There is something about putting the first seeds of the year into their own pot of earth that seems to proclaim that the new growing season has finally begun. Trumpet fanfare, please. In my head, I look at these pots and can see a plant bearing beautiful red fruit, ready to be picked and eaten. I can smell the warm fragrance.
The sun came out for the first time this half term, so we headed up to the potting shed. And then back again. A wee bit too cold still. Not to be defeated, I set up a temporary seed area in the house. Little pots of dirt, labelled and covered. A promise of homegrown food. I cannot wait.
I had help. I finished knitting her fingerless gloves last night, so I think she was that little bit more willing to brave the colder temperature. The second glove took me only one evening to knit, which could be a record for me. Continue reading
It’s not often I make two things the same. If I do, it’s usually something small like a cowl or mittens. Quick and easy. Even then, there will be a difference in some way. A different colour. A tweak to the pattern.
But a jumper. Two identical. No.
Except I have this time. Once my husband saw the purple hoodie I knitted youngest over the summer, he dropped hints. The strange thing was, that I had over ordered the purple yarn. It was almost as if, deep down, I’d anticipated that I wouldn’t be through with this knitting pattern after the initial one had left the needles.
I cast on, once more. Continue reading
When my children were little, I knitted them jumpers and cardigans a plenty. The cutest designs that just made me want to hug and cuddle them even more. Certainly I felt a sense of satisfaction, as I kept them warm in something knitted by my own hands.
Then, round about the time they started school, it began to change. It was no longer cool to wear hand knitted clothes. Over the next few years, there was still an underlining desire for me to knit for them, but not to make it obvious. Not in front of friends. Same goes for hand holding. No kissing either. Ruffling hair was acceptable, so long as they could pretend they were just putting up with it.
It’s OK. I knew it would happen.
I got away with knitting hats, mittens and gloves. Somehow, they were acceptable in a way I never quite fathomed. Best not to question. Just go for it.
Then last month, the stars aligned. Maybe a blueish coloured moon was bobbing around too. I don’t know, Continue reading