There’s a fleeting, magical moment each year when the apples and pears hang heavy on the orchard boughs, the hedgerow herbs make their swan song, and the last of summer’s scented blooms dance on a breeze that carries the faint smell of woodsmoke rising up the valley. Every year I watch eagerly for the golden-leaved heralds of Autumn - already nostalgic for it before it has even passed. Preserving the harvest feels like the only way to hold on to this moment in time. Ffern’s seasonal fragrances d