The Remembering

We begin the day gently, arriving to the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of the kettle coming to the boil. The fire is already burning, and a simple breakfast is waiting — porridge, fresh bread, or something warm from the coals. People settle in, find a seat, and ease into the space. There’s no rush or formal start, just quiet conversation, introductions, and the comfort of food shared around the flames. It’s a soft beginning — time to arrive fully, leave the week behind, and start to feel part of the circle.

Once everyone has settled, we head out onto the land together — walking slowly, eyes open to what’s growing at our feet and overhead. Guided by our foraging lead, we meet the edible and medicinal plants of the season, learning how to recognise them, how to harvest with care, and how they’ve been used for generations. It’s less about collecting as much as we can, and more about reconnection — walking in rhythm with the land, gathering what’s needed, and remembering how to see abundance in the hedgerows and woods.

When we return from the forage, the fire becomes the heart again. Together we prepare a simple, nourishing lunch using what’s been gathered and a few wholesome staples — soups simmering in iron pots, flatbreads puffing on hot stones, wild teas steeping in the smoke. It’s unhurried and communal; everyone lends a hand, and the conversation flows as naturally as the fire burns. Lunch is shared outdoors, eaten from wooden bowls with smoke in the air and laughter close by — a reminder that food tastes better when it’s made together.

The afternoon unfolds in rhythm around the fire — a gentle hum of chopping, stirring, kneading, and crafting. Together we process the day’s harvest: greens and roots become krauts and pickles, flowers and fruits are steeped into brews and syrups, and herbs are hung to dry for teas. Flatbreads rise on the embers while jars begin to fill with colour and scent. Around the edges, small groups work on craft — weaving, carving, shaping clay. Nothing is hurried; this is work as our ancestors knew it — practical, creative, and shared. The air fills with the warmth of food and fire, the talk of hands at work, and the quiet satisfaction of making something out of nothing!

As the day eases toward evening, we gather everything we’ve made — the breads, stews, ferments, and wild creations — and lay them out for a communal feast. The fire becomes our table, the land our host. Everyone brings something to share, whether a dish, a story, or a good appetite. We eat together beneath open sky, tasting the day’s work and the season’s gifts. It’s simple, abundant food — gathered, prepared, and shared by many hands. This is the heart of The Remembering: eating as a community, feeding one another, and realising that nourishment goes far beyond the plate.

After the feast, the day softens. The wood-fired sauna glows in the trees, inviting slow heat and deep release. Some gather there to sweat and breathe; others drift to the river or settle quietly by the flames. As night falls, the rhythm shifts — a circle forms around the fire for breathwork, reflection, and open conversation. Questions are asked, stories shared, drums and songs rise into the dark. There’s no set ending, just the gentle unwinding of a day well spent. People linger, talk, laugh, fall silent, or simply watch the sparks lift into the night — the fire holding us all until it’s time to go.

More of the same but focussed on making baskets, brooms, bags, smudge sticks and other crafts out of seasonal materials. We also focus on wild baking.  So this is a bit slower pace, working with hands, co ordination and attention to detail.