Forde Abbey House & Gardens are now closed until further notice.

Visitor Information

Search

Gallery

fordeabbey

First light and with only a skittering pheasant fo

First light and with only a skittering pheasant for company (exit left perused by a camera). A twitcher would unknot the tangle of chatter in the airwaves and pick out the black caps from the chiff chaffs, but Paul, the local soothsayer on these things , wasn’t to be drawn in yesterday’s impromptu lesson, other than black caps ‘sing’ and chiff chaffs chiff chaff. It’s another one for the list that’s lengthening by the day - a commitment to the little things, that were always there, just maybe drowned out by the distractions and noise of the day to day. And decoding the morning chorus is one of them.

The swallows are back - 2 days earlier than last y

The swallows are back - 2 days earlier than last year by all accounts . ‘All accounts’ usually filed with a glass in hand, and now at a slightly larger pace backwards and virtually, but still just as connected. You can make out the hammerings of a woodpecker most days, just the first of the seasons cuc-cooings before it’s a full spring complement.

It’s the old fashioned equivalent of a radio tun

It’s the old fashioned equivalent of a radio tuning into the airwaves. The clamour of the morning tugging at the sleeves and too insistent not to notice.

A few warm weeks and the sloop of mud has dried up

A few warm weeks and the sloop of mud has dried up and the colour let loose.

Wordsworth might have got the credit for his walk

Wordsworth might have got the credit for his walk in amongst the daffodils, but it was through his sister’s eyes that he was able to recall their walk to Gowbarrow Park two years later. The daffodils in Dorothy’s journal didn’t just flutter, they were tossed and reeled as if laughing in the wind. There’s only one way to really enjoy daffodils, and that’s in motion, and the morning duly obliged.

The gripe of frost last year in April seems utterl

The gripe of frost last year in April seems utterly irrelevant in this new landscapes of seasons. Every shoot and bud positively glowing and vital, and even after a hard pinch from the elements, still with a charm in its disarray.

There’s time in disproportionate amounts at the

There’s time in disproportionate amounts at the moment. The days slowly unfolding, stretching out bit by bit, and nature taking its cue from the seasons. But, it’s also slowing down. The extra hour tucked in, but suddenly more than extra squeezed into the day with everything else. More time for conversation, more time for blossom, more time for daisy chains, for coffee and for nonsensical just becauses.

Kale with extra crisp, and fingers and toes comple

Kale with extra crisp, and fingers and toes completely forfeited in the frost.

Nature has more than filled in the gaps of what wa

Nature has more than filled in the gaps of what was before. A fly by of Canadian geese in place of noughts and crosses style plumes of aeroplanes making tracks across the sky, and the heron mostly undisturbed on his second lap of morning breakfast.

The slow evolutionary shuffle forward of 25 millio

The slow evolutionary shuffle forward of 25 million years gets condensed for flower stalking purposes into 12 months. A shoulder roll and crouch that comes with the snowdrops, and early bulbs that insist on hugging the ground, before the limbs slowly lengthen out into a light hunch for anything around knee height come the end of March. With the exception of erythronium and cyclamen, and it’s a return to the old familiar stealth like stomach shuffle...

It’s been the sort of wind to make your ears how

It’s been the sort of wind to make your ears howl. A biting north westerly that comes with winter woollens more than any notion of a Spring wardrobe, but at least delivering in its clutches bunches of scent.

There’s an uncoiled energy to spring that’s ru

There’s an uncoiled energy to spring that’s rubbed off onto the mornings. A restless pacing nudged forwards by an hour. A seasonal lag for everything else but nature, and with coffee filling in the gaps in between.

The beauty counter in March. A thick application o

The beauty counter in March. A thick application of frost comes with a heavy handed dusting from the bronzing brush.

A sepia tinted morning. With sound, and it’s all

A sepia tinted morning. With sound, and it’s all babble and honk.

A thick covering of frost, but already the morning

A thick covering of frost, but already the morning gently thawing its vice like grip. A familiar riff these past few days with one flattening, and the other slowly reviving.

The morning chatter.

The morning chatter.

And then the morning delivered up one of its soft

And then the morning delivered up one of its soft on its tiptoes auroras and the dawn chorus Wurlitzer swung into life. An anthemic swell of skylarks and song thrushes somehow louder this morning and more vital, and almost a jolt to the senses in this new landscape of hush. A familiar constant to at least cling to. The day before didn’t look like yesterday, and today is already so very different, but at least the hedgerow burblings lay down a rhythm and the conversation continues.

The emails and WhatsApps bantered back and forth y

The emails and WhatsApps bantered back and forth yesterday, with FaceTime and the telephone filling in for hugs and hand holding. Mothering Sunday at a distance, but somehow just as connected. The conversation continuing, just in a different way.

A full twenty minutes was lost somewhere in amongs

A full twenty minutes was lost somewhere in amongst the daffodils this morning. An exuberance of twig gathering and hedgerow chatter to balance everything else.

Only a week ago - a time frame that already seems

Only a week ago - a time frame that already seems a lot longer - and @joshua_sparkes was waking up the dahlias from their Winter slumber. All the dry bits/ the wet bits and mouldy bits tidied away and anything remaining roused into life with a new bed of compost. It’s always been a half half equation. Half left in the ground to weather the winter, and half dispatched to the cellar to live out the darker months, but with an idea to double up their efforts for next Summer the whole lot was lifted. Already cold and draughty down in the cellar the dahlias, looking as they did, didn’t make the prospect of trips down there anymore inviting. An inch of sprouting already with the change of light and the first flush of cuttings to follow. To go in the empty pockets of hesperis and foxgloves after the tulips. Somewhere between Spring and Summer and all the otherness.

Load More… Follow on Instagram

Historic Houses