Shared Ground

I find myself in 2026, after almost two decades raising a family, in Hallbankgate; a small village in Cumbria at the foot of the North Pennines.      

The photographs gathered here hold fleeting memories, tracing how it has felt to live in this place, shaped by both landscape and people.

A place steeped in history, a former mining village nestled close to Scotland and Northumberland, in the borderlands.

The seasons press on, ready or not. Sweeping you along without asking. Both comforting and unsettling, from abundance to bleakness and back again.

There is space for finding clarity and dusting out the corners. Small nooks for finding warmth, filling up that space.

Community can be strong but not so tight as to stifle.

The wild has grown around me, my feet rooted in the soil. I am tethered. Is it a choice? Am I caught, or am I choosing to be held? Holding on so I don’t get blown away?

High on a hill there is optimism, the whole world in front of me, the fells behind, breaking my fall from overwhelm.

And each year the ground grows solid, the wind blows in and the curlew calls.