Growing Philosophies: Permaculture for Beginner

Permaculture: A Way of Life for Sustainable Living and Connection to the Land

As November ends, there’s a quiet beginning—a time to reflect, reset, and plan for what’s to come. The end of one season holds the promise of another, and for me, it’s a moment to look closely at the land, observe its rhythm, and consider how to work with it as we step into summer. This mindful pause reminds me of permaculture’s essence: a philosophy deeply rooted in observation, connection, and thoughtful action.

Oak & Monkey Puzzle

Little Cottage On A Hill

At its heart, permaculture is about balance—creating ecosystems that are both productive and regenerative. Whether in a sprawling garden or a small urban space, it invites us to consider how each element contributes to the whole. It’s about making the most of what we have and finding beauty in the functionality of a space. This philosophy has shaped everything I’ve done, from the expansive gardens at Oak & Monkey Puzzle to the more intimate spaces at Little Cottage on a Hill.

Permaculture in Action: Lessons from Bill Mollison and David Holmgren

Permaculture isn’t just a method; it’s a way of understanding our relationship with the world around us. Coined by Bill Mollison and David Holmgren in the 1970s, it combines the words “permanent” and “culture” (or “agriculture”), speaking to the creation of resilient, self-sustaining systems. It’s about designing spaces that thrive alongside nature, not in opposition to it. As someone who has spent years exploring the interplay of garden design, sustainability, and community, this approach is a natural extension of how I live and work.

I’ve always been inspired by David Holmgren’s idea that a productive and beautiful garden can exist within the smallest of spaces. His work, alongside the teachings of Milkwood Permaculture, has deeply influenced my journey. Wicking beds, for example, are one way I’ve embraced permaculture principles in my own gardens. These water-conserving beds provide consistent moisture for plants with minimal effort—an elegant solution that reflects permaculture’s focus on working smarter, not harder.

Diagram of the Principles of Permaculture

Living the Land: Core Principles of Permaculture

Permaculture principles are as much about mindset as method—a way of working with the land rather than imposing upon it. These principles guide how I think, design, and create in my gardens and beyond, each one integral to how I live:

  • Observe and Interact
    Everything begins with observation. Spending time with the land—watching, listening, and learning—reveals its secrets. Every garden I’ve tended is an evolving space shaped by the lessons hidden in its soil, sunlight, and seasonal rhythms.

  • Use and Value Renewable Resources
    There’s a quiet satisfaction in working with what’s naturally available. From reusing materials in garden structures to planting in tune with the seasons, this principle reminds us to find value in what’s already around us.

  • Catch and Store Energy
    Small actions create significant impacts. Whether it’s harvesting rainwater or building wicking beds to conserve moisture, this principle is about creating systems that sustain themselves, offering resilience in return.

  • Design from Patterns to Details
    Every design starts with the big picture. Understanding the land’s broader context—its sunlight, wind, and natural flow—clarifies the finer decisions that allow a garden to truly thrive.

These principles ground me in the process, reminding me to slow down, observe, and act with intention. Whether you’re tending a sprawling garden or a small windowsill pot, these principles can guide you to create something meaningful.

Permaculture in Practice: My Garden Journey

But beyond the techniques and principles, permaculture reminds us of something more profound: that we are part of the landscape, not separate from it. It teaches us to slow down, observe, and find joy in the small details. Whether it’s watching a bee dart between blossoms, the subtle shift in the air as summer approaches, or the satisfaction of harvesting from the garden, there’s a deep connection waiting to be nurtured.

Embracing Change: Lessons from the Garden

As November gives way to a new season, I’m reminded that permaculture isn’t about perfection—it’s about the process. It’s about learning from nature, experimenting, and finding joy in the unexpected. I encourage you to take a moment to pause, observe your garden (or even a potted plant on your windowsill), and consider how you might work with what you have to create something abundant and meaningful.

This season, as the garden transitions, let it inspire your own new beginnings. Whether it’s through planning a small edible verge, learning a new skill, or simply slowing down to notice the world around you, permaculture has something to offer.

The takeaway is simple yet profound: start small, observe closely, and trust the process. Every season—every moment—is an opportunity to create a garden, a space, a life that reflects who you are and what you value. Let this be your beginning.

What It Means to Live Well: Personal Reflections

What It Means to Live Well: Personal Reflections

In today’s fast-paced world, the concept of living well often brings to mind images of luxury and success. But for me, living well is something much deeper—it’s about embracing simplicity, nurturing meaningful connections, and finding balance between ourselves, nature, and community.

Early in my career as a landscape architect, I was drawn to large-scale projects and the sense of accomplishment they brought. Yet, something was missing—a yearning for a life more connected and intentional. Over time, I’ve discovered that living well begins with nature. By slowing down and aligning with its rhythms, we learn to appreciate the beauty in every season, from the stillness of winter to the renewal of spring. This balance, grounded in simplicity and community, is what living well truly means to me.

At Little Cottage on a Hill, I’ve found joy in the small moments—whether it’s harvesting herbs or witnessing the landscape change. I hope my reflections inspire you to explore your own journey of living well, in ways that feel authentic and meaningful to you.

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Quince and Orange Blossom Syrup

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of have a couple of insanely talented creatives collaborating with you on capturing the simple things that make life at Oak and Monkey Puzzle all that it is.

I gave up the hustle and bustle of the city 5 years ago for the slightly more measured hustle bustle of raising young children in the country, and whilst it isn’t all syrup making, life here is mighty sweet! But seriously, this little film is a window into the not so unusual things that happen here at Oak and Monkey Puzzle.

My Quince and Orange Blossom Syrup might not be made in the same perfectly beautiful way, think a little more mess and a little less dreaminess ;-) but even so the process of foraging, sourcing and making feels none the less beautiful as life is lived here by the seasons.

A huge thanks goes to one of my favourite image makers, photographer Mark Roper for this beautiful short film, which shows he isn’t just revered for his still photography, and also to the cleverest and loveliest Deborah Kaloper for her styling keen eye and heart warming generosity.

I had the most inspiring day with these two incredible folk. I am eternally grateful xx

The fear of missing out (FOMO)

 
"And into the forest I go
to lose my mind
and find my soul."
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Sitting quietly drinking tea this morning I think I had an epiphany… something about FOMO (the fear of missing out) and this social media world of needing to be constantly connected.

Strangely it started with a conversation about my boy and him not eating his morning snack or lunch at school due to a fear of missing out; that by sitting and eating his friends might run off to play and he’d be left behind. In the conversation my friends told me many of their children had the same anxieties. It got me thinking about the need to feel connected, constantly included in something, and the fear of missing out.

I know from my own experiences particularly on social media there’s been a creeping need to keep checking in, to see what other’s are doing, to read the comments to my posts, to feel constantly connected. My days finish with long nights where I fight between the need to turn the lights off and the want to feel I’ve been ‘filled up’. I feel this want to keep having the beautiful conversations I am so fortunate that social media has facilitated. I keep trawling for imagery that inspires, words that inspire and heartfelt connections. Those are all beautiful things but sometimes they come at the expense of connecting with myself and creating my own meaningful and ‘real’ experiences. It’s too easy to let it slip into (lets be honest) an addiction. And the reality is not all days can be concluded feeling inspired, and that’s ok. But instead of acknowledging that I keep trawling, checking in, having conversations, until either I’m filled up or my eyes involuntarily close. 

The beauty of social media and the virtual world is that it’s bursting with beautiful imagery and people’s stories. That’s why I go there – to be inspired, to connect. Mostly its all genuine and sincere but I know from my own experiences that it’s the best of life, its curated moments, and whilst ‘real’ in their singularity its not a true representation of life; nevertheless the fear of missing out keeps me there, and often.

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So I made a decision, with my head filled with all of these thoughts that I would go to my favourite place, the place where my overwhelming sense of connection to nature is greater than the fear of missing out. The forest.

I discovered the old pine forest when I first moved to our little haven in Spargo Creek. It was winter, bitterly cold and wet but I needed to walk. With one foot still in city life and a head full of anxieties and the other foot inspired by the vision I had of creating, the vision for Oak and Monkey Puzzle, I put on my raincoat and gumboots and just had to walk. 

‘My’ forest is old and undulating, in parts its thick with blackberry. Some of it seems impenetrable whilst others give beautiful views between the trees that beckon you to keep travelling further. I remember a fear of getting lost at first but knowing if I travelled uphill I’d always find the dirt track, so I just kept wandering, meandering and letting the forest lead me deeper. As I did I was completely overwhelmed by the smells, the sensation of the soft needles underfoot and the incredible and almost form-like thickness of the quiet – the thick pine needle forest floor sucking up the sounds. The quiet was spatial and all enveloping. The experience, that very first time, left me literally euphoric – so blissed out that I promised myself this was something I need to continue doing and every now and then I’m reminded, beckoned in fact to go back to my happy place, a place that gives me so much with seemingly so little. I have learnt since that day that it really is true that it’s experiences not things that nurture me, ground me the most. It’s a humbling realisation.

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So with a little folding chair hung over my arm, camera, raincoat and gumboots on today I walked up to the forest to wander and sit, to soak up the forest, its tangibly ‘thick’ quiet, to reconnect with the ‘real’, to sort through all these thoughts in my head and to switch off from the fear of missing out.

As I walked the voices in my head quietened, the periphery faded out, the little details became clearer and I found an incredible in-the-moment focus. Forest bathing is a real thing, shinrin-yoku. It’s the experience of simply ‘taking in the forest atmosphere’ and it’s become a recognised preventative health care and healing in Japanese medicine. It’s not rocket science to know this is good for me. 

Letting my feet and my senses lead me I stopped in a little clearing and unfolded this little chair. I sat, listened and watched. I smelt the scent of rain that was dense in the air. It’s been months since we’ve had rain and it felt like not only had the dust settled but also life’s pace. Its incredible the things you see when you truly stop. The light and shadow mesmerizingly danced across the forest floor. A small snake moved its way in front of me, the first I’ve seen in 4 years since moving here. We acknowledged each other with a glance before it continued on its way. Strangely I wasn’t scared. It had as much right to be here. Keeping respectful distance we could both share this space. 

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It’s hard to describe the feeling of being truly connected in time and place. What I know is that it is experiences and not things that inspire me the most. And so my hope is that this page is a conversation between my favourite experiences and I. With every season and all its ever-shifting nuances there’s so much to see, feel and share. I moved to the country with a purpose - to truly experience life. And whilst you may chose to live vicariously through this page I ask one thing, and that’s that you don’t fall into the fear of missing out but instead are motivated to get out there and appreciate the little things, and find the ‘real’ parts of life that inspire you the most. 

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