Neither of them have ever helped sweep up leaves, pulled weeds out of the borders or dug up the spuds from the vegetable garden.

For them, the garden is defiantly solely for the purpose of lounging around (when weather occasionally permits) and the great outdoors a place to drive through on their way to some leisure objective such as a meal at a country pub.

When they were little girls, we took them walking and cycling, fed the ducks, collected conkers, pulled cod out of the North Sea, went quad biking, bottle-fed the lambs, explored pot holes, went sailing and rowing, collected shells as we went treasure hunting along the coastal strand line and visited great historic gardens.

At home, they were surrounded by hundreds of books on the countryside and the history and topography of the North country, together with hundreds of maps.

Even the walls of the house are decorated with paintings of the North York Moors, the Lakes, the Dales and, of course, the odd Keith Melling Pendle landscape.

A little display cabinet in the dining room, houses not Royal Doulton ceramics or a collection of Toby jugs but (I think) tasteful figurines depicting country life, pride of place going to a representation of Slater Bridge in Little Langdale.

Sadly, I fear these items reflect more the interests of the father rather than of the daughters, and as they have grown up their interests have developed in the direction of shopping, eating out and travel, not within England, but to more reliably sunny places.

They would visit the Trafford Centre over the delights of Wharfedale any day of the week. Whereas I love a pint of real ale in some stone-flagged old Dales pub, fire burning in the grate and with a wet dog snoring contentedly in the corner, they are not interested in dogs, simple rustic foods or our industrial heritage. They would rather visit a wine bar or buy another pair of shoes.

My eldest daughter is in Newcastle-upon-Tyne (supposedly) studying. Part of her coursework entails surveying a piece of land for building development. However, the plan has to sympathetically deal with existing tree and shrub areas.

Key to this is identifying the various plant species on site, and so suddenly the phone has started ringing, photos have been sent by email and my advice sought. It seems I have my uses after all.

Because of the time of year, however, I have been confronted with images of trees devoid of foliage, making identification rather more challenging. Consequently, my daughter has been photographed holding up various fallen leaves to assist in the identification process.

I'm pleased to report, my daughter has started using words like "cool" to describe certain species. She likes the shiny red stems of the dogwoods and the bright red hips of the wild roses. She has started to become aware of which areas attract birds and other wildlife.

Most gratifyingly of all, she was on the phone one night trying to describe one of these trees, and referred to a past holiday up in the Lakes when the trees were at their autumnal best. She remembered kicking her way through the carpet of fallen beech leaves, but what stuck in her mind was a fire-red maple outside the hotel. She had even photographed it. One of these was growing on this supposed development site and she recognised it, remembered it, appreciated it ... but she just didn't know its name.

Perhaps they've picked up on more things than I realise. As we chatted she reminisced about holidays in the North York Moors, North Wales and Cornwall and briefly dreams of Australia and Thailand were forgotten.

I don't think she'll stop buying handbags or planning trips to foreign parts, but I think she might occasionally seek out the places we took her and her sister, and who knows, perhaps in due course take her kids there too and pick up conkers and shells, feed the ducks and perhaps bore them with stories of the maples in the site tree survey she once did in Newcastle when she was a student.