Every date we have left in 2026

Frost on the walled garden. The quietest fee we publish.

Short days, long candlelight.

The orchard is bare until the last week.

Blossom in the orchard, weather that cannot be promised.

Every Saturday in May is spoken for two years ahead.

One Saturday left. The long light runs to ten.

Fully booked. The waiting list is open.

Harvest starts in the far field mid month.

The month we would pick ourselves.

Colour in the beeches, fires lit from the fifteenth.

Bare and quiet. Dinner at four, dancing by six.

Greenery included in December, and the barn is warm.