I share my face shape with my late Granddad Keith Metcalfe. He was a proud Yorkshire man who would move mountains for his family, and put his all into preserving the Yorkshire countryside he knew and loved. His devotion to nature, dedication to gaining new knowledge and obsession with a proper brew has helped to shape the ever inquisitive, tea drinking, woods woman I am today.
He is with me whenever I am wandering through the trees, or opening the pages of a new book or simply being silent and enjoying the moment for what it is.
He is with me when I take a self-portrait (my tripod is one he found at a car boot sale) and when I stop in the forest to photograph a bee, its legs heavy with honey. He is with me every time I take that first sip of tea. He is with me when I lose my courage, and there when I’m victorious and find it again.
I lost my Granddad a little over four years ago. It was the first time I had experienced death so close I could actually touch it. It was only at his funeral when there was a framed photograph of him at the ceremony, that I realised we had the same sharply angled face. But it has taken until 2016 for me to appreciate just how valuable this really is.