A rare incursion

It's rarely that I go out of my way to invite people into my home. Too much work and a disinclination for other people's company. But I had a good gut instinct about my recent visitors - both bloggers I've come to know - and my gut, in all its glory, is rarely wrong. We planned it weeks in advance so that we could acclimatise ourselves to the idea, although we all admitted to a few stressy nerves come the great day. However we all seemed to slot together as naturally as if we had been waiting for each other. And so it was that Hen and LiZZie and I spent a glorious day together. Kind LiZZie had bought gift bags - suncatchers of her own creating, lovely greens for nature loving Hen and I. And eggs for me, knowing my predilection for them.






I don't think we stopped talking, laughing and occasionally crying, all day. I took them over to 'my' woods, my refuge and second home.




Hen is one of those useful people (unlike me) who stop every so often and point out a little green thing, naming it and relating its special properties. I now have four more species I can show off to Andy and pretend I am very knowledgeable indeed (unless he is reading this, in which case I am rumbled). I had read that our woods are the last remnant of a huge ancient woodland which spread for miles, but she confirmed it by identifying wood sorrel, a sweet little shamrocky thing which I'd walked past without thinking, and is a typical sign of old woods. It explains the special atmosphere I always feel there.




Appropriately enough, as we returned to the car, a rainbow appeared - very faintly - against the rainclouds. We managed to dodge the downpour and returned home for soup and soda bread. We chatted non-stop until Andy returned home from work and we realised it was 6pm. I have rarely met people I felt so instantly comfortable with, and with whom I could be completely myself. When shall we three meet again? Soon, I hope.

Spring Sunday

A Happy Mothering Sunday to all mothers out there, especially mine, wherever she is in spirit. And to all cake bakers of all kinds - this little bear was a very special commission for my friend Miskellaneous, for her mother based on her own idea - I couldn't even begin to needle felt a tiny wooden spoon, so I had the 'onerous' task of buying a doll's house one, measuring a wee 2.5 cm.



It's been such a gorgeous day, and Spring is putting a very vigorous foot forward. My walks are full of activity and surprise - this is such a lovely and accidental shot. Not lovely because of my limited camera skills, but in the natural composition of the birds, two crows mobbing a buzzard who has infringed on their nesting area. It reminds me of a Chinese print in its perfect, graphic simplicity, (due entirely to fluke). The birds on the left with the downwards wings are the crows, bravely chasing off a bird of prey three times their size, on the right.





I seem to have developed a fairly vigorous foot myself, being up at 7.30 this morning, and quietly leaving a very tired Andy sleeping, to scurry off into the fresh sunshine. Recently I've been scouring the fields for hares, and this morning I caught my first one, a big chap dozing quietly on the sun baked earth. He blended in so well, that unless you were actually looking for him, you would probably not realise he was there. Lain like this, he looks exactly like a Victorian jelly mould. Alas, my zoom, as ever, is never long enough, so do click on the picture for a closer look.




Not content with my usual trot round the village, we went up to the Barrington and Sherbourne Estates, to see what was happening there. No hares, but a large gap where a much admired something used to be...




Notice anything missing? It's my nice green metal barn, possibly considered an eyesore by some, but a favourite landmark of mine on one of our regular walks. Andy says the farm is more in keeping with the landscape now, and I daresay he is right. But I loved that old carbuncle and its faded hideous green.




Last but certainly not least, many thanks to My Bella Bleu for featuring me on her blog, I have to admit I sometimes forget I sell cards and all that, but am always highly flattered when people say such nice things about my work and she has been very kind indeed.

Seeding

Our little back garden is small and scruffy. This is Andy in the winter, having a first, exploratory dig. Excuse the washing line, the weeds and the tatty pots; we are a humble household, despite living in the grand Cotswolds. The earth looks good, but is not very nutritious, no matter what we add. If it were really and truly our own, we would transform it; as it is, our slack and greedy landlord should be thankful that when we leave, it will not be waist high in nettles and weeds, as it was when we moved in. Enough sourness. We have fun with our little bits of earth and have learned what we can and can't grow. This year (hopefully our last one here), we are simply growing as much as we can of the things which thrive. NOT root vegetables/onions/brassicas/garlic/sweetcorn. They have been poor performers. Stones grow well though. Today brought more lovely sun and we had packets of seeds whispering enticements from their pretty packets. We went down to our local DIY shop and picked up a large bag of compost. Andy slung it over his shoulder like a captured wife and we headed home. Nice Mrs S. was in her garden and I raced across the road to ask her if she had EGGS? Yes, she did have EGGS, lots, the hens had been squeezing them out. So we picked up a dozen. Mrs S's egg supply has been a bit hit and miss, and she is the only person in the village who sells them. But now she has a handy honesty bag on her doorstep (if you know where to find it) so I only have to walk ten minutes down the road for Good Eggs. Eggs are my favourite food. Ever.

Now we had compost, and an afternoon of quiet seed planting (me) and bed digging (Andy) ahead. First to unearth the last miserable attempts at celeriac. We had harvested enough on Christmas day (tennis and golf ball size) to make very tasty mash for dinner. The last few had managed to grow to more respectable sizes, and were now 'baby' rather than 'miniature'. Andy has a natural, peasant action when it comes to digging and trimming veg, you'd think he'd been doing it all his life.

Christmas 2008

March 2009

There is something so reviving about pottering in the garden. The gentle routine of nestling neat rows of seeds into fresh earth, imagining what riches they will bring forth. The smallest of events becomes an adventure; a sleepy bumble bee crashing around, strange grubs unearthed. We even caught a tiger -

I planted early peas directly into the old celeriac bed. Peas are one of the things we do well, despite my anarchic approach. A couple of years ago I thought that planting them in rows was a waste of space which we could ill afford, and after all - in the wild - seeds self sow themselves willynilly. So I sowed an entire pack in a small square, by hurling them out and loosely covering them. Amazingly it worked brilliantly, so this is how we do it now - the 'scatter gun' technique.

We had three garden helpers, but they decided to catch some rays - and the gingers do love the sun. Mousie stayed under her plastic tub, which keeps the warmth in, like a furry little potato being baked in a pot.

At the end of the day, when the wind was getting a bit picky, I had sown; stripy courgettes and round courgettes, purple beans and white beans, outdoor cucumbers, German Orange strawberry tomatoes and Cerise cherry tomatoes, chillies, 3 types of nasturtiums, Jolly Jester marigolds, peas, dwarf broad beans, spinach, mixed leaf salad and I still haven't finished. There are four types of potatoes chitting in egg boxes, by my much neglected Adana press...

...and we now share the bedroom with two trays of seeds - and two 'cheat' tomato plants we bought, just to be sure we get some tomatoes this year as we lost most of ours to blight last year and the year before. Yes, those are two old sewing machines on the right hand side. I wish I could show you rolling country views from our window, but living in the centre of the village we are hemmed in by (albeit picturesque) houses and cottages. But I've lived in worse places, so I enjoy the views every single day. Roofs and all.

Feeling all windswept, sun kissed and sleepy, I drowsed while Andy cooked bacon, sausages and Mrs S's EGGS, which were big, golden and completely delicious. And despite the crashings from the kitchen, as utensils were hurled into the sink, I didn't even have to wash up. Which was completely the perfect end to a delightfully relaxing day. And much needed; the next couple of weeks are going to be occupied with a melange of geese-y things as I tackle the first lap of another jumbo order.

Bottoms up!

Apologies for the scary picture. What you are witnessing is my time honoured tradition of getting down on my knees to sniff the first primroses of spring. For it is spring, at last; even more welcome after such a long old winter.





There is a faint green fuzz covering the Cotswolds, as dead-looking wood tentatively sends out the first shoots.




Lambs are gambolling as only lambs do - some of them so new, so fragile, that they get a bit wobbly and have to lie down for a little power nap. Or stop for a snack.




So far the woods are promising many things: fat bluebell spears thrusting through the old autumn leaves, like a thousand tiny armies and honeysuckle gauzily draped round the silver birches. But only the primroses have emerged to smile at us. At times, the air is almost, dare I say it, warm. Now there's something to stick your bottom in the air about!

Yawning

Waving to everyone around the world, from the confines my little room, from where I have barely stirred since our Sunday jaunt, two weeks ago. So much lovely work, so welcome, so necessary, and yet, I am so very, very tired. I'd like to be doing of this...


A whole day in bed with a book is something I haven't done for years.



But then, it is spring -



- and there is gardening to be done. Somehow.





And every day brings the inevitable housework...




...of one kind or another. So I plod on, and try to forget that I've only had two very small holidays in the last ten years. Or else I will be the littlest violin, playing a mournful tune at my own, solitary pity-party...






If only I could drive...vroom vroom! Out of here!






Cats, of course, have the right idea.

A weekend off

This one's for me

I seem to have suddenly acquired a quantity of work, through private commissions and a rather large trade order. All of these have 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped across them, in big red letters, but suffice to say that I have been stabbing away with my hot little felting needle every day for about 8 hours in the studio and then some more in front of the evening television (else Andy wouldn't see me at all...) In fact, I have been in danger of overdoing it, as Friday night found my wrist quite strained and painful, so I had a weekend of enforced rest. Which gave me a chance to make a list of things I haven't had time to do and must do before the world falls apart.

Updating accounts
E-mailing neglected friends and contacts
Tidying studio
Making marmalade
Putting together trade card order
Order more glass eyes
Ditto logo ribbons
Make lemon drizzzle cake for cake starved partner

I got some of these done. Studio is now tidy-ish, accounts and emails dealt with, big, buttery, lemony cake baked and nearly vanished. But by Sunday I needed to get out, so we took the bike across to our favourite part of round-here and I cobbled together a little film of it.

In anticipation;

1) This contains some footage shot from a moving bike, so if you get motion sickness or suchlike, best avoided.
2) I was very careful about taking the films, the motorbike (a Honda Varadero) is built like a tractor, we were going slowly, Andy is a brilliant and safe driver, the lane was deserted, and I've been riding pillion in all conditions for a decade.
3) There is some music with it.
4) If you can watch it in full screen at high quality, the landscape shots are rather pretty. You can't do this with the blogger film here, but you can with the Youtube version.

OTHER NEWS

I have a few animals for sale, ranging from 45 - 60 UK pounds (65 - 88 US dollars) and a little shipping. If you'd like advance details of these before I post them up here on the blog, let me know and I'll e-mail the info - I'm not putting them on Etsy to start with, as I've had so many enquiries from UK people who aren't comfortable with Etsy or its dollar system. This is the last batch I will have to offer for a while as I have so many orders to fulfill.


So here we are again at Monday, and another 6 days of wooliness. I'm not complaining at all, just thanking my little bunch of angels who work overtime for me. (There are seven of them and yes, I really do believe they are there).

Going Polar

Have an inevitable snow picture.




Have another one. After Andy's nine day 'at home' holiday, we were cut off by snow. Joy. The gritters didn't come down our winding country lanes, leaving them iced over. So we were cut off, and with a 45 mile commute to work on a motorbike, he was 'at home' again, for most of the week. I'd rather he was safely at home climbing the walls then in a cold ditch with a broken neck, in spite of the general trend to tut-tut at people who didn't or couldn't get to work. Bikes and snow don't go. With the whole village confined, and delivery lorry unable to get through, our one little Co-op soon ran out of supplies. It was stripped. We managed to get one little loaf (loaves being rationed to one per customer) - the last one in the shop. And a carton of goat's milk Longlife milk. Thankfully we already had some normal UHT and the dreaded stuff remains in its box, now we are getting back to normal and have fresh. Lines must be drawn, and Longlife goat's milk is where I draw mine.




Thankfully we had plenty of wood and more than enough food. We and the cats hunkered down to sit it out. Naturally, the cats hogged the sofa. Before he went completely loopy with cabin fever, he did struggle in for the weekend rota, although because of the treacherous ice, his late Saturday night shift and early Sunday start, he had to stay overnight at the nearby, ghastly (and this one is ghastly) Travel Lodge. So I was home alone with the cats. As usual, I had plenty of things to do, not least of which was designing a prototype polar bear. A great excuse to watch my Arctic DVD and try to grasp the essentials of polar-bearness.




I was also dying to use one of the little glass bear noses I bought last year - only 8mm across at the widest point - it's the tiny black thing I've got pinned to my felting sponge up there, with my two lead bears saying hello to the white woolly blob that was the start of Petra. I wanted a really simply shape, and looked at lots of Inuit carvings - I figured they were probably the experts, and most toy bears I found were really just white teddy bears. Every bear type has distinguishing characteristics, and the challenge of the Polar is that it is deceptively easy looking. As it was, there was much adding and chopping before I finally got what I was looking for.




With a thaw setting in, at last we were able to get over to the woods, where we found evidence of Badger tramping solidly along a path. Badgers have five 'fingers' in a straight-ish row, as opposed to a dog's four pads. They walk along putting their back foot as near as possible to their front foot, so old Brock's trail looked like a two legged race.




Driven by hunger, the little Muntjac deer were down in the bluebell woods, the most walked in part of the reserve. They almost didn't care how near we were, but eventually they sloped off into the beech grove ahead.




To my unkind amusement, Andy had a slapstick moment, when he leaned on a rotten gate post which promptly collapsed under him. Unfortunately there was a large, slushy, muddy puddle just where he landed and I would be derelict in my duty if I did not share this moment with the world.




Now conditions are somewhat better and routines are almost restored; though our roads are still like ice rinks and I count the hours until Andy is safely home. Roll on Spring.