When you grow up in the Hebrides among your tough Harris Tweed-clad menfolk and the smell of wet tweed and feel of rough wool is as familiar to you as your own skin you have permission to mess with it.
The ancient coming together of our island sheep wool in woven and knitted form is an eternal delight for the senses.
In tiny stone homes folk carded the wool and spun it making threads that bound communities of hand knitters and weavers in industry and clothed, as it turned out, the world.
Slamming Harris Tweed fabric up against Harris wool or any other pure wool feels natural.
To be wild with it; to let the ragged edges show, bare, to cut it imperfectly, to cherish tiny pieces of fibres and let them sing a different tune feels like an evolution of our Hebridean spirit.
As an indigenous Hebridean woman taught a traditional craft of our people, playing with our natural fibres makes my heart sing.
Hello Autumn you beautiful harvest season of misty mornings, long nights and mellow fruitfulness. We surrender to crisp leaves crackling underfoot, the zing of cold air sharp in our lungs and the soothing, cosseting bliss of wrapping ourselves in layers upon layers of natural, hand knitted wool, silk, cashmere, alpaca . . .
The wind is howling, the rain is lashing our faces. Suddenly it is dark when last week it was light. Sunless days have arrived with Autumn. And we love it. The fire is lit and tended with care. Wool blankets and downy quilts warm our bodies while good company and laughter warm our hearts. Mellow …
Summer in the Outer Hebrides. The sun uplifts us, we’re early to rise and feeling wise. Adventures beckon in the wind gusting off the sea. Sparkles of salt spray drench our smiles. We splash in the cold water and run through the marram grass and red clover, the wild carrot bearing its crowns of seeds …
As familiar as skin: Harris Tweed
When you grow up in the Hebrides among your tough Harris Tweed-clad menfolk and the smell of wet tweed and feel of rough wool is as familiar to you as your own skin you have permission to mess with it.
The ancient coming together of our island sheep wool in woven and knitted form is an eternal delight for the senses.
In tiny stone homes folk carded the wool and spun it making threads that bound communities of hand knitters and weavers in industry and clothed, as it turned out, the world.
Slamming Harris Tweed fabric up against Harris wool or any other pure wool feels natural.
To be wild with it; to let the ragged edges show, bare, to cut it imperfectly, to cherish tiny pieces of fibres and let them sing a different tune feels like an evolution of our Hebridean spirit.
As an indigenous Hebridean woman taught a traditional craft of our people, playing with our natural fibres makes my heart sing.
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Autumn feelings
Hello Autumn you beautiful harvest season of misty mornings, long nights and mellow fruitfulness. We surrender to crisp leaves crackling underfoot, the zing of cold air sharp in our lungs and the soothing, cosseting bliss of wrapping ourselves in layers upon layers of natural, hand knitted wool, silk, cashmere, alpaca . . .
Darkness descends, Autumn
The wind is howling, the rain is lashing our faces. Suddenly it is dark when last week it was light. Sunless days have arrived with Autumn. And we love it. The fire is lit and tended with care. Wool blankets and downy quilts warm our bodies while good company and laughter warm our hearts. Mellow …
Summer: long days of languid daydreaming
Summer in the Outer Hebrides. The sun uplifts us, we’re early to rise and feeling wise. Adventures beckon in the wind gusting off the sea. Sparkles of salt spray drench our smiles. We splash in the cold water and run through the marram grass and red clover, the wild carrot bearing its crowns of seeds …