Old and new: life in the garden

This time of year is always so exciting; seeing the world come back to life!
I wander around my little garden, musing over developments with my morning cup of tea. I love the anticipation; looking for much loved plants beginning to emerge after their sleepy winter, and equally the surprise of seeing something for the first time, especially having completely forgotten that I had planted it in the first place!
I had picked up this simple little primrose for 50p from the charity stall in the market last autumn, having no idea of the colour at all...!


My garden is now three years old, and I feel an enormous satisfaction seeing autumn plans come to life over the course of the following year.
However, one of my favourite happenings in the garden at the moment is a quite serendipitous combination of the bright new pulmonaria flowers and spotted leaves seen through the burnt, rusty coloured sedum heads, left from last year.


We are always inclined at the start of the new year in January to sign off on the last and start a fresh. And yet here in my garden is a beautiful demonstration of how the remnants of past seasons go on to inform the developing masterpiece; nothing is ever really over, or ever really forgotten.
As I sit and ponder this with my morning tea I feel happily comforted. Life is a collection of experiences, one informing the next, and still the most beautiful moments are always the ones that happen by accident.

New Designs : Old Ideas

January; a time for sorting, throwing things out, and starting fresh....but isn't it funny the things you find!?

I decided it was finally time to sort through all of my old college and uni work -you cant keep everything so time to be selective. Ah memory lane, all that work! and whats this? my old war project from my first year of college...

Some designs; some samples; a dress and a skirt ...that bears remarkable resemblance to the AW10 pleat skirt I designed!



I remember the original project began with a poem that my sister wrote. It was a reflective poem written from the perspective of a soldier having served through WW2. The pain, the horrors, and most of all the personal sacrifice. I wanted to communicate that juxtaposition of the defiant, hard, determined and austere front that was the national war effort, against the hearts and souls of real people; people that hurt, loved and lost. The real people underneath the shell.

I actually developed the pleat design by re-modeling a heavy, dowdy work skirt that I picked up in a charity shop. I re-fitted it, moved the pleats and darts and embellished the utilitarian fabric with tiny, delicate red silk roses.

Isn't it funny how some things remain in your subconscious. Even though I began at a different point when designing the pleat skirt for Llynfi, I somehow worked my way back toward a design that I loved back when I was 16.

...I wonder what else will resurface

How Green is my Valley

It's hard work walking here - whatever direction you take from the village the first thing you have to do is go up a steep hill, but the reward is fantastic views, and on a clear day these stretch as far as the Cambrian Mountains and on into the start of Snowdonia.

I think - I'm lucky to live in a place like this. But then, actually, it's the result of years of hard work and no holidays. But then - living here, why would you want to go away?

The Importance of a Garden

Knitting, apparently, is one of the less wise occupations to follow when you have a bit of a crooked back. The osteopath wags a finger and reiterates " no more than 20 minutes sitting at a time!". In practice it depends on what's being knitted ( I find). Hand knitting isn't so bad - a good seat that supports one's position, and concentrating on relaxing, rather than tensing every muscle in order to get the job done - and an hour can pass quite happily. Knitting at the machine is a different kettle of fish. It rather depends on the item. Small things, like mittens, aren't too bad, but get a wider piece on there and the trouble starts. You'd think it would be good exercise - all that side to side, waist whittling movement. But no...even the 20 minutes allowed seems too long. And that's where my garden comes in.

The garden is up a flight of steps, curving among ferns, primrose and London Pride, shaded by a sycamore tree. So that's the first bit of exercise, the first change of movement. Then a short slope continuing upwards, past the mill pond and through an old gateway. And into the garden proper. A brisk walk around soon puts things in order - but then......what a time waster! How hard to get back to the machine when William Lobb beckons with seductive shades of magenta and lilac and grey?



And Cornelia and Penelope vie for attention with their distinctive perfumes? And is that little day lily open yet? And you can't help but look into the huge poppy that has just unfolded, with still crinkled skirts round the frills of it's centre.




There's been some rain - poor Smarty, drooping in the damp like little hankies hung out to dry, hiding amongst the blue campanulas. But what a sweet scent, filling the air.



And then there's the beans to check - have they been safe from the slugs? - and the necessary Japanese Knotweed patrol. Our current approach is to not let it have any leaves, but it takes diligence! The slugs seem to like to graze on it, an unexpected observation, and it means we have to have a love/hate relationship with them, forgiving the ravaging of some more favoured plants.




Where was I? Oh - the knitting. See what a distraction the garden is??

New beginnings, sorting out and catching up

Well - here we are. After two years of planning and and weekend works and a winter of builders, half of the Llynfi team is now moved into Felin, Mydroilyn. Felin = mill in Welsh. Corn mill to be precise. And this is just plain 'Felin'. No qualification of Old or Upper or Lower or statement of place. Just 'Mill'. The situation is just right for us, being just on the edge of a pretty little village in a valley, 5 miles from Newquay. The Mill building still has all its machinery, and the water wheel is still attached to the side. But - it's all a long, long way from running again.

The Llynfi knit studio will eventually be contained in part of the old dairy attached to the side of the house. However, this still needs some glass in the windows, a proper floor putting down, and maybe some plaster on the walls would be nice. So in the meantime, I am working from the small parlour room. But it's so lovely to have a garden again, to wander in and see the seasons change.

Moving house is always a bit traumatic. All those boxes...and all those boxes from previous moves, stashed in the attic until a place is found for those precious belongings. Memories, attachments, things that make you who you are. Add in a studio move and lo! there's even more boxes of stuff. Projects and samples that never quite worked out. Experiments and ends of batches of yarns. Odd colours and blends. A mystery tool, some odd knitting needles. Time to be bold methinks! But then again....