Garden treasures

Promise delivered

and other beauties besides

Promise

waiting to unfurl

Many interludes

In fact this blog seems to contain more interludes these days than it does words and pictures!

Life has been busy, sometimes tiring, but good in so many ways. I am still stitching, along with knitting, weaving, and recently beginning a patchwork class with one of our lovely Embroiderers' Guild members who is also a patchworker. And, in between all this, my dear Man and I got married, just two weeks ago tomorrow. A wonderful day despite the rain; our ceremony in the glorious Durbar Hall in Hastings Museum - one of the many legacies the Brassey family left the town. Having managed the reference and local studies collection in the library in Hastings for many enjoyable years, there was a real sense of connection for me in celebrating such a happy event there. Afterwards we repaired to our garden where a marquee provided welcome respite from the heavy showers that scudded past all afternoon. The good cheer and warm hearts of friends and family made wet weather merely incidental; fine food was provided by "Caroline the Cook" and Geoff's lovely guitar music provided just the right atmosphere for folk to chat or listen as the mood reqiured.

Of course all this required the house and garden to look slighty less chaotic than it usually does, hence mcuh clearing, cleaning and tuidying by me over the past several weeks, but our lovely irises came out,

the wisteria was still just clinging to its branches, a small frog provided two small girls with much delight

and the cats repaired to the bottom of the garden to wait for all this good cheer and laughter to go away!

And the following day, when all were gone, of course the sun came out

a musical interlude

Woodstock, hippies, peace and love - you've got to be a certain generation to even know what I'm talking about. I remember commenting on a "hippie bus" some years ago and my dear heart's older grandson asked "what's a hippie?" How do you answer that one?

One of my favourite songs, and the source of one of my favourite quotes “life is for learning” is Joni Mitchell's Woodstock. I love it for its sense of celebration and idealism (though in the real world, I’m not sure butterflies would have been much use against the Luftwaffe) but which version?

Joni’s – she wrote it, though I didn't hear this version until I sought it out on YouTube some years ago

CSN&Y – she wrote it for them, and theirs was the first version I knew on their wonderful album Deja Vu - here accompanied by hippies and hippie buses

Or Richie Havens' lovely mellow version

Which is your favourite?

very slow Homage

I was rather taken aback to see that I have been stitching this piece, albeit very intermittently, for more than years now. That seems to be taking slow stitch to a new level entirely! I have started, and sometimes finished, several other things in between, and have begun a new phase at Studio 11, having had a rather unproductive year last year for a variety of reasons. Christine and I discussed working to a theme, and seeing how I can express that theme in cloth and stitch. So, something I have had as an interest, and read around for many years - Mesopotamia. I will, hopefully, talk more about that later, but for now, just a few images of my little homage cloth, which still needs a few more stitches to feel complete, but has progressed since my last post.

raindrops - or are they tears?

those extra seeds drifting in the breeze

Nearly there

I hope life is being generous to you.

Autumn - wind, water, rust

Well restored

Many moons ago some strong men built a well so that they and the people living nearby had access to fresh water. The well was marked on the local map, along with one just a little bit down the road, and for a long time that was the only water they had to use – for drinking; for washing; for laundry unless they had a means of storing rainwater; for all those things that water gives to us. 

Time passed, technology improved, we got mains water supply in our houses and the need for a well passed. Some were covered over completely, buried under gardens or house extensions. Ours was given a lovely wellhead and then, at some stage, capped with concrete. It sits at the top of the garden, near the house, just where I can see it as I sit in the sitting room. When we moved in my first thought was to know how deep the well was, and what would be involved in opening it up again. It felt wrong to have it covered. 

In the past people believed that all things were animated by some sort of spirit; water, the earth, thunder, wind, trees, all life was part of a whole that vibrated with unseen energies. All across the world, myths and legends grew up around the powers associated with water. Terri Windling has written a beautiful post about this; as with all of her posts, illustrated with the loveliest images.

I’m not sure about the presence of spirits, I am sure that we have lost that element of respect and reverence for this earth who sustains us and, if there are spirits of land and water, then they should be free. So, this week a nice man called Jo, who comes from the same county where my grandmother was born, brought his tools, strength and expertise and opened up the well again for us, straightening up well head which was going a bit awry, and creating a temporary cover, until such time as a proper one with steel mesh can be fabricated to leave the well open for us to gaze down in wonderment, and for those spirits, if they are there, to rise and fall freely with the rising and falling of the water.

In the meantime, the well guardians are still doing their job. The old stone ones take their ease,

and the furry ones will still be able to perch there, out of the way of the badgers, who come bumbling up in the Autumn to inspect the hazelnuts, from the tree by the well, for ripeness; food to increase their wisdom.