Journal

From the top of Chimney bank at Golden Hour. Long shadows and details of the days toil etched into the fields.

The golden colour of the cropped field and the marks made by recent haymaking stands out in its green grazed surroundings.

The dark green of the moor is beginning to flow down the dale into the once grazed fields, as the bracken takes hold.

A break in the weather took me out onto the moors with my new camera lens and I really enjoyed seeing the details.

Can you see the ‘dog leg’ in the wall in the bottom left hand of the image… most likely, many years ago when the wall was constructed, the build had to go around a large buried stone.

I look at the walls and marvel at the work it took to build them. The stones were dug from the fields, moved and every single one carefully placed to construct the lines that divide this landscape, from moor wall down to the river.

This red rose is a perfect match for our vases.

The French Grey colour is not a colour we usually make, however, we will be making more soon as the neutral grey really brings out the colour of the flowers

The Harebells in Rosedale's Church yard are extraordinarily beautiful and plentiful this year. It's the best I've ever seen them. I adore this wonderful flower which was once very rare in Rosedale. We made a limited edition Harebell Bowl bowl back in 2014 to celebrate it' delicate and beauty. I don't know what it is about blue wildflowers that is so enchanting. I am taking time to stop and enjoy them every day, as I know their days are numbered. The Church yard will soon be cut back and these beauties will be gone. Join our mailing list for news of our new wildflower designs.

Unbelievable colours in the early morning sunshine, new leaves and pink roses bring me joy. Hope you have a lovely day where ever you are.

Loving the colour, and the fine heads of these bright flowers atop their slender stems. There's a chorus of colour, Fox and Cubs and Hawkweed swaying gently in the breeze. I know it will soon meet the mower, so I am making time with every dog walk to stop and admire the joyful song these colours sing in summer sunshine.

Enjoyed a Sunday stroll around Rosedale's Church Yard noting the different wildflowers. The Church yard is a little bit of wilderness in this heavily grazed landscape. It has enjoyed protection as a conservation area for many years and the mowing has ceased on a great swathe of the oldest part of the graveyard. The grass and wildflowers are left uncut until late July - mid August. Whats growing in there is a delight to see amongst the headstones (The earliest one I've found so far dates back to 1721) . We took a tour with my mother in law who had yet to be convinced of the full benefit of the no mow policy, and I like to think she was persuaded.

When you visit the studio, you may notice a solitary white rose protruding from the Cotoneaster. This Iceberg Rose has been there 25 years now.

It was planted along with many others after a short discussion with our landlord. Back in 1995. Then Rosedale was much busier with visitors than it is today. All summer long we were packed out with folks watching the glassmaking and families leaning in the windows to get the best view. The folks leaning in the windows became quite a distraction. I suggested we planted attractive Red Roses and lavender along the front of the building to discourage folks blocking of the windows, and discussed the idea with the landlord, who at that time was my was my Father in-law.

Harry was a lovely man, a trained negotiator with stern poker face, but with an amazing set of eyebrows that somehow always revealed what he truly thought. So, I asked if I could plant red roses to help solve the window problem and was fixed with a stare that came out from under his wonderful eyebrows. This stare said many things, but the clearest message was no. White Roses were though, acceptable and white roses went in. However, it soon became clear that they were suffering underfoot and they were all removed and the sturdy cotoneaster planted.

However, this single white rose remains, every year it pushes its way though the cotoneaster to flower in front of the window. I always think of Harry, a Yorkshire gentleman.