Monday, July 22, 2013

Exactly What Season Is It?


The daffodils and jonquils are in full display
Informing me that Spring Is Coming
In the middle of July



Yet so are the pansies
Coveted for beauty
                                ...and dye,
Their smiling faces 
Always brought colour to Winter gardens....
It is a strange year indeed.

September's Cootamundra wattle,
Flowers in my big blue sky, 
Nothing here but me and the birds.
 


Be led down the garden path with me
Past that ironbark, what will we see?



Toes in the sun, moss on the rocks,
Green after rain. 
Happiness in granite boulders...
and humus

Catching a sunbeam on a melaleuca
Torn fibres and layers
Trees are such wonders,
if we never lose our child's eyes.




A moss map, 
Catchment in the rock, 
like casurinas lining the creeks
between the ploughed land

And this fellow, 
is becoming rock himself. 
Should be so lucky. 
To study stones, 
and be so still.

 

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Lemon and Clove Jam

A slow weekend, 
Another lot of jam.
Never ending lemons.


800ml lemon juice
Zest of 5 lemons
2 lemons, quartered lengthways and sliced finely
640g sugar
1750ml water  + extra for lemon rind/zest
12 cloves

Boil zest and sliced lemon in some water for 10 minutes. Strain, reserving pulp. Add water again, boil another 10 minutes, strain. 
Add sugar, lemon juice, water and cloves to the zest and rind.
Bring to the boil. Cook, stirring, for 45-50 minutes, at which point the jam will begin to set on the handle of the wooden spoon and is ready to be put into jars.

Makes 9-10 small jars.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Cherry Ballarat, Routine Introspections

It's one of those winter days where nothing quite works out.
I have sent my sewing machine for repairs,
And am at a standstill for it.

All the lovely wool pieces dyed with cherry ballarat and nicholli
Sitting, waiting to be made  into a winter skirt.



 So I watch the shadows from my wicker lampshade



And paint feathers
accompanied by Mark Lanegan and Duke Garwood
and hope for a pretty sunset.
 


Saturday, July 13, 2013

A Torch Song

I see pattern in all things
Obvious, delightful and subtle

When I was very small,
My Nanna told me....
                                   not to wear patterns with patterns....



Though patterns appear quite naturally and beautifully together.
My minutiae mania upsets the order


Patternaphillia.

Laryngitis has rendered me unable to speak for more than a week, ad two different antibiotics

When my voice comes back, husky as it will be,

I am going to sing these songs

Loudly, with a Joplin gravel

and relish it.



Botanical Alchemy, Art, Stitch, and Marks in the Pavement

Time away always changes me. 
The city leaves me feeling drained, 
as though I collect all the feelings of those working around me.
I belong in my country.
It is vast, varied and sometimes vicious.
Home, heart and haven.





Everything I need is here, the wool and cotton and dye plants I work with, the people I love were grown here, or are growing here. 

The place my soul sits, 

in this fault line, 

in these unpredictable soils, 

in sacred spaces of my own design.

As I brew things, my elder tree informs me that I am not a witch. 
Though cauldrons abound, 
on coals or electricity
and bits of broken plumbing and rusted things
create small miracles... serendipitous marks
and my own type of gold. 




                                   

Imprints, effects, affects of my land. 
Seasons change my dyes, 
Stitching calms my mind
And I study stones. 




And notice marks in the pavement.

How things stand, a beginning

Alchemy, something about this time, this mood, has lead to this blog forming.


In two days, I learned a lot about myself in this place. I never thought I could have it all... never wanted that, I have learned that, though I may never find a person to be my twin soul, I don't need that. I have more than enough, and find more joy in places, spaces, people and minutiae than most I know. My soul sings loudest on its own. This is my life, my work, my botanical alchemy, my simple being, annotated. 

Perhaps people will read this, perhaps I will later and giggle at my youth, either way, this version of me is content to send herself into the ether, and see what comes.