Spring is Stirring

We had sun yesterday, I think perhaps it did rain at one point. I’m almost certain I heard a few smatterings on the caravan roof as I was spreading the mackerel pate on the children’s school lunchbox rolls. But, it was fleeting, and as the day settled into its rhythm the sun steadied in its strength and like a shy child growing more confident by the minute at a busy garden BBQ, it was, by mid afternoon, bursting with joy and energy.

There is a clumsy bunch of daffodils growing in the bank opposite our front door and we’ve relished in noting their progress as we leave for school each morning. This morning a petal was coyly blushing a shade of butter yellow and we think by tomorrow it may well reveal itself to us. From my studio I can see a bold strip of saffron dashing across the landscape of green, brown and grey. The daffodil pickers came early but seemingly have left the majority of the field for us to enjoy. Inca and I snuck up there after school one evening and stuffed a bunch of stolen daffs in my pocket to give to Grandma. She was both exhilarated and terrified when I hopped into the field and began plucking away…'Mummy are you sure we won’t get told off.’ I wasn’t entirely certain the parchment skinned farmer’s wife wouldn’t holler at us from a hidden viewpoint, but it was worth the risk and thrill of plotting with Inca how we would hide them up our sleeves if we saw anyone along the lane back home.

Early lambs are finding their feet, windows are flung open and the sunlight lingers a little longer on certain patches of the garden, it’s almost within touching distance which is both comforting and commoving.

We’ve been eating a great deal of eggs lately which is getting me all giddy about the idea of having our own hens. I took the children to Heligan over the half term. We stopped and took in the sights at the chicken field, chose our favourites, chatted to them, rudely {I suppose} commented on their plumage and decided which ones we’d be happy to have running about our garden. As we get closer and closer to finishing the house I look at the garden a lot more, making plans for our vegetable garden, the herb patch and fruit garden. It won’t be this year that we delight in home grown delicacies, but it’s nice to look forward to a breakfast of fresh berries, scrambled eggs and spinach from within walking distance.

In the studio today I’m painting Easter eggs, the rain is dripping from each crossbar of the window frames, I have just seen a woodpecker land on the pile of wood we’ve prepared for our next bonfire and whilst the sky is a watercolour practice paper of smudgy greys, the lush green grass in the meadow outside the red shed and trill of birdsong is encouraging to say the least.

February Story

Well it’s still raining. Despite our best efforts at digging land drains for two solid weeks the ground in the garden is still completely sodden, Inca reminds us every morning over our muesli and berries in the caravan that it has rained here in Cornwall everyday in 2026. It’s no wonder really that we’re still trudging everywhere in our pyjamas and welly boots.

Speaking of caravan breakfasts…they are almost a thing of the past. I dream about baking bread, making the children cakes and roasting on a Sunday afternoon in a proper kitchen and all going well it won’t be long before we can do all of those things. The idea of making a cup of tea without putting on my Le Chameau’s brings unspeakable excitement.

The lounge is almost done, I’ve started painting ~ another Edward Bulmer colour to work with our lime walls. We’ve gone for Hawtrey on the walls and Little Greene Silent White on the ceiling beams, it feels like sitting in a bowl of the most delicious sticky toffee pudding sauce and I am so delighted with how it looks. We just need to learn how to fit carpet in there and we can start getting out picture frames and lamps to make it a proper room.

I’ve also got a makers market coming up at the start of March which I’m really excited about. It’s at a farm shop and estate a short drive from home, Tre Pol & Pen on the 7th March if anyone fancies popping by. I’m busily prepping hand creams, baby mitts and easter decorations so there will be plenty on offer.

The littles ones continue to be as resilient as always, Atlas proudly came over to the caravan last week at dawn all by himself, dragging his dressing gown through the mud, but still, an achievement for a four year old to walk by himself through the pitch black garden for his toast. It makes me very emotional when I see them just getting on in this way, so many children nowadays have such an unnecessarily high level of comfort in their lives that I worry how they will cope when life inevitably smacks them in the forehead. I’d like to think our children will tackle any problems coming their way with the same nonchalant strength they’ve tackled ice cold caravan showers and breakfasts in the dark. To say I’m proud of them is an understatement. We went to a birthday party recently where the children were asked to act out what they wanted to be when they’re older, I was shocked and terribly saddened when so many mimed ‘gaming’ or ‘youtube star’. That seven year old children have an ambition to sit on their bottoms and stare at a screen is a hard pill to swallow for me, what an awful dream to be working towards, as though their hopes and dreams of being an astronaut have already been dashed at such a young age. Thankfully Inca told the DJ she was going to be an artist and Atlas answered he was acting out ‘saving animals like David’. [Attenborough]

I often leave these parties in a state of despair, Atlas had a wonderfully wholesome party for his little friend the other day which restored my faith in humanity, but all too often I come home and to be honest the sensible one finds me sat on the bed in tears, terrified that our children are growing up in a world where people don’t value the same things that we do. Heyho, we can only do our best to raise them gradually and do things our way. Luckily for us Inca can’t understand why on earth the girls in her class have jewellery in their ears and Atlas thinks ‘they look beautiful without them’. I visited my best friend from school last year and was discussing all this with her Pa in the kitchen over a glass of sparkling elderflower…just how terrifying it all is. As we watched our families lovingly share out the fish food and help each other sprinkle it upon the minnows in their pond, I shared with him how we are adamant to keep them little as they want to be for as long as possible and teach them that those outside influences are very much outside of our family and not traits we want to adopt. He answered that he thinks I’m swimming against the current and sadly he’s absolutely correct, but that being said, the sensible one and I are strong swimmers.

Looking out the window today, the sky is blue and although the clouds are beginning to gather in strength it remains, for now, clear, fresh and dry. I’m defiantly wearing a blouse and refusing to wear a coat on the school run at the moment, willing spring’s arrival any which way possible.

The Lay of Fraoch

Faoch, a handsome warrior with jet black hair, wished to marry the beautiful Findabair, who loved him too. They lived on the banks of Loch Awe in Scotland. The loch contained an island upon which stood a single rowan tree, with fruits that were said to restore youth and health, and to satisfy hunger for three days at a time. A dragon, coiled around its trunk, guarded these precious fruits. Unfortunately, Findabair’s mother, Maeve, also loved Fraoch, and her jealousy and unrequited love ate her up until she plotted a plan to destroy him. Pretending to be ill, she said he could have Findabair’s hand in marriage if he swam to the island and brought back a handful of its fruits to heal her.

Fraoch was afraid, but brave, and he loved Findabair very much, so he set off, swimming strongly through the cold water. When he reached the island he managed to tiptoe around the sleeping dragon, snatch a handful of fallen fruits, swim back and present them to Maeve.

Furious, Maeve plotted again. The next day she called him to her and said she was still ill, and that she must have the entire tree. Again Fraoch set off to the island, only this time he uprooted the whole precious tree, and set off swimming back to shore with it. Of course, this woke the dragon, and the weight of the tree in the water slowed Fraoch down, so that soon the dragon caught up with him and a great battle commenced. Fraoch killed the dragon, but in the process was mortally wounded himself.

Findabair sang a lament over his body, and died of a broken heart. The pair were buried together on the shore of och Awe, and the island {eilean in Gaelic} to this day is named Fraoch Eilean.

November Story

Well, I am sat up in my bed. My actual bed in our actual house. That’s right folks, we are no longer sleeping in the bean can, we are official residents of Strongman’s Cottage. Our first night felt like Christmas Eve, the children had fidgety toes under their heavy new crinkly duvets, Chris and I were beyond tired and desperately trying to keep our glasses of Bramble Hill from spilling on our new crinkly duvet. The children ran from their room, to our room, to their room, into the bathroom and then back into our room multiple times and it was glorious. I spent the day taking down the ‘awning’ a sort of entrance hall, if you like, to our caravan. It wasn’t quite Carole Bamford level entrance hall might I add, more a series of old carpet and yoga mats that had sunk, quite deeply, into the mud. I would regularly depart to the fridge at 6 am, located in the house, to get the bits to make lunchboxes and on my hasty return shout back to the caravan crew, ‘I’ve slipped in the swamp, someone grab the carrots!’ On one trip back to my parents beautiful home I was putting on my trainers to go for a run only to find not one but two M&S British chestnut mushrooms in my Hoka’s from a previous culinary slip in the swamp. We’ll laugh about this year one day.

Imagine me, if you will, ripped jeans at the crotch and both kneecaps wrestling with a maze of tent poles, duct tape and cable ties in force 8 gales, sliding in the swamp and carefully rescuing every three wheeled car and precious lost pen lid that I find for the children whilst doing so. Chris looked on from the dryness of big red with a look of pity and, I’d like to think, a pinch of admiration for his love knee deep in green plastic caravan tent fabric, refusing to let it bloody win before she has to pick up the children.

Anyway, I got the ‘awning’ down and then I burned it in a ceremonial bonfire which sadly was all a bit rushed because I had to simultaneously don a nice tartan wool skirt and rush to school to watch my daughters’ year 3 concert on e-safety. Yes, e-safety. Struggled to hide my lacklustre expressions during that one I assure you.

So, there you have it. Chapter one of actually living in our house. I managed to do proper plaits for Inca for school which she was delighted about and Atlas already prefers the caravan because ‘our house is too hot’, soooo really glad we spent the extra £300 on insulating render and a whole extra day making sure their room was cosy for the winter. All in all though we are thrilled to be on a solid mattress each, with running water and a wardrobe that doesn’t require a torch to find some knickers. Did I mention downstairs still resembles the blitz but when you go through the dust curtain and ascend the nail peppered stairs it’s like entering Narnia…minus the beavers.

October Story

Hedgehogs fatten themselves on squirming worms. Flowers reveal their skeletons. Birds carefully select ruby red berries, picking them from thorned bushes rather like taking down the decorations of a Christmas tree. Leaves begin to flash red, yellows and golds before being blown from their sudden slumber, performing an aerial dance before landing gently in a pile, ready to be crunched by little brown boots.

As the curtain is drawn on summer and Autumn arrives with a crisp yet warming kiss. Subscribe to the newsletter for a more in depth guide to the month ahead.

September school starters

Stiff leather creaks as new shoes house tiny toes taking small but equally gargantuan steps into school for the very first time.

A mother’s cheek is wet with both sadness and pride. A heady dance of emotions that flutter from tumultuous tummy’s to nervous picking fingertips. Their most precious creation leaves, without a glance back. Boldly going where their brothers and sisters have gone before them.

The school bell trills, a familiar sound, the mark of new books opening and simultaneously, chapters closing.

Welcome to Rudh Sten

So here it begins. I’m currently sat in bed which is also our sofa which is also our breakfast table and also my make shift ironing board. We are living in a caravan, yes a caravan. My ever patient partner, two wonderfully resilient children and me in our little bean can. We do have an actual house, it’s just mostly mud walls and blown out render at this point, but we are knee deep in a full house renovation and well on our way to our little dream home. Last October we bought our house via an online auction, you’ll need nerves of steel and a partner with a strong squeezing hand if you choose to partake in such a venture. So, we are now the proud owners of a wonky, crumbly, slightly damp and more than slightly drafty Cornish cob cottage. Before getting started on the house we needed a space to store our belongings and a studio to work from. March saw us pouring concrete wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow, sawing splinter after splinter, hammering, measuring…re-measuring, sawing a bit more off, pushing it that way a bit, no…pushing it back the other way a bit and before long we had our ‘big red’ shed up, water tight and ready to store cushions, toy cars, mattresses, foiling equipment and the like. Amidst the ‘house work’ and keeping the children alive I’ve been working towards having a children’s book published which I’m now very excited to have published, printed and ready to be enjoyed by literature hungry little hearts and eyes.

Rudh Sten is a place for me to create home made, hand produced items designed to help people live a more balanced life, aiming to bring back the best bits of the past that are sadly now slipping away. In the long term I plan to have more to offer, but this is my starting place and I hope you’ll set sail on this voyage with me. Please sign up to my newsletter to receive monthly emails celebrating the best of British hedgerows, gardens, vegetable patches and month by month seasonal colour charts as well as new products to buy here at Rudh Sten.