Life in the Devon Lane

Happy belated New Year! December seemed to go by in a whirlwind and all of a sudden, we approaching the end of January. I have not had a new year’s resolution for a while as, in general, I find they go awry, and I feel that a positive change is something that can be embraced at any time of the year, without ‘the pressure’. So why is January given such a bad rep? With the immense build up to Christmas that has become the norm these days, the other side of the coin must equate to a massive anticlimax……what goes up must come down after all. Now, I have to fess up here, I have always been someone that wants to whizz through this month as fast as humanly possible. As I write this, the view from my window is what could be described as quintessentially January’ish’.  It’s very grey, very wet and very muddy. This week, whilst driving to site, it was all about ‘blue Monday’ on the radio.  Apparently, there is a day labelled as the most depressing day of the year and that day was it. Perhaps part of January’s problem is that it arrives once the decorations are packed away and the permission to slow down seems to vanish overnight. It’s like an unwanted salesman turning up on your doorstep (no offense to salesmen). In December, you’re surrounded by twinkly lights, cheerful music and nobody cares if you’re not sure what day of the week it is. January offers no such mollycoddling. The days are just as short, the weather just as bleak, but suddenly we are expected to be back to normal with an upgrade, if you’ve succumbed to the new year’s resolution. Winter itself hasn’t changed but we suddenly view it in a different light. No wonder it feels arduous. But I started to dissect it apart a bit (I have my husband to thank for that). Why, when I am outside, am I only buoyed by signs of spring, and then summer? It’s the same narrative that you see every time you set foot in a shop.  The next thing is always being promoted - Easter eggs in January, mince pies in August. Why can we never just ‘be’? Maybe it’s time for a different kind of resolution after all. I’ve talked about being present in previous blogs but, admittedly, this is one I am finding very challenging. The madness of Christmas may be over but the cosiness can and should remain. Candles, fairy lights, hot chocolates, log fires are still relevant and I have been embracing these things with gusto this month. I am also accepting that, quite simply, January is a month of rest, a chance to recharge before the new season arrives…..a bit like the natural world. Whilst signs of life are starting to appear in our garden, it is, for the most part, still hibernating.  The heavy and persistent rain is topping up a water table which will hopefully sustain the life that depends on it through a dry summer. The cool, dark days are quietly reminding nature that it is too early to wake from slumber - that survival depends on waiting until things are ‘just right’.  There is a message in there for us too. Our modern lives have driven us further and further away from our innate ‘wildness’.  There is so much pressure to be on and accessible all the time.  If I am not doing something productive during the day, every day, then I feel pangs of guilt. Why? We’re not robots. One of the things I look forward to every January is taking part in the Big Garden Birdwatch, a citizen science initiative run by the RSPB to monitor garden bird populations. I love filling the feeders with a variety of bird-appropriate treats, ensuring there is something for everyone, then quietly retreating to my window with a cuppa in hand. It provides a rare moment of stillness, if the children allow, that feels perfectly in tune with the season.   We recently spent a week in northern Finland, very close to the Arctic Circle. Daylight hours were scarce with the sun rising and setting in about three and a half hours. For the brief time we were there I got a glimpse of how life carried on despite the cold and the darkness. Outdoor activities didn’t cease; they just changed and there seemed to be so much focus on being ‘in nature’.  I also loved the lack of overt commercialism.  Sure, we were in a touristy area but there was a quiet nod to Christmas, rather than a Disney-inspired fanfare. The snow, silence and wilderness provided the magic and I was even treated to snowshoe hare tracks in the snow. Winter wonderlands aside, we can find magical moments in the bleakest (or not!) month of the year. Perhaps the messy pile of leaves and twigs in your garden is sheltering a sleepy hedgehog. Or maybe you’ll be treated to a vocal tawny owl establishing his territory in readiness for spring. What about those branches and twigs that seem devoid of life? Look closely and you’ll see tiny buds starting to appear. If you’re a fellow summer-lover then perhaps you can add this to your next resolution.  You don’t need to ‘like winter’ and there is no guilt in that. But there is space to appreciate it, to move with it and, as always, to be present.   With love,    

School Runs, Slow Worms and Half-Drunk Cups of Tea We’re a month back into the school routine and already I am counting down the days until half term; a welcome break from the tidal wave of school emails.  Honestly, I think I now have more admin to deal with that’s school-related than I do for my own business!  I’m not claiming that the holidays are serene. They’re often messy, loud and dominated by snacks (and more snacks). However, I really do relish the gentle mornings and, if work doesn’t beckon, the prospect of a day together to potter……in the garden, the kitchen or wherever we find ourselves.  It can sometimes take a day or two for us all to find our rhythm together again but we get there.  However, for now the routine ensues.  Alarm clocks, school runs, work squeezed into windows of time, clubs, cooking, reading, bed…..and repeat! It sometimes feels like being strapped to a treadmill, set at 70 miles an hour, and the ‘off’ button has been sabotaged. The weekend calls seductively with promises of endless time to recharge and also ‘get things done’ but, in a flash, it too has whizzed past. I know people talk of slowing down and being in the moment and I try. Sometimes I fail miserably! Sometimes I do just manage it and, when I do, it is always most rewarding when I am outside. I find myself stopping to inspect plants in the meadow, a new mole hill that has appeared, the gradual changes in the landscape. I also make a mental note to relay my findings back to the children. They are like sponges and soak up information like Juan Sheet (if you know you know, if you don’t then Google Plenty kitchen roll and you’ll find him!). I’ve made a habit of pointing out species when we’re out and about, or even just in the garden.  I’m always amazed by how much they remember…… even when I think they haven’t been listening!                      Just this morning, while on a site survey, I came across a baby slow worm and immediately took a photo to show the children. They are used to me obsessing over slow worms (they are awesome, of course, and also the subject of our second children’s book), plus they love seeing pictures of what I find in the wild….. and even better if they can spot it themselves (both Percy bat and Sammy the slow worm can be found at our home). We’ve also been fully embracing, and collecting, the bounty of the 2025 mast year (although I’m not too keen on the golf ball sized acorns that keep dive bombing my car as I’m driving!). The mast year is a time when trees and shrubs go crazy with their reproductive efforts and produce an overabundance of nuts and berries. Apparently, it’s a strategy to overwhelm squirrels and the like, so that good proportions of the seeds actually make it to germination.  Sounds like a ‘win win’ for both parties to me plus we now have a huge stash of conkers to play with.  Anyone remember playing conkers as a child? Is it still a thing? My two love finding conkers in their spiky casings and guessing how many are squeezed inside.                    It’s moments like these, little sparks of wonder and curiosity, that fuel Great Oak Farm. We want to create books that gently share knowledge and clothes that help children feel proud to be outdoorsy and wild. It’s only when you immerse yourself in the natural world that it soaks in to your bones, to your soul……like osmosis in a way. And with understanding comes compassion and, I believe, a desire to protect. I want my children to understand their environment.  I want them to feel connected to it. It’s easy to feel like we’re doing too little. That we’re not teaching enough, not adventuring enough, not “living the values” enough. And yes, they love to chill with Netflix and have screen time. It’ all about balance…..and sanity. The magic moments don’t have to be defined by grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s pointing out hedgehog poo in the garden. Or noticing the pinks in a particularly enchanting sunset or when the elder flowers appear. And I believe that those tiny moments add up. They create memories and build a relationship with the land, with the seasons and with each other.So, the next time you’re outside, whether on the school run or putting the recycling out, try to notice one thing. The smell of the grass, the colour of the leaves, the patches of moss on a wall. Pass it on, tell a child. They might just surprise you with what they remember and, better yet, they may come to you with their own discoveries. With love and half-drunk cups of tea,  

It seems to happen overnight.  One morning, you’re spreading molten gold onto your toast and the next you’re practically attacking the butter with an axe. If my husband gets to it first then I know we have reached that point as I listen to ‘unmentionables’ being muttered under his breath.  Man versus butter and the granite butter inevitably wins, causing him to destroy his toast in the process. For us the humble butter dish heralds in the change to autumn…..who needs leaves? Although admittedly I am a summer lover, there is something cathartic about the rhythm change.  A hush seems to descend over the land; the birds have done their thing and are now taking a well-earned rest from singing for mates. The busy buzzing of insect life fades and everything just seems a little slower.  Even the goats are taking it easy.  It’s a time for us to slow down too. Gone are the crazy summer days of endless watering, remembering the sun cream and bedtimes that go on forever because “we can’t go to sleep when it’s daytime Mummy!”. It’s now a time for cosy jumpers, guilt-free hot chocolates and lighting candles. Autumn at home involves harvesting the last of the bounty from the veggie garden and polytunnel……usually to be transformed into a chutney of some variety. Then there is the apple picking – we have some very productive apple trees and the children always fizz with excitement about turning those crunchy apples into juice using our old apple press (no whizzy gadgets – it might take an hour to get a glass of juice but it’s all about the journey right?!). Surplus apples get turned into, you guessed it, more chutney. I have unashamedly turned into the preserve-making version of Nigella Lawson.  Of course, we always leave some windfall apples for the local wildlife. Fieldfares and red admiral butterflies are frequent guests at the ‘orchard café’. Alongside the fruit and veg produce there is always at least one valiant pumpkin growing amongst the vegetable horde. I typically start the growing season with a bunch of healthy seedlings and then it’s a case of ‘suck it and see’ to observe which ones make it to the big day – Halloween! Previously the big H was something I could take or leave (and David is definitely not a fan!) but, since the arrival of our whippersnappers, I tend to get caught up in their excitement…..and there is a lot of excitement, which seems to start earlier each year. After the event I tend to get busy using up any leftover (and non-mouldy!) pumpkins for soups and roasting. I might even try making pumpkin chutney this year so if you know of a good recipe, please do pass it on! Naturally, the change in the season tends to include the arrival of rain and lots of it (although living in the UK one could argue that rain is a given throughout most of our seasons. What would we talk about otherwise?). I tend to be rather dismissive of it (unless it relieves me from watering the garden) however, again, since having children I am trying to embrace it.  Mind over matter etc etc. As a German friend once wisely said to me “there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.” So true. The children cannot pass a puddle, whilst out on a walk, without testing it out. How deep is it? How high can the splashes go? Can you sail a leaf boat on it? The possibilities are endless and their joy is infectious. So yes, I also jump up and down in puddles….and it is rather fun I must admit. The icing on the proverbial cake is finishing off a day of outdoor, autumnal adventures with an evening in front of the woodburner. There is something undeniably comforting about curling up on a comfy sofa, feet tucked beneath you with a cuppa in hand and a crackling fire.  Who knows, I might even manage five minutes with that cuppa before “MUMMY!” rings out, quite often followed by “I want a snack” or “[insert sibling name] did this to me!”. I can already feel the parents nodding along... Another sign that autumn is knocking at our door is the constant presence of wellies by the back door, usually encrusted with mud. I cannot be without mine at this time of year; feeding the animals, working in the garden, out for walks – my fancy footwear is the only way of keeping my tootsies happy whilst outside. In fact, I might ask for some posh llama socks for Christmas….my feet deserve it.  Wellies also take away any excuse to get outside and get stuck in. Misty morning meanderings in the field or woodland rambles collecting conkers, the wellies are there.  Speaking of which, autumn is also AMAZING for mini scavengers. Our two will return with a bounty of stuff – leaves, wonky sticks, bird feathers, pine cones and the most victorious is usually the one with ‘the biggest leaf’. I will be Pinteresting seasonal ideas for leaf craft this year, probably something involving glue and glitter and lots of mess! Talking of leaves, welcome to ‘leaf attack’ season. David’s pick-up truck becomes a leaf collector this time of year and once the truck is on the move the leaves (and the children) go crazy; a hurricane of brown, red and gold.  Leaf attack mornings on the school run are the best. It was a combination of these moments that led us to our next slogan; wellies, puddles, pumpkins. For us this embraces the essence of autumn, which means wellies by the door, puddles underfoot, and pumpkins on the table, whether for carving or chutney. It’s a little messy, a little magical (and spooky!) and full of the kind of moments that stick and become traditions. The butter’s gone hard. The oak trees are raining acorns. The leaves are flying.Autumn is here, and it’s wonderful. Wellies. Puddles. Pumpkins. Bring it on.