The Somerset Lavender Farm
Within the town of Faulkland resides one of north Somerset's most charming destinations: the Somerset Lavender Farm. ...
Within the town of Faulkland resides one of north Somerset's most charming destinations: the Somerset Lavender Farm.
The
drive from Bath takes Mollie and I through villages with names right out of a
Sunday morning murder-mystery. It’s thirty minutes of rolling fields dampened
by morning dew and grand country homes. Tall hedgerows trim these winding
lanes, brambles and long grass stretching out to stroke the sides of the car as
Mollie navigates each rattle and bump of the back road.
Arriving
in Faulkland itself, I feel as though I have been transported to an era predating
the smartphone that I’m itching to grab for Instagram or Snapchat. Ivy drapes
on stone cottages like the silk of a lady’s dress, cobbled roads and Georgian
architecture doing nothing but add to the period-drama image I’m conjuring. A
well-weathered sign declares right for lavender and we follow its painted
sprigs into the farm’s car park.
It’s
still early – 10.31 per the dashboard clock. When I exit the car, the scent of
morning lingers and it wraps around me like blanket; comforting in its
heaviness. Since making the decision to remain in Bath over summer, adventures
with my sister have been few and far between. I’ve been cooped up and cut off
with work commitments. But right now, it’s as though I never left home. Our
gazes meet as we finally tear our eyes from the view that unfolds ahead. Two
identical grins and a knowing look that I’ve spent so many months missing.
The
skies are heavy with grey clouds, threatening rain. But below the gloom, a
carpet of colour blooms. Stalks of lavender lay in orderly rows that, from a
distance, recall images of ocean waves – a sea of vibrant purple with crests of
periwinkle and mauve. Each shift of the wind carries with it a heady aroma and fat
yellow bees bumble through the crop. The air is alive with the music of trees,
of nature. For the first time in weeks, I feel myself relax. And it’s more than
the calming properties of lavender that I’m currently inhaling in spades.
Birds
tweet, animals scuttle; I can hear the earth murmur. The sky is grey, yes, but
I can feel the warmth of a suppressed sun on my skin as Mollie and I trail
through blooming fields. Our fingers skim the tips of the bushes, talk of this
and that while we walk with no hurry through the lavender.
The
Somerset Lavender Farm is certainly catered for its aesthetic-seeking visitors.
Including two expansive fields of lavender, the farm also boasts a plot of
sunflowers, a garden blooming with all manner of flora – trails of blood red roses,
beds of golden marigolds – as well as a gift shop and café incorporating the produce
it grows in all products.
Hours
can be spent here without awareness of any time passing. It’s a slice of peace,
a haven of calm and tranquillity. I overhear that early August is when the crop
is at its most beautiful; full and bursting before its harvest. An ostentatious
show before it hunkers down for winter, I think. I feel somewhat smug of our
timing.
The
morning moves to noon and yet I’m content to just watch this sea of lavender sway.
But I have work and Mollie has visitors, so we begrudgingly make our way back through
narrow trails to the car. I resist the urge to pull out my camera and take yet another
shot. Instead, I simply look. The depth of colour, the gentle wavering, the
sounds and the fragrance, I hold it in my mind’s eye. Then I fall back into
step with Mollie, the shifting lavender almost waving us goodbye.
