Out of the fog comes hope

Our walk this morning somehow felt appropriate.

It was a beautiful morning, but a thick fog filled the valley. The air was still, silent, muffled. No one was about.

Trees appeared like ghosts in the landscape. 

We climbed the hill, as always, at just the moment the sun was rising. 

And, coming up above the clouds, we entered the most beautiful winter landscape…

Everyone was happy… the dogs were happy.  Some of you have kindly been asking about Mavis’s absence. She’d had a cut, we’re not sure how, and hadn’t wanted to go on every morning walk recently. All good now – that is the Mavis roll of happiness, when she hurtles down the hillside on her back. 

I’ve got to admit, I can’t really remember a morning like it…

Friendly cows in the lower paddocks…

Later this morning, the garden was bathed in warm, spring-like sunshine. 

Charlie’s new growing bed is full of promise… and soon to be full of composted manure. 

The structure of the winter garden is almost more beautiful than thinking about how this will all look in a few weeks, a few months’ time. 

The gardener in his new happy place… And, on the bank above the house, I suddenly noticed dozens of tiny early primroses – perhaps a bit too early for their own good, if we carry on getting hard frosts like these. 

But what a beacon of hope and promise they provide – of spring, and of Easter, not too far around the corner now.

America, the country I love so much, has been through a bitter week.  Britain – indeed the whole of Europe – is going through our own bitter weeks too, as severe lockdown strangles the ebb and flow of normal life once more.

But do you mind my saying that I’m optimistic about 2021? It just feels to me that the turbulent seas of politics are calming a little; and it feels also that we can see a clear – albeit still distant – end to the pandemic.  Closer to home – back to my mantra, of worrying about the things that you can deal with yourself… the design practice is busy – and I know many others are too. We’re not working side by side as I’d like, but that will come. The shops of Lambs Conduit Street somehow are surviving – Bridie, Emily and I have been quite overwhelmed, if I could just say, by the support that so many customers have given the shop over these past few months. Spring is just around the corner, and the days are perceptibly longer – and that always puts a bounce in my step!  But today, just somehow, I really felt it all the more.

I hope you have too.


Such exquisite photos. They are absolutely beautiful. Thank you


Ben, desde la pandemia sigo tu blog: inspiration, y fue como disfrutar del aire fresco del sur de Inglaterra. Nosotros vivimos en el campo, pero es distinto al vuestro. Te conocí por medio de Persephone Books.
Leí tus post de años atrás, y de igual forma, la perdida de tus padres. Mi madre se fue de forma similar a la tuya y lo sentí mucho. De momento mi padre vive solo.
Mi marido es arquitecto técnico, una profesión que en Inglaterra no existe, pero le encantan tus diseños. Especialmente los Crescent.
Solo me queda darte las GRACIAS por continuar transmitiendo calma, esperanza, y lo mejor el amor por lo que se hace a diario de forma cotidiana… Muchas gracias por tus palabras desde aquí. Te seguiré leyendo siempre que pueda.


Very simply Inspiring thank you.

Sara Longman

Thank you Ben, as always, for your exquisite post. The photos this morning took me to a bright experience of the primordial, ancient being of the landscape in which you live as well as the deep love and stewardship with which you and Charlie care for Her. Blessings and peace to you both…


“Mavis’ roll of happiness” made me smile.
Blessings for a more peaceful new year.

Sally Leonard

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