light my fire

I always find the blog that follows an exciting, milestone, life-event blog difficult to write. The words don't flow as freely, the subjects are harder to choose and the 'who even cares' voice sneaks into my brain and makes itself comfortable.

If the lead-up to Soul Craft was 'the before', then the past week has most definitely been 'the after. And the after is filled with things we have to do before true winter sets in and the paddocks are too wet to drive in, the wood splitter has been returned to its owner, and everything that grew in summer has been pulled out, pruned, or cut down, and everything that needs to go in the ground before spring has been planted.

People talk about how lovely winter is because it's a time for bunking down inside by the fire knitting and drinking tea, but we are so not there yet. We are still outside. Most of the time we can't feel our fingers or our toes, our work pants are wet up to our knees and our boots are so caked with mud that we appear inches taller than we really are. But we are ticking things off slowly, so hopefully by this time next week or the week after, we'll be able to admire the blanket of frost covering everything from inside the house.

So let's get back to the photo journal shall we...

june sixteenth 

I made these Uppsala slippers as a gift for my farmer boy to say thank you for always taking care of us and our many details. They're the perfect project to take on when you want to make a present but you can't commit to a pair of 4ply socks. Someone on instagram suggested I stitch a piece of leather to the sole to protect them against all the little bits of wood, but I feel like that would make them slippery, and the truth is I only asked him to wear them in the wood shed to make my photos look good, and he held them in his hands and only put them on once we got there.

Here's the link to the pattern on Ravelry. It's a quick little knit but be sure to go down a size because they knit up bigger than you think.

june seventeenth

I've spent so much of the past week splitting wood. Now that that job's almost done I just need to find some time to stack it.

june eighteenth

Late one night last week, with nothing to read, I crept into Indi's room and took the two books off her bedside table. One was Heart of Darkness, which is one of her English Literature books and the other was her philosophy teacher Skye's copy of The Little Paris Bookshop. I didn't make it past page four of the first, and I stayed up until way past four reading the other.

“There are books that are suitable for a million people, others for only a hundred. There are even remedies—I mean books—that were written for one person only…A book is both medic and medicine at once. It makes a diagnosis as well as offering therapy. Putting the right novels to the appropriate ailments: that’s how I sell books.”

I love the concept of a literary apothecary, an encyclopedia of emotions, shopping on a floating book-barge. And I love the characters in this book and the story so far. I always feel rich and relieved when I have a book I am loving to go to bed with, because then it doesn't matter as much what happens sleep-wise in the night.

june nineteenth

That's a photo of my scrappy sock blanket that I have been knitting since November first 2014. From time to time I consider turning it over, darning all the ends in and marking it as finished. But then I remember how comforting it is to have a project on the go all the time. It's always there. Whenever I cast off a project but before I cast on something new I pull it down and add a few squares, I love the mindlessness of it, I enjoy the weight of it on my lap and I reminisce about all the socks I've knitted over the years to make the scraps to make the blanket. It would look so good on the day bed in my new studio though...

june twentieth

And speaking of my new studio, on Wednesday while I was on my hands and knees in the freezing cold mud trying to get the rest of my garlic in before the winter solstice (see the very first photo), Bren and Jobbo were putting the finishing touches on the door and starting on the shingles.

Oh and just in case you get excited about those shingles like I did the other day, whatever you do - do not search up #shingles on instagram. Let's just say I made that mistake so you don't have to.

june twenty first

On Thursday we had our first true, crunchy, frost of the season.  And I ran around taking photos of everything before retreating inside to try and warm my fingers.

And Bren and Jobbo made frames for and inserted two triangular windows in the pitched roof at the back of my studio and finished and hung the door. I don't think I have ever been so excited about a door in my life.

june twenty second

Today. We spent the day crunching through the frosty grass, and then later the wet grass, in the orchards pulling the nets off the trees. We're late to the job and you can almost feel the trees stretching their limbs out in relief and wondering why it took us so long. Which is why it's so late at 5.24pm for me to be writing my blog. Which is why I'm rushing it to get it done before the girls get home from school. Which is why I haven't even taken my wet socks and clothes off yet which feels awful, but I'm also okay because my farmer boy just brought me in a hot cup of tea and a hot water bottle. The best thing about wearing overalls to work is that you can pop the hot water bottle in the chest bit, like a baby. The best bit about hot tea is that it's hot.

And I told you I was excited about my door, but just in case you didn't believe me here are a few more photos of it. Bren is going to turn me a couple of door handles this weekend.

And that's it! All caught up and into a hot shower I go.

But before I leave tell me some things about you.
What are you reading/writing/playing/watching/growing/crafing?
What are you loving most about the season you're in?
What are you getting up to this weekend?
I want to buy some charcoal yarn with a fleck through it, do you know where I could get some?

See ya's next week okay!

Love, Kate x


ps Did you get my door joke in the title - Light my fire - by the DOORS!! 

winter's here

The week that was:

When autumn became winter a tiny part of me felt relieved that that thing that I had been dreading had not only arrived, but was one day closer to being over.

The kind people at Harper Collins Australia sent me a copy of Eliza Henry Jones's new book Ache. It's weird, although I've never met Eliza in person I feel like I know her. After I read and fell in love with her first book In the Quiet, my sister Abby introduced us on twitter and over the years we've chatted about all the important things: sock knitting, cable knitting and accidentally knitting two right handed gloves instead of a right and a left - oops. Later I found her on instagram and admired the photos of her horses and farm life on the other side of Melbourne, but in the background I was always hoping for the announcement of her next book.

And lucky for me Eliza came through with the goods. Ache is the story of a family coping with the aftermath of a horrific bushfire that ripped through a mountain community, killing the main character Annie's grandmother, traumatising her young daughter, and threatening her marriage and the stability of the life she has built for herself. Ache takes us on a journey back up into that mountain a year after that fire, where the devastation is still everywhere, the trees are blackened, most of the houses are still in ruins and the once close community is divided and angry.

Eliza'a writing is beautifully descriptive:

The mountains had always been quiet, but it was like the unimaginable noise of the fires had sucked all sound from the mountain along with everything green. There was no sound of clattering leaves in the wind now. There were no birds. No sigh of grass.

Eliza has qualifications in English, psychology and grief, loss and trauma counselling and has completed an honours thesis exploring representations of bushfire trauma in fiction, which makes me trust her with this sensitive subject. I like it that I can believe it when the characters display symptoms that were caused by their experiences with the trauma of surviving a bushfire. Even though it's fiction, it feels real and true and the title Ache feels completely fitting. 

Recently I was talking to my girls about how one of the reasons I love reading so much is because it answers my what if's? For me, living in the middle of a forest makes bushfire a very real threat. Ache takes me into some of those what if places as well as back to February 2009 when a bushfire was coming through our forest towards our house, and at the last minute the wind changed and swept it alongside, 10 meters from our house instead. We were so lucky. No one was hurt, no property was damaged, I'm sure there were wild life deaths but we didn't see them, and our community bonded together to help and support one another. All these years later many of our trees are still blackened, and sometimes I can still smell that charcoal, smokey smell, but the girls were so young they hardly remember it and we've got a story to tell. I hope it's the only one.

The same way In The Quiet has stayed with me over the years, I'm sure Ache will too. Eliza's simple yet dear characters, the calls of the birds, and the way the landscape heals. 

Now that I've read it I guess I'll have to go back to watching her twitter feed and waiting for the release of her third book.

Oh and Eliza I know that I don't know you in real life, but if I did I would totally hug you and congratulate you and tell you that I LOVED it. I loved the cover, the writing, the characters and the story. Yay you, well done. xx

I bought Miss Pepper a couple of the sweetest cat things from my friend Manda's online shop.

We waved our Jazzy off for a week of hiking and camping with her class.

I planted a few more beds of garlic.

Jobbo started building the shelves into the hot-house.

I made a start on the pile of beanies I hope to knit and send off to the ASRC soon with this pattern.

Our organic and local communities lost one of its greats and we mourned the loss. Vale Rod May, you will be missed by many. xx

We drove down to Melbourne to listen to our farmer boy make a speech about questioning the world. About holding onto the fire you felt in your late teens and early twenties and turning it into activism now. He made us name things we are frustrated and angry about and implored us to do something about them. It was awesome.

I bought a new lens for my camera but still haven't taken it out of its box. It's so weird, I've been wanting a 35mm for so long but now that I have one I'm scared I won't like it, or be any good with it. Hopefully next week I'll have something to show you. Fingers crossed.

I listened to Richard Fidlers podcast conversation with Bill Hayes - An unexpected later in life love story, set in New York City - and fell in love with it.

We watched and loved the first season of Billions, have you watched it yet?

And that's me. I messed up the photo a day in May thing in the last few days. One day we weren't here at all and another rained non stop and the sun never came out once. But I enjoyed it when I did it, letting the pictures mostly tell the stories and capturing a month on our farm. (Ahhhhh those poly tunnels are still there!!)

This June I'm hoping to knit some more hats for my pile and send them off to keep some heads warm. I'm hoping to plant some stuff in the hot-house and put the rest of the garlic in the ground. I'd like to fill a sketch book with botanical drawings and maybe branch into paint. And more than anything I hope to catch the sunshine when I can and to keep warm and positive.


Wishing you a wonderful season whether you're just starting to unfurl your leaves and stretch out towards the sun, or drop your leaves and turn inwards to the hearth. May it be productive and nourishing.

I'd love to hear about what it's like where you are, how you're spending your days, what you're reading, watching and listening to.

Lots of love,

Kate xx

Unanswerable questions

The truth is I'm struggling. I feel heavy and close to tears and not quite right a lot of the time. Since the drama with my left breast at the start of the year I've gotten quite good at staying focused on the good in my world, at counting my blessings, at surrounding myself with kindness and protecting myself. But over the past little while the big wide world has snuck in with its frosty tentacles and weighed me down like a rock. I feel terrible and don't know what to do about anything.

How can I explain to our children that we expect them to behave with kindness and compassion to their fellow human beings, when our country's leaders often do not?

How can I listen to global stories of horror and atrocity and not take them personally?

How can I keep up with the wars and the bombings and the treatment of people less fortunate than ourselves without it making me sick?

How can I come to terms with the fact that we are just so incredibly lucky, without the guilt that attaches itself to that feeling?

How can I complain about head-lice, about the crazy cold, about the mess and about not sleeping at night, without feeling petty?

How can I be a human being and not imagine myself in the place of the hungry and the desperate and the terrified?

How can I switch off from all the big bad news as a fellow member of the human race?

How do I make sense of war, of refugees, of poverty, of the death of innocent children and parents and grandparents to my kids, when I cannot even come to terms with it myself?

I have no answers right now, only more and more questions.

For now I can only keep breathing, keep looking after my crew and holding them tight and keep growing awesome food.

And counting my blessings. Often.

Big love my friends, and peace.

xx

nothing more than feelings

(Beetroot-mostly for a delivery but also for a salad for dinner)

I feel like so much of the time I am making it up as I go along these days.

I feel like I would rather be knitting.

I feel like I possibly shouldn't have spent the last hour sorting through the girl's clothing but I'm glad I did.

I feel messy and distracted and filled with butterflies.

(Winter cubby-house and kitchen-garden)

I feel like for me the words success and money don't go together.

I feel like I could cope OK with winter if it gave me sunshine filled days like today, every single day. Maybe it could rain only at night?

I feel so happy cuddling and watching and playing with the bunnies.

(Parsley on the door step)

I feel like the more that is expected of me the less I can perform.

I feel like this year was meant to be my cruisey year and instead has been a year of crazy personal challenges.

(Purple carrots without their ends)

I feel like I should tell you that we are selling a lot of our chookens. If you want to buy some chooks to lay or to make soup out of (sorry), please get in touch.

I feel like we might need to get a cat to take care of the mice in the garden issue.

(Rocket spiral)

I feel like having my parents across the road is a dream come true. I do!

I feel like our family need the school holidays DESPERATELY!!

I feel like I should deal with the cobwebs.

(Milk bottle frost/mice protectors)

I feel sorry for the gorgeous girl who has been trying to get in touch with me for days and who doesn't yet know that I never, well hardly ever, answer the phone.

I feel like we are burning through so much wood to keep two fires going 24/7 and we are only a month into winter.

I feel like drinking two litres of water most days has changed my life.

(Afternoon tea)

I feel really uncomfortable about having a profile pic taken for my press release.

I feel like I wish I had a house cleaner.

I feel beyond excited about the food forest going in down the bottom in the potato paddock. Oaks and quinces and mulberries and almonds and wallnuts and persimmons and rowans oh my!

I feel a little anxious about the weekend.

(Gorgeous golden broccoli)

I feel like sometimes parenting an almost teenager makes me behave like an almost teenager.

I feel like all day I look forward to reading a few pages of John Seymour in bed before sleep.

I feel like I could hug all of you who left a message or emailed me about my last post. You have no idea how much better and how supported you make me feel. I hope each and every one of you has felt happier and better and sunnier as the week has gone on.


How are you feeling?
What are you growing/cooking/creating/mending?

Frosty.

I am not a winter person at all. I suffer from cold fingers and nose and toesies, I struggle with the lack of sunlight and I suffocate under all the layers of clothing.

But there is something seriously magical about the mid winter frosty mornings we've been having lately. The paddocks blanketed in white, the crunch underfoot and the way the ice seems almost hairy on the leaves and trees.

Having a dog to walk has made us enjoy the frosty mornings, rather than just look at them through the windows. Having a dog has made us get up early, rug up in all our winter woollies and get out amongst it. We've crunched across the grassy paddocks, smashed up frozen puddles, admired the glittery leaves and rubbed our fingers along prickly branches.

It's been glorious, but so seriously cold that I've had to carry my camera inside my jacket or it's stopped working. Freeeeeeezing!

So seriously cold that the chook water has frozen in the pipes. Icy!!

And then we've watched as the sun slowly came over the tops of the trees and warmed the earth and melted the frost. We've heard it trickle down branches and we've played with the ice blocks we've found in mugs and containers we've left outside.

And then we've come home and enjoyed steaming, hot cups of coffee and bowls of porridge. Warming our hands and our tummies. And the brilliant, sparkly winter sunshine that fills our newly white house and our days is simply divine.

Happy sparkly day my friends.
Winter solstice has passed, I think we might go and plant some onions.
What are you up to?


xx