A note from me, this February

As we step into 2026, I find myself feeling quietly reflective.

We’ve just returned from a restorative pause – that gentle, necessary space at the beginning of the year where time stretches a little and expectations loosen their grip. I hope you’ve had a beautiful start too, in whatever way that looks like for you.

This month marks two years since the passing of my beloved Matt and not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.

The last couple of years unfolded in a kind of blur. Full, demanding, emotional, relentless in ways I didn’t always recognise at the time. I kept going, but somewhere along the way I felt myself thinning. Drained. A little unmoored.

This time last year I was in the thick of it. Packing up two houses and a farm. Buying Bank House. Welcoming a new puppy. Undertaking major restoration work to preserve this old place and give it a future. Sitting in unfamiliar rooms wondering: What am I doing? Where am I? Where am I going? What does life look like now?

Some days I felt overwhelmed. Some days I felt flat. But then quietly, unexpectedly, small cracks began to appear. And through them, glimmers of light. Not always. Not consistently. But enough. Those moments became something to hold onto.

And somewhere in the midst of that, something shifted.

This year feels different.

If last year was about turning inward – processing what had happened, learning how to live a new life – this year feels like one of gentle expansion. Of embracing change. Of curiosity, steadiness and growth.

I’m choosing to work four days a week now, keeping Fridays free. Time for nature. For learning. For my own creative practice. For conversation, making and shared experience in the Atelier. Our first retreat for the year, The Listening Line, has already sold out and two more are quietly taking shape – each one thoughtfully crafted, slow and immersive.

There will be more mornings outside. Slow walks with the dogs. Watching how the light shifts across the paddocks. Noticing scent and sound in the landscape. Letting the seasons set the pace rather than the calendar.

I’m also returning – gently – to myself as a maker. Photography. Daily drawing, a practice I’ve let slip and am ready to welcome back. A beautiful piano and lessons that remind me what it feels like to be a beginner again. Slower days that leave room for thoughtfulness. And always, more time for Labrador cuddles.

I’m spending more time looking.
At the land.
At home as sanctuary.
At daily rituals – light, scent, quiet moments – and how they hold us.

There’s a sense of outside calling too. Going out to take photographs. To paint en plein air. To move, breathe, notice. For health, for joy, for perspective.

This year also holds a big birthday and a special trip (more on that soon) alongside our own ninth year of Southern Wild Co. I’ll be keeping things considered and intentional, with just a handful of moments throughout the year where we pause and celebrate together.

At its heart, 2026 is about connection. With place. With creativity. With like-minded folk. With the slow, sustaining rituals that make a house feel like a home and a life feel lived rather than rushed.

I’m looking forward to the months ahead and to sharing them with you.

Thank you for being here – for reading, for living with this work and for the small, shared rituals that carry us through the seasons.

Tania x