The humble bramble, the scratcher, the snarer, the snagger of jumpers, the bearer of tongue-staining fruit, it grows everywhere.

We pull it from our gardens and out of cracks in walls. It’s abundant and fast growing; what better, then, as a raw material for basket weaving, once you’ve got past the thorns.

We arrive at the woods on a cold January morning, the ground well trodden and soft from the winter’s harsh rain. We make our way down winding paths through ancient trees to Ruby’s teaching space- the ashes of past fires and benches in a round.

The air is still, barely moving, but above us the tips of the trees sway ever so gently in a breeze.

At first I only notice my movements, until we stop. Then we hear the call of a raven, the tapping of a woodpecker, the rustle of a mouse. Ruby takes her place under an oak, its limbs stretching tall, welcoming her back.

With familiarity and understanding, she moves through the trees, collecting, foraging- twigs for a fire to keep us warm and to make tea, bramble buds to eat, which after an initial dryness begin to taste like custard.

A version of this post was originally published in Rakesprogress Magazine, Volume 13, publ 2021. Rakesprogress is ‘a contemporary look at the world outside our window’. Some describe it as the Vogue for plant lovers.

Photo credits: Bethany Hobbs 

Ruby teaches bramble basketmaking twice a year from this Sussex woodland; once in the spring, and once in the autumn.