The Wolds

Lincolnshire is often called the rainy county, the homeland of a the nations farmers, a county that produces spectacular beef, cheese, potatoes, rapeseed oil and supplies most of the nations barley for our beloved beer. A flat land, in the East Midlands, both over looked and under valued.

To me, it is the home of some of the most beautiful and breathtaking views, home of the wolds, with rolling hills, hearty communities that cherish the earth and obsess over the weather.

I have seen so many seasons there, watching as the leaves spring into action, the daffodils emerge from the snow and hardened ground, how the Sumer sun dries the wheat and barley and the sound of hooves on the beaten tracks kick up a clatter and a cloud of dust and haze.

As the sun sets over the seasons, the leaves burst into flame, with copper beach trees, silver birches, oak, fig and chestnut turning colour to celebrate a summer well spent and hunkering down within their barks for the bleak and grey winter ahead.

A walk I have walked a thousand times since my early teenage years o introduction to the hilt and parks and histories, is one I still nostalgically tread with heart, soul and camera in tow. Breathing, documenting and living in each moment within the space that has stood for centuries, and will continue this cycle long after I have been accepted in the the family of roots below the falling leaves.