Growing up on the outskirts of a tiny village in the hills of Wales with a mother who loved to garden meant I was lucky to be brought up eating in line with the seasons.
We harvested apples and blackberries in early autumn; we picked elderflowers in the spring for cordials, we waited for the berries at the end of summer to make syrup. We had plums and cherries and damsons that we packed into the deep freeze to keep us in supply of pies and cobblers during the cold months.