Thursday 23 September 2010

Heart's Ease


Do I like pansies? No. Not the large strident yellow ones with a shapeless black splodge in the middle and not the floppy big white ones with a large purple bruise and petals too broad and flimsy to withstand being folded in half in the slightest breeze. No I don't like those at all. But the smallest violas, now that is a different matter entirely. Pretty colours, intricate markings; faces of miniature serenity and the most delicate scent.
Several weeks ago,  I was having tea in the garden behind a teashop. On each table was a shallow terracotta pot with just white violas all flowering fit to burst. Such a simple and delightful combination and on that warm day the scent was noticeable without being overpowering. No surprise then that I couldn't resist a tray of  tiny violas on the next visit to a plant centre.
Now just what containers did I have that would suit them? I first planted up a glazed bowl to place on a garden table as a living arrangement. Then I discovered, hidden away amongst all the plant pots that can't be stacked, a collection of chipped cups. Too damaged to be sipped from, too nice to throw away or smash up to use for drainage. I  drilled holes in the bottom using a tile bit and marking the inside of the base with masking tape to stop the drill bit from slipping. By pressing them into a tray of damp sand to support them it was easy enough to make a drainage hole without any further cracking. I knew there would come a time when these  would be just what I was looking for.

That leaves me with two questions. 
What other plants would suit tea cup planting?  Perhaps little primroses or cyclamen coum.
And do I like pansies? Well clearly that depends.

Saturday 18 September 2010

...and Small Successes

Following the buzz of achievement on completing the scarf,  I remembered another pattern I had tried and then set aside. I had bought a Bergere de France book on the strength of the appeal of a jumper used in advertising the book in magazines. When I bought it, the assistant mentioned that sometimes the translation from French wasn't always accurate and to bear this in mind.  With later hindsight I think this suggestion just gave me an excuse to give up sooner than I might have done. At the time I had  confidently and optimisticly cast on the back and begun only to find that nothing remotely resembling the illustration was emerging from the needles. I abandoned the jumper and made first one jacket then another from that booklet.
Now seemed like a good time to try again, this time with only enough stitches to work across two pattern repeats. Ignoring the chart diagram, I worked from the written instructions alone, simply doing exactly as written. And it all worked out as it should. Amazing! Yes it was different to what I thought it would be but I could see that it was indeed just like the illustration.

So what colour will I choose for my new jumper?

Wednesday 15 September 2010

Tiny Triumphs

I try to hold fast to the belief that the difference between success and failure is usually just one more try. Some where I have come upon the wisdom that says that in order to end up on our feet we just have to get up one more time than we get knocked down. It is not always that easy to spot success just about to show up when we are in the middle of the string of failures that are helping us to learn how to be successful or to get right whatever it is we have our sights on. Am I working up to a treatise on the larger lessons of life here? Well no, it is just about knitting - for now, anyway.

I had bought the yarn a couple of years ago in a moment of bargain tub weakness. A lovely silk mix with a nubbly texture, the six balls bundled together as a job lot beckoned alluringly with their marked down to a not-to-be-missed-price tag. Whatever I would make with it was far from my mind at the time. Some how it didn't quite match up to any patterns I wanted to make and as it shed little organge bits when I worked with it I had put it aside. Then looking around on Knitting Daily I found a scarf pattern. Never very satisfied with any previous efforts with stitches that incorporated lacey holes, I thought the unevenness of the yarn might disguise any flaws in the execution so needles ready and off I went. It took no fewer than seven tries to get beyond the eighth row of the pattern. I don't know what suprised me more; the eventual success or the tenacity in unravelling and knitting up that many times. Vacuuming up a shower of little orange bobbles, I figured out that probably what made it so hard to start with was my assumption that it would be really easy and therefore didn't warrant the focus and attention that it did. So now I will face the cooler weather with a new wrap; whether it is a large scarf or a small shawl time will tell I guess.

Friday 10 September 2010

Chutney and Chapels


I opened the curtains to find the view veiled in a light mist and apples scattered across the grass like an abandoned game of bowls. Keats's autumn had arrived. All that mild stillness, that intangible certainty that summer had slipped away and winter should be anticipated hung in the air. I knew that it was time to check the larder for ingredients, the pantry cupboard for empty jars and to head out into the garden with tubs to gather up the windfalls. Time to make not cider (sorry Keats,) but chutney!

My current favourite recipe I call:


Apple and Mustard Seed Chutney
  • 500g Apples, peeled cored and diced
  • 2 cups vinegar - preferably cider or white wine vinegar
  • 250g onions peeled and finely chopped
  • 2 and a half cups Demerara sugar
  • 4 cloves garlic crushed
  • 50g salt
Place all these ingredients in a large non-aluminium pan over a low heat and simmer stirring for 30 minutes until thickened and jam-like. Then add the following:
  • half a cup of ground almonds
  • 250g sultanas roughly chopped
  • 6 tablespoons of yellow mustard seeds
  • 2 teaspoons of cumin seed
  • 3 teaspoons chilli powder (or to taste)
  • 1 'thumb' fresh root ginger finely grated
Continue to cook over low heat for 10 minutes. Cover and cool to thicken and then bottle. This makes about 1 litre.

I first made this recipe with my mother from a recipe in SA Life magazine. Being an Australian recipe it refers to cup measures. This is equivalent to 8 fluid ounces or just under 250 ml but many measuring jugs have the cup measures on them. Every time I make a recipe like this it 'evolves' - this is the current version.
In the magazine this recipe had the title Indian Apple Chutney. It is such a good accompaniment to mature cheddar and crisply crusted bread. As this completes the classic trio on which that staple of English pub menu lunches, the Ploughman's Lunch is based, I think of it as very English, particularly as the key ingredients are apples and sultanas.
I will have a variety of apples to use - the original recipe used Granny Smiths - and I find that using some that mush during cooking and some that hold their shape make for a good texture.

And what about chapels? Keats wrote his Ode to Autumn in Winchester inspired by a walk across the water meadows to the chapel of St Cross. I have enjoyed this walk at this time of year several times. No evidence of threshing floors, cider presses or even beehives any more but a lovely level stroll along the waterside, accompanied by gliding swans feigning indifference until it seems you might produce a crust or two of bread. And there is always the prospect of the Wayfarers' Dole at the end of the walk or something more sustaining from the tearoom to help you make your way back.

Wednesday 8 September 2010

Come September




And just as I changed the calendar page, I noticed that the view from the window was changing too. The leaves on the peonies by the path have become flushed with deepest red. Autumn can be a time to gather great armfuls of branches of coloured leaves and autumn fruits to display in the largest vases and jugs but it isn't time for such excesses just yet - just a hint of that, just a precursor of those times ahead.


I cut some and brought them inside then scoured the garden for flowers to go with them. There were a few marigolds but such strong burnished colours belonged as well to that time that hasn't come quite yet. Something gentler, something rich pink.


Perhaps some of summer's last flurry of roses.

Or perhaps zinnias. When I planted the seeds I expected to have the full range of Smartie colours in the picture on the packet but I have only had pink. The plants I put out to harden off in spring were almost devastated by those who leave silver trails; perhaps they have favourites, like many Smartie eaters and simply left all the pink ones. I love the brash openness of these flowers each with their carnival crown of tiny yellow stars.
But no, my choice was settled on roses. Was there ever any doubt? Zephirine Drouhin has bustled to the end of her season with superb floribundance and just one stem was all I needed. It rewards me with its scent, especially here in front of the kitchen window. Opening the window to let the house take in the last breath of summer, I work with the fragrance all around me. It calls to mind a wonderful passage by Jenny Joseph in her book Led by the Nose where she describes how the scent of roses always suggests that a special event is imminent.

Just a reminder that outside my window the seasons are sliding between summer and autumn.

Saturday 4 September 2010

Over two years? Really?

Can it be that long since I first decided to try blogging? Clearly it must be. The temptation is to simply abandon this and start over again. I have notebooks full of started articles and stories and a cupboard almost full of abandoned craft and sewing projects that for one reason or another did not make it to finished status. Mistakes that could not be recovered or unpicked, lost momentum, the passing of the moment filled with the passion that fired the beginning. All of these reasons I have felt could have been responsible but most probably I simply was waiting for things to be perfect.
Call it maturity but I realise now that kind of waiting is interminable and that to reach for perfection takes working not waiting.

So on I go. I take this up and move it on. Bring to this blog where I am now, and see where it goes from here.