I don’t know what it is about florals, but I love them. I love looking at them. I love smelling them. I love photographing them. Perhaps it’s that the lens captures so much more than my eye can. Perhaps it’s the ability to look at the petal itself in crisp clearness against a backdrop of nothing. Perhaps it’s the contrast between the dark tennis court green and a bright fuscia or lilac.
I don’t know what it is.
And living in Beaminster – it makes it easy to fall in love with the summer garden frenzy that takes over – despite the clouds and rain. When the sunshine hits, Garden Centres are full, the smell of mulch lingers on the breeze like the carrot cake you baked that morning.
Hope you enjoy these florals, just as much as I enjoyed snapping them.
KR
It’s summer in beautiful Dorset – and summertime in the UK (and most other countries, I presume) means Festivals, Fetes, Events, Fairs and anything outdoorsy that we can get our hands on.
I have the pleasure of working alongside a wonderful local event held in Beaminster each year, called Buckham Fair. Buckham Fair is hosted by Martin & Philippa Clunes on their farm in August every year and sees visitors from all over the world attend the event. Buckham is all things vintage – an old-school, feel-good, community event filled with food, rides, artisans, crafts, dog and pony shows and classic cars and more.
But working on this event has been about so much more than getting things prepared – if anything, being part of this spectacular event has demonstrated the power of the community spirit. The event sees over 100 traders from all over the countryside exhibit their businesses – whether they’re baking something delicious, or crafting something spectacular out of wood, whether they have the answer to your Christmas Gift list dilemma – I’ve realised that it doesn’t matter who you are, or what you do – what you do is special to someone.
We’re all looking for an opportunity to shine – and what a privilege it is to work with businesses making a difference.
Their stars will be extra-bright on Sunday 21 August.
This morning, while walking the Fresh Brew Hound along an old unadopted dirt track that the King once travelled from London to Cornwall by carriage, the unmistakable scent of wild garlic hit me like a pair of dirty socks that you’ve somehow managed to forget about, but instantly know it’s there.
For the past month, I’ve had the pleasure to talk to a number of small business owners and learn to understand their core restraints holding them back from developing their business into something bigger, louder, grander. (Note: I did not say “better”). From most of them came 1 consistent restraint that, if they had the means, they would invest in: more marketing.
I understand, we want to be known, and we want more business. But there is only so much we can do with the money we have available to us. So what do we do if we simply don’t have the cash to do what we need to.
Simple.
We use what we’ve got.
Back to the wild garlic metaphor. Since moving to this Green and Pleasant land 6 years ago, I’d always threatened to forage for my own wild garlic, and produce my own batch of the most beautiful wild garlic pesto that my Kenwood mixer would allow. (Other brands are available, BBC).
So, as the breeze gently whispered this morning, I knew that today was the day. Off I headed with Pup, lead, poo bags, and an extra supermarket-special carrier bag. Wild garlic grows abundantly in Dorset – and the rest of Europe. Also known as “Bear’s Garlic”, this particular ‘weed’ as Mr Fresh Brew calls it, is loved by wild boar and other animals that furiously dig up the bulbs. (Scene straight out of Asterix & Obelix).
Anyway – back to the garlic. It didn’t take long before I was armed with a bag full of deliciously stinking garlic leaves.
The pesto turned out beautifully – after adding some lemon juice, glugs of olive oil, salt and pepper, parmesan cheese and roasted pine nuts – perfectly delivering 2 and a half jars full of wonderfully fresh garlic pesto.
And as I sat at the kitchen counter, chewing on my morning toast and wild garlic pesto – I realised. Sometimes, you don’t have to have what the Jones’ have. Sometimes you don’t need the massive budget because someone tells you that you do – sometimes, all you need to do is look at what you’ve got and find a way to make THAT work for you.
Need a little help to look at what you’ve got, and how to use it? Then give me a call. As long as you put the kettle on, of course.
“You give away too many of your secrets”, was what my husband told me this week.
And, he’s probably right.
Introduction of next lesson to learn. Where’s the fine line between simply “being friendly”, and “running a business”.
Case in point – people often ask me for “tips” to improve their social media followers, or for some thoughts on how to drive more traffic to their website.
The old Katy (and current one, in fact, that I’m trying to train out of my brain) would probably without a second breath, have launched into tips, ideas, suggestions – and even offering to do it all for them – spending countless evening hours studying, analysing, interrogating – coming out with a raft of ideas and suggestions – that most marketing companies would charge a small fortune for.
But that’s not what I’m going to do.
What I am going to do is train you how to do all of this yourself. And THAT I will charge for.
So, I’m pleased to introduce a new string to my cello, blossom to my bouquet and dribble to my wine glass (ok, that last one didn’t make sense).
If you’re looking to understand more about social media: How it works, how to use it, how to get more followers, how to be more effective etc etc etc – then why not book my time for a couple of hours, and I’ll share all that I know, with you.
“But everyone offers this… what’s the point?” – I’ll tell you what the point is… they probably don’t spend any time doing their homework on your business, on your position within the Social atmosphere – they probably read off of a sheet of crib notes and generic To Dos. I aim to personalise. I will look at what you need, what you want to achieve – and then form a training package around what you need.
Besides – there’s absolutely NOTHING to be scared of. We’ll figure it out together – and find a solution that suits your business, and more importantly, your personality, perfectly.
Sound good?
Great!
Book me. I’d love to have a cup of tea with you and twitter!
There is something special about Christmas time in the country. You know when it hits. The air chills creep into your bones and the heating is switched on a little more than normal. The smell of cinnamon and cloves seem to follow wherever you go. Wet muddy boots replace pretty dainty shoes, and lie waiting at back doors and on front steps for the next time you need to pop outside to let the dog out for a wee.
Christmas in Beaminster is a truly beautiful season. And for me, slowly making that mental shift from the scenes on the Christmas cards, to the reality of a stone-built town filled with narrow streets and smoking chimneys is becoming a little more comfortable. The whistling Robin that sits on a snow-covered hedge is now the one sitting in my front garden. The Christmas wreath glistening with dew, is now the one hanging on my front door. The quaint country lanes that lead to town centres bubbling with warmth and fires and bakeries and pleasure, are now the ones that lead to our town square.
I remember the first Christmas I experienced in Beaminster. Slightly overwhelmed by the picture-perfectness of it all, you couldn’t blame me for being completely oblivious to the fact that this was, in fact, a new kind of reality for me. The entire thing felt like a movie set – I’d stepped into a picture-book of quintessential English traditions – and even a roasted Chestnut wouldn’t break my idyllic state of mind. It was blissful. Picture-postcard perfection.
This past Christmas was not very different. Except for one small thing – this was now my reality. No longer the drawing on a foreign Christmas letter, but a traffic-jam, soggy-leaking-boot, pothole-ridden reality. And it was ok. The Christmas lights still flickered, the chimneys still whispered puffs of steam as heating and fires warmed homes decorated with icicle lights, flashing Christmas trees and garden signs that read, “Santa – please stop here”.
This was the 3rd Christmas we have spent in our little town and no different to before, we ventured down to the town square to be part of the annual Christmas Lights Festival. The Christmas ‘edge’ had perhaps been taken off due to familiarity, but we were happy to feel part of a community that celebrates, and enjoys the triumph of another year completed. Poetically looking back at what has been, and triumphantly looking ahead to what may still be, we ate, drank and were merry.
Nibbling on melting marshmallows straight from the fire and bumping into familiar faces, this year I felt a little more ownership for my Christmas festival, and I felt proud. Englishman and I took a moment to just be quiet and absorb our surroundings. Christmas lights flickered from shop windows and pubs, overwhelming laughter and chatter emulated from every corner of our precious town square. Carol singers lifted the clouds away, and as 7pm struck the dark corner of our Town Square was immediately illuminated by the magical Christmas lights officially turned on for 2013’s Christmas season.
Delirious with orange and cinnamon Christmas scents and a satisfaction of feeling welcomed, we grabbed a hot chocolate from a local vendor and joined in with verse 2 of Hark the Herald Angels Sing.