“And a bird overhead sang Follow, And a bird to the right sang Here; And the arch of the leaves was hollow, And the meaning of May was clear.” ~Algernon Charles Swinburne~
The dawn chorus of robin and song thrush, blackbird and wren. The sweet scent of gorse on the breeze. The clear blue of wild bluebells and a curlew striding gangly-legged through a machair field. These days are new and bright, sun shines through the clouds as celandine yellow flowers push up through the rough grass and nature all around us sings a song promising new opportunities for laughter and good times.
Pure, organic, cotton dusky blue gauntlets in Jane Austen-style, a touch of Bridgerton powder blue bamboo tape yarn picot edged cuffs. A glorious mess of watercolour green yellow, cream and muted gold in a Springtime wrap with tiny pom pom edging. A panel of William Morris Periwinkle floral fabric sewn on a simple sleeveless top in alpaca and wool. A sandy-beach beige Shetland wool neck cuff with dragon\s tooth edging. An embroidered Great Tit garden bird emblazoned on a soft, chalky blue bodice, edged with a grey embellished trim hand sewn in place.
A bumblebee buzzes at last in the dandelions and the sound makes us happy. The lambs are getting bigger, their baas louder. The waves roll in and out of the bay and we are here, just here, feeling at one with it all. Thank you.
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 …
Short days, wild winds, stormy seas. The glory of winter darkness hibernation, wrapping ourselves in cosy woollens, swaddling our spirits in the gestation time, quietening our minds, listening with stillness to the sounds of nature. Here we are in the deep mid-Winter with arrows pointing back to Autumn and forwards to Spring in the eternal …
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 …
Spring: dawn chorus makes our hearts sing
“And a bird overhead sang Follow,
And a bird to the right sang Here;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow,
And the meaning of May was clear.”
~Algernon Charles Swinburne~
The dawn chorus of robin and song thrush, blackbird and wren. The sweet scent of gorse on the breeze. The clear blue of wild bluebells and a curlew striding gangly-legged through a machair field. These days are new and bright, sun shines through the clouds as celandine yellow flowers push up through the rough grass and nature all around us sings a song promising new opportunities for laughter and good times.
Pure, organic, cotton dusky blue gauntlets in Jane Austen-style, a touch of Bridgerton powder blue bamboo tape yarn picot edged cuffs. A glorious mess of watercolour green yellow, cream and muted gold in a Springtime wrap with tiny pom pom edging. A panel of William Morris Periwinkle floral fabric sewn on a simple sleeveless top in alpaca and wool. A sandy-beach beige Shetland wool neck cuff with dragon\s tooth edging. An embroidered Great Tit garden bird emblazoned on a soft, chalky blue bodice, edged with a grey embellished trim hand sewn in place.
A bumblebee buzzes at last in the dandelions and the sound makes us happy. The lambs are getting bigger, their baas louder. The waves roll in and out of the bay and we are here, just here, feeling at one with it all. Thank you.
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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 …
Winter: potent hibernation
Short days, wild winds, stormy seas. The glory of winter darkness hibernation, wrapping ourselves in cosy woollens, swaddling our spirits in the gestation time, quietening our minds, listening with stillness to the sounds of nature. Here we are in the deep mid-Winter with arrows pointing back to Autumn and forwards to Spring in the eternal …
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 …