I used to live in a Hansel and Gretel cottage on the western tip of the ancient Forest of Arden where oak trees as old as Shakespeare grow.  It had no road, nor any electricity, and really was in the middle of nowhere.  Romantically Elysian in the summer, but incredibly hard work in the winter.  Lighting candles at half past two on a gloomy afternoon was a remarkable lesson, for someone of my generation, to relearn how to live with and truly appreciate natural light.  An erratic and temperamental oil-fuelled Rayburn provided heating, hot water and limited cooking facilities. Gardening was my passion, stemmed from my father and grandparents (and continued by my brother with his landscape garden business Morganics), and very soon I had a harvest of wonderful runner beans, peas, courgettes and beetroot, and trees laden with damsons and greengages.  But, with no electricity, I had no freezer, let alone a fridge, and suddenly I was in danger of my entire crop – and all my hard work – completely perishing.  I suddenly had to teach myself very quickly how to preserve this bounty and prevent it from going to waste.  Armed with a preserve recipe book given to me by my grandfather (the covers of which are still laced with molten candle-wax), a hotline to my mother and sister (both brilliant cooks), two big saucepans (one to make the preserves in and one to sterilise my jars) and a reluctant Rayburn that didn’t always get me to a rolling boil, I worked late into each night, chopping, stirring and transforming fruit and vegetables into mouthwatering concoctions.  And it was satisfying entertainment – no electricity also meant no television, and candlelight is too soft to read by for any length of time without hurting your eyes.  Preserve making quickly became a complete addiction, gratifying solace and true adventure. By Christmas time, I had made enough jams, chutneys and jellies to create Christmas hampers for all my family and friends, and in the following year, much to my surprise, the first marmalade I made - Quince Marmalade - won first prize in an agricultural competition.

I have since moved to the Welsh Marches where great boulders that predate Stonehenge lie, the borders long fought over by Anglo-Saxon kings, and you can still sense the look out guard on the castle mound keeping vigil on the twilight of a cold windy night.  Come morning, as I pick elderflowers or blackberries from the hedgerows, the red kite as my sentinel, I love watching the light changing on the hills as the clouds scurry over the sun.  It is a truly inspiring landscape, one that nurtures the soul, makes your heart sing and lets you think that anything is possible.

Preserve making is alchemy.  The transformation of such raw ingredients into incredibly precious jewels gives you a real sense of wonder. And it is theatre.  The pans and ladles, the cooking, and then the clean surfaces after is a theatre in itself, an ephemeral act of everyday life, and in the eating, a memory of pleasure.

I have electricity – and therefore a freezer - now, but the urge to preserve didn’t dissipate, and the demand from friends and their friends increased to such an extent that I started to sell at Farmers’ Markets.  Radnor Preserves was born and within its first six months of trading was shortlisted to the final three of the Powys Business Awards 2010 for excellence in Food Manufacture.