It’s been odd ~ surreal, even ~ to read reports of the stormy weather further north and hear first-hand from family and friends about the damage and disruption that has been caused. The weather here at present can only be described as being rather lovely (dare I say spring-like, even?) with soft, still days full of painted skies and bright bursts of winter sunshine. It’s too warm for the time of year and that, of course, is a concern, but it is not to be wasted so I have been going off for long walks from home every afternoon. There is still a good deal of water lying in the fields and the ditches are full but the landscape is unnaturally green as neither grass nor grain has really stopped growing. The trees, however, have finally shaken off their autumn apparel and now make starkly beautiful skeletons against the silvered sky.
It feels strange, too, to be walking along my butterfly route without seeing any butterflies, in stark contrast to the summer walks when I counted almost 100 of them in a short stretch. There are still plenty of flying insects about, though, and I’m wondering if some of the hoards of birds filling their boots at the feeding station aren’t freeloading a bit! The tunnel is full of insects and spiders and the garden alive with slugs, not something that have been an issue in previous winters; I’m only hoping that the wet conditions mean there are plenty of amphibians out there tucking in. I’ve been reading reports this week of the adverse effects that climate change is having on many plant and animal species but at the same time, others are thriving under these ‘strange’ conditions. Adapt or die: it’s nothing new, I suppose. Wandering along the lane, listening to and watching the abundant birdlife, my eye was suddenly caught by a flash of yellow in the verge which on closer inspection turned out to be a dandelion in full flower. A little early, that one. Moments later, what I had taken to be a solitary oak leaf fluttering down to eye level revealed itself to be . . . a butterfly! A Red Admiral, in fact, possibly disturbed from its hibernation by something unseen or the warm weather; we sometimes find them trapped in a window or on the front of the house on sunny winter days, but this is a first in the ‘wild’ for me.
I’m still picking up odd bits of litter on my walks but wondering what I’m supposed to do with them once the new rubbish system starts on 1st January. Obviously, I recycle what I can and I’m not an ‘it’s not fair’ type of person but it doesn’t seem right if I end up being penalised for putting other people’s rubbish in the bin. No system is perfect, but this one certainly won’t encourage people to litter pick and, even worse, there could be far more litter about as folks try to avoid using the bins. Local feelings about the new system continue to run high and as the start date looms, there still seem to be a lot of rumours circulating despite the council having issued plenty of clear guidance. For instance, I’ve seen someone complaining that they will never be able to keep their annual rubbish below 300 kilos, despite the fact that the system isn’t going to measure weight but the number of deposits in any year. I was also left wondering how on earth anyone could produce that much rubbish but then this is the very point: the council is trying to find a way to encourage people to recycle and make compost rather than send everything to landfill. There’s (another) rumour that people like ourselves who produce hardly any rubbish may be awarded a refund but we’ll see about that one. Having reduced our household waste to an absolute minimum and inspired by the no-waste systems in the charity shop I described last time, I’ve been looking at the idea of waste from a slightly different angle in the last few weeks.
We’ve been having a bit of a sort out, both of things stored in cupboards and outside in the Oak Shed which is due to be dismantled and redesigned. We’re not hoarders by nature but it seems to me that having ‘stuff’ that is lying idle and not being used is far from ideal; granted, it’s not as bad as throwing it away, but a waste all the same, so we’ve been applying ourselves to finding ways in which everything can be put to good use. For starters, there was still a pile of junk in the shed left by the previous owners; yes, we’ve been here three years now but it really hasn’t been a priority to sort with so many other things to do! Unfortunately, we filled yet another trailer to take to the déchetterie but at least we were able to sort most of the different materials so that, for instance, a pile of rusty bits of metal could be sent off for a new life. Roger managed to mend a broken piece of machinery which has already come in useful and he has tidied up and fixed other things which we can give away or sell. Roofing slates and usable timber have been put to one side for future planned projects and scrap wood chopped into a huge pile of kindling which should last us for several years. Hearing the sounds of carpentry emanating from the barn, I discovered that Roger had set up a workshop turning scrap timber into bird boxes which we will put up around the garden and in the coppice. They are a pretty simple project and there is no need to be too precious about how they look as the birds really don’t care too much about aesthetics!
We’ve also had a good rummage through the kitchen cupboards and made a plan for using up all sorts of dried goods. It’s very easy when we base all our meals on garden produce to forget the dry larder bits and pieces and the idea of them going to waste isn’t acceptable. It’s mostly nuts, seeds, dried fruit and wholegrains so we’ve been making lots of granola and tabbouleh-type dishes to use them up. I was especially thrilled to see (and eat) the redcurrants we dried experimentally in our homemade solar drier and made a mental note to get busy with plenty more next summer. We’ve also been doing a bit of a freezer inventory to inform menu planning; it’s a curious thing, but despite eating our way through a good deal of our frozen harvest, the freezer never seems to look any emptier and it’s all too easy for things to end up buried and forgotten. Much as we love seasonal vegetables, it’s satisfying to find a surprise bag of sweet green peas lurking in the depths ~ I just love them with a gravy meal, a precious little burst of summer in the darkest months. We’re still trying to keep on top of the garden vegetables, of course, although it has taken several meals to use up the monstrous parsnip I dug last week. This was a self-set plant that appeared in a row of dwarf beans last summer and which, unlike many of the intentionally-sown plants, hadn’t bolted (I’m not sure what that has been about this year but something has rushed the parsnips on). It wasn’t the prettiest of beasts but was full of flavour and definitely not to be wasted.
We’ve gone a long way to being almost packaging-free when it comes to shopping but as our stores of homegrown onions and potatoes diminish, I’ve set my sights on heading off a problem at the pass. It frustrates me greatly that it is far cheaper to buy both in bulk quantities ready-packaged and that means generally in plastic mesh nets. I’ve seen people turn these into scrubbies for scouring pans but I’m not keen on the idea as I can’t help feeling the plastic must surely break down and enter the water system? There has been a move to sell onions in nets made from plant-based materials but it isn’t clear whether these are compostable and plastic remains the material of choice . . . and a packaging nightmare we don’t need in our lives. My plan is simple: crochet some cotton mesh bags which can be washed and re-used and make a point of buying loose produce from the market. We have a friend here who will not tolerate any packaging and once she has paid at a supermarket checkout, she happily transfers goods like packaged mushrooms or shrink-wrapped bananas (whoever thought that was necessary?) into her own cloth bags and leaves the plastic for staff to deal with; in her words, “Packaging is not my problem!” Sadly, there is still no sign of the supermarket bins for dumping unwanted packaging that are allegedly required by law. I like her style and she’s sending a powerful message but I prefer to vote with my feet: until supermarkets sell loose produce at the same price as packaged, I’ll shop elsewhere.
The pattern I’m using is from My Poppet and is as easy as they come; it’s worked in a spiral and once the first few rounds are done, the rest is simply a case of repeated chain loops. The only change I’ve made is to work a row of UK double crochet/US single crochet along the drawstring to strengthen it a bit. For the first bag, I used every scrap of a 50g ball which made a bag with ample space for several kilos of fruit or vegetables. I had toyed with the idea of adding handles but it is very, very stretchy ~ especially when loaded ~ so there is plenty of spare fabric to grab at the top.
I’m aiming to make four bags in all so that two can sit in the kitchen holding produce and the others can go in my backpack to the market to collect the next supply. To be honest, I think 30-40g of yarn would make big enough bags so it’s a great project for using up scraps and although cotton was my fibre of choice, there are plenty of options out there . . . I’ve even seen them made from garden twine.
On the subject of yarn scraps, I’ve finally got round to sorting out a large box of woolly business which we have carted around on several house moves and which in truth, I should have tackled a long time ago. First, I filled a very large bag with an eclectic mix of wool oddments, the bits and pieces left over from many diverse projects; I’ve always tried to use up what I can by making things like patchwork blankets or soft toys for our grandchildren but there was just way too much for my needs. I took the bag to the charity shop as there are people who look for such things, turning the scraps into hats, toys and other products for good causes: if by giving I can help others to give, how wonderful is that? I then turned my attention to my supply of spinning fleece and was surprised at just how much I have, a consequence of not having done any spinning for three years; initially, this was because we were just too busy after moving here and then since June 2022 my back problem meant I couldn’t even consider it. Well, I’m healed enough to get back to it now so I’ve blown the cobwebs off my trusty wheel and made a start on using up some of that hoarded fleece.
When it comes to spinning, there are some very talented and highly skilled people out there, spinners who can produce gossamer thread fine enough to knit into a Shetland ring shawl or spin metres and metres of beautifully consistent yarn or create clever art yarns or do interesting things with tricky fibres. I am not one of those people. I am self-taught and have learned everything through trial and error, mostly the latter; I am a messing about, dabbling, what-the-heck kind of spinner who will never win prizes for what I produce, but then I’m not trying to. In his recently-published book The Write Time, fellow blogger Páraig talked about being ‘perfectly imperfect’ and I like that because, amongst other things, it smacks of someone being comfortable in their own skin. Spinning for me is a creative, therapeutic, rewarding activity, one that allows me to connect with an ancient human activity and have a lot of fun at the same time; if what I produce is quirky, wonky and smirk-inducing, then so be it. When I first set out on my spinning adventure, I watched a tutorial video where a rather stern lady told me not to even think of starting with fibre until I could start and stop my wheel using only my foot on the treadle. Well, thirteen years on I still can’t do that so it’s a good job I have a rebellious streak! We can learn so much from talented and experienced teachers but sometimes I think we also have to find the courage to dive in and have a go; let’s face it, using my hand to start the wheel turning hasn’t made one iota of difference to anything and strangely enough, the spinning police haven’t come knocking on the door, either.
As it’s been three years since I last sat at my wheel, I wasn’t expecting wonderful results since like many other activities (riding a bike, playing a musical instrument, speaking a foreign language . . . ) too long without practice can leave me feeling decidedly rusty. The secret of spinning lies in getting the tension right and hitting the sweet spot is a joy; getting there, on the other hand, can be something of a torment, especially with a wobbly wheel that has a mind of its own at times. For the first few sessions I ricocheted between too much tension (lengths of unspun fibre being yanked onto the bobbin at breakneck speed) and too little tension (highly twisted fibre going nowhere): at times, it felt like I was grappling with tigers where ideally it should be more like cradling hamsters. The fact that I was wearing a kitten attachment probably wasn’t helping matters, either.
Eventually, though, things settled down as I got back into the swing of it, happily spinning Blue Leicester fleece, which is my favourite British wool breed. The sheep are a bit weird-looking (I always think they look like someone stuck a kangaroo’s head on a sheep’s body) but the wool is delightful: it has a long staple which makes it relatively easy to spin, is soft and silky enough to wear next to the skin, has a beautiful lustre so that it shines when it catches the light, has a gentle drape rather than clingy elasticity and it takes up dye well. My plan is to spin an aran weight yarn (the wheel may well conspire against me in this, it tends to do its own thing half the time), dye it with indigo and then knit it up into a basic waistcoat, something to give me a little extra warmth in cold weather without being a bulky layer. Roger kindly broke off bird box building to fashion me a new wooden lazy kate (a separate bobbin holder) which makes plying easier; the resulting yarn is uneven (no surprise, given the high twist-low twist thing going on) but that’s actually the effect I am after, anyway, as I’d like the waistcoat to have a truly rustic feel about it. Homespun. Hand-knitted. Unique. Or perfectly imperfect, if you prefer. 😉
This Simple Life 