(Achillea millefolium)

Last week, instead of striding out in my break, trying to get my 15,000 steps in. I decided to do something different. I took myself off with my flask of West county Liquorice tea, found a sheltered spot on the west coast near the Old Light, and simply… sat. A small quarried hollow in the granite gave me the perfect seat. Note to self: this will be an unbeatable place to watch the sunset.

As I sat I could smell a sweet and herbal smell, drifting on the breeze — of course it was the yarrow. This was the first time this season I’d noticed it beginning to carpet the island.

Yarrow is a fantastic plant to alert your senses. Touching its feathery leaves makes the scent deepens — woody, with a hint of sandalwood? Maybe a smell of eucalyptus reminisicent of the forests that I have driven through in Portugal.

I slipped off my shoes so I could feel it beneath my feet: springy, soft, alive.

I cast my mind back to last year, when I gathered yarrow to dye fleece from Lundy’s sheep — my way of creating wool that truly embodied the island. The colour it produced was far brighter than the sheep’s natural shade, a transformation gifted by the land itself.

Yarrow has a long history — healer, protector, plant of myth. In ancient times it was used for its medicinal properties, brewed into teas, and even carried in rituals to guard against unwelcome spirits. In Greek mythology, it’s linked to Achilles, a symbol of bravery and protection.

Sitting there, tea in hand, the air full of fragrance, the only noise from the Ocean below and the birds on the wind. Plus all of this on a working day, not bad hey!

If you’d like to read more moments like this — stories of walking and connecting with Lundy’s landscape — you might like to sign up to my blog.