Living here in South Devon, it is almost impossible not to become attached to orchards. The lanes around us are lined with cider farms, and every spring the trees erupt into blossom so suddenly it feels as though the whole countryside has softened overnight. Some orchards are neat and carefully kept, others old and tangled, their branches twisted with age and lichen. Those are always the ones I love most.
What surprises people outside Devon is that many of the old orchard traditions are not completely lost here. In nearby Stoke Gabriel, the wassail is still one of the biggest events in the local social calendar each year. People gather in the orchards in the middle of winter with lanterns, music, cider and bonfires to “wake” the trees and bless the coming harvest. It sounds slightly ridiculous when written down, perhaps — but when you are actually standing there in the cold dark beneath the branches, it feels strangely ancient and completely natural at the same time.
I think that is what draws me so strongly toward orchard imagery and old folk art. There is something deeply human about it. These traditions grew from ordinary people living closely with the land and depending on the seasons. Trees were not simply scenery; they were part of daily life, part of survival, part of local identity.
The Blackthorn and Bone collection grew naturally from that atmosphere. Twisted branches, weathered botanical illustrations and old-world folk motifs all remind me of the orchards around us here — especially in that quiet space between autumn and spring, when the trees look almost skeletal against the grey sky.
Even now, orchards still carry a different feeling from ordinary woodland. More enclosed. More personal somehow. Places shaped by generations of hands, harvests and stories. And perhaps that is why people still connect so strongly to these old symbols today. They feel rooted in something real. Not fantasy magic, but the kind woven quietly into everyday rural life over hundreds of years.
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