changeable. Unreliable. You can have three or four types of weather in one day.

But I feel, that's what makes it so special. And I'm going to try and find the joy in every day.

And yes, I did get soaked on a dog walk the day after I took this video. It was fine and sunny when I set out...

To just be

Scroll, scroll, scroll. That's me, on my phone, checking twitter. Checking instagram. Tweeting, hashtaging, uploading, replying, re-tweeting. And on and on it goes. I started tweeting more at the beginning of this year. Trying to build my audience, connecting with like-minded individuals. Sharing information, photos, blog posts. And it's been great.

But, see, I'm a bit all or nothing.

And soon I was doing it aimlessly. I stopped reading books (God, I feel awful typing that), days would pass me by, and my creativity that I should be reserving for my books, my writing, was being leached into one hundred and forty characters or less.

Scroll, scroll, scroll. Refresh, refresh, refresh.

Over the past couple of weeks, as I wrote in this post, I've taken a step back from twitter. And I deleted facebook from my phone.

But, on Saturday, I decided I needed to take a complete break from it.

There is a lot of worry, a lot of anxiety online. And I'm like a sponge. I soak it all up. There comes a point where you have to just stop.

And that's my cue to take a deep breath. To take a look around. See the beauty. Watch the chickens, see how the chicks have grown, how they squabble, how the ducks love their pool, the flowers swaying in the breeze, the moths and butterflies settling on the wildflowers.

I talk about embracing a slower life, but, just for a minute there, I was too caught up tweeting about a slow life, rather than experiencing it. I forget that tweeting is still part of my work. It's me not switching off. And switching off, taking a break is so important.

Since I came off twitter on Saturday, I've already found myself with an urge to write more. To get outside. To watch a film and read a book.

Funny that.

I won't be gone permanently from twitter and facebook. And I might still blog. After all, the words are tumbling out now.