It’s always much more than ‘just a card’ isn’t it? It’s sending a thought out to someone and showing them that you care.
My Peak District greeting cards all feature my own photographs, capturing the beauty of this wonderful place throughout every season, from the first bluebells of Spring to the deepest snowfall of Winter.
They are blank inside for your own message and suitable for any occasion. They’re square, 6 x 6″ (15 x 15cm), printed in vibrant colours on very high quality card stock and supplied with an envelope. They arrive with you in a compostable cellophane bag to keep them clean in transit.
Sorry, UK shipping only. Please note that all my orders are processed through a small, rural, village Post Office to help keep them open and viable, so please allow 7-10 days for despatch and delivery. Thank you.
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Sometimes you head out with intentions of capturing sweeping views and morning mists and grand autumnal scenes ... and then you spy little moments of such absolute simple beauty that you get completely entranced and waylaid, and instead spend ages with the tiniest toadstools gleaming in the dew. But how could I resist?!
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This is the Peak District village of Hathersage, looking quite alpine in the glow of a snowy sunrise. I love this particular view of it - the houses seemingly scattered across the landscape, punctuated with fields and trees, and the protective hug of the hills all around.
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Of all the wonky gates in all the world, this one is my favourite. It can be a little hard to push open, and blimey you've got to run through it quickly unless you want to lose half a leg when it crashes shut behind you, but I love that you reach it through the towering trees on this path beneath Stanage Edge, and that it leads out into the bright Autumn fields above the Hope Valley.
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There are moments in nature that feel so special, so perfect, all you can do is stand and stare, grinning out loud, marvelling at how immensely and endlessly beautiful the world is. Standing here in the cold, watching the sun dancing through the snow-crusted branches, hearing millions of ice crystals falling through the shining air, I felt rich beyond my wildest dreams.
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The Peak District has some truly characterful barns, many of them crumbling beautifully in their fields as the seasons pass, perhaps not as weather-tight as once they were but still providing perfect shelter for cattle and wildlife. This one is a particular favourite of mine, two old survivors, barn and tree, weathering all storms together.
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I very rarely photograph wildlife - I leave that to people with more patience and longer lenses - but when this Little Owl sat staring at me from her tree hollow, the morning sun highlighting her beautiful plumage and wise eyes, well, it would have been rude not to take a picture, wouldn't it?!
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There are trees, and then there are trees so special that they stand on their very own podium. This one is a treasure in every single different season, but adorned with the freshest, brightest new leaves, shining in the early morning sun, it's hard to imagine it ever looking more perfect.
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There are few things more life-affirming than walking through Spring woods on a sunny morning, the air full of birdsong and the scent of bluebells. These woods near Hathersage have always been a favourite of mine, but at this time of year they take on an even more special quality.
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Oh, Hathersage. I don’t think I have ever loved my home village more than I did on this bright, beautiful morning. The curves and edges of the hills sparkled with bright snow, the mists curled lazily below, clearing and regrouping and clearing again to reveal tiny new scenes each time, and the church stood half-hidden amid trees that seemed crafted from diamonds. I could happily have stayed all day in that spot, freezing slowly, listening to the blackbirds and the bell ringing out every quarter hour through the valley.
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Can you hear the silence? There's barely a ripple from the little rowing boats tethered in the calm, still waters of Ladybower Reservoir, as the mists swarm above the arches of Ashopton viaduct and the green slopes of Crook Hill rise beyond into the morning sky. It's a view that never fails to make my shoulders drop.
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My beautiful home village of Hathersage in the snow - the High Street quiet, the street lamps glowing and the shops shuttered, awaiting the thaw. Beyond, the fields and hills of the Hope Valley shine, ready for the children to wake up and grab their sledges.
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My footsteps creaking and squeaking, my cheeks reddening, my breath pluming out in front of me in the freezing air, I revelled in every step of this winter walk through Hathersage. I know this little cottage well, but half-glimpsed through the snow-heavy branches on the quiet lane, I felt as if I'd left the village behind and walked straight into a fairytale.
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"So we’re out over the snow fields, before it’s all seen off with a salt-lick of Atlantic air." - Gillian Clarke This is such a tiny little view in the village of Great Hucklow, barely noticed by most, I'm sure, but it intrigues me and I've captured it in every season. That characterful gate, the protective tree, and in winter the view that leads to field upon field of shining snow, divided by dry stone walls beside which the sheep shelter.
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Throughout the coldest days of winter, every morning when I started work and walked along the magnificent Long Gallery in Haddon Hall, an Elizabethan masterpiece of ornate plasterwork and carved wooden panelling, I spied the flutter of a little robin following me. He hopped from windowsill to windowsill, pecked along the floorboards, flew up to the cornices, and generally seemed to be enjoying what is reputed to be one of the most beautiful rooms in England. At first I worried that he'd got trapped inside, but then I spotted a tiny broken pane in one of the huge leaded windows with a few tell-tale feathers caught on the edges, and I realised that he most probably came in every night to sleep, preferring the high life to a hedge. One morning he posed perfectly for me next to the Christmas decorations, and I like to think it was his way of thanking me for not telling the wardens about his accommodation strategy!
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"...Then leaf subsides to leaf / So Eden sank to grief / So dawn goes down to day / Nothing gold can stay." - Robert FrostPerhaps the most precious quality of autumn is its ephemeral nature; of all the seasons, its glory seems to last the shortest time. This always makes me more determined to appreciate every minute of its bright colour, and I certainly drank in the blaze of gold and red and copper and bronze and green along this quiet lane beside Derwent Reservoir. A week or so later, and it was just a memory.
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Sometimes you don't need grand vistas to feel inspired or lucky. Sometimes you just need old stone barns in fields full of buttercups, the morning mist draped softly across the hills, and the air full of skylarks.
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I don't think I'll ever lose that thrill of watching a cloud inversion, a phenomenon that occurs when temperatures at ground level are lower than those up in the air. It feels like watching a magician's trick as the mist coils and swirls through the valleys - revealing, then hiding, then revealing again the farms and trees and villages. This is one of my favourite views of the Hope Valley, with Mitchell Field Farm nestled in a hollow of trees. On this particular morning the farm stood bathed in early sunshine, but its view across the hills was utterly hidden as the mist danced around its footings.
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'The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.' - Robert FrostIn these most perfect, dark, deep woods, the snow fell so silently on the branches and the soft earth beneath my feet. The swirl of fog and flakes lit the space ahead, making the distance glow with a half-suggested light that was impossible to resist, drawing me further and further in.
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Every time I walk in Padley Gorge, even though I tell myself sternly, "Stay away from the bridge, walk past the bridge, do NOT photograph the bridge" - I just can't resist it. And on this misty, shining morning, with the early light glowing on the midsummer green, it looked pretty darned perfect.
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On Sycamore Hill grows this absolute giant of a tree, perfectly formed, the sort of tree a child would draw if asked to draw a tree. Of course it helps that he stands on his own podium and is approached via a rustic gate in a meadow of wildflowers. He deserves nothing less.
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In the quiet fields on the edge of the pretty village of Hathersage, I chanced upon this beautiful young roe deer. He stood completely still for a few moments, his eyes shining and his ears quivering, watching me, listening, waiting for the click and the whispered 'Thank You'.
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Sometimes everything you need is right there in front of you. Nothing more complicated than an old stone barn in a summer field, surrounded by trees as the evening light falls golden on the grasses. I stayed here until the sunlight faded, the air chilled and the owls began hooting.
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In Autumn the ancient woodland of Padley Gorge is filled with soft, muted colours in the trees and underfoot. There's always such a quiet hush here when the air is misty and still; even the birds seem to hold their breath. The only sound is the busy rush and froth of Burbage Brook as it winds around the moss-covered rocks and under the pretty bridges.
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This is Moat Low, a Bronze Age bowl barrow and Scheduled Monument near Tissington in the Peak District, visible for miles around and easily recognisable because of its distinctive trees. Excavations here in 1845 revealed a grave with two skeletons and further cremation remains, as well as a bronze axe. It's fascinating to think of the history of these places and our ancestors who perhaps walked the same paths we still walk now. I'm pretty sure I'd be happy with this as my final resting place.
