A final look at the hydrangeas before cutting them to dry. This year, I added more aluminium sulphate, coffee grounds and pine needles to the soil to influence a much bluer colour. I’ve tried various drying methods over the years, but the one I’ve found works best with hydrangeas is to cut the flowers when they [...]

The North Yorkshire moors are my homeland. They are where my heart is and I feel their pull on my life with an emotion that I can’t find words rich enough to describe, especially at this time of year, when the heather is in full bloom. The deeper coloured, ‘bell heather,’ comes first, with its [...]

All Yorkshire folk worth the title know that today, August 1, is Yorkshire Day. It is the day when tykes unite together to declare their gratefulness for being born in this most hallowed and beautiful county. A county with more acres than there are letters in the whole of the King James’ Bible.  The day [...]

‘If the sight of a blue sky fills you with joy, if a blade of  grass springing up in the fields has the power to move you, if the simple things in nature have a message you understand, Rejoice for your soul is alive.’                                                      – Eleanor Duse (1858 – 1924)

SWEET WILLIAM’S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EY’D SUSAN: A BALLAD by: John Gay (1685-1732)    All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-ey’d Susan came aboard. Oh! where shall I my true love find! Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among the crew. [...]

Almost a quarter of a century ago, when my ‘yellow-bellied’ beloved realised that he and I were intended to have and to hold for the rest of our naturals, he began to introduce me to the charms of Lincolnshire. There was need to teach me all the verses of The Poacher, a season ticket to [...]

‘Upon this primrose hill Where if Heav’n would distil A shower of raine. Each several drop might goe To his owne primrose, and grow manna so.’ – John Donne (1572 – 1631) One of my favourite walks is carpeted with wild primroses at the moment. I remember picking them from the very same place when [...]

 To a Snowdrop.  Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay The rising sun, and on the plains descend; Yet art thou welcome, [...]