Tag Archives: friendship is the best form of wealth

The winter festival of mending continues!

I am in a little band, or perhaps it is an ensemble. It’s modest, and it is unlikely to ever achieve fame.  But we do rehearse.  At one rehearsal the drummer asked me if she could bring me in some knitted things that needed mending to look at.  Maybe it was my knitting in periods of waiting that made her ask.  The long backstage wait before our one significant gig to date, fro example.  I had my sock along, as you might well expect if you have been to this blog before!

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It’s my usual practice to offer to teach people to mend rather than mending things for them without debate.  But she is just so charming.  She brought her two garments in the following week and I took them home.  The first is a cardigan which looks to me like a hand spun and hand knit treasure made of relatively coarse wool by contemporary Australian standards.  It had already had some mending (above) in a couple of places, and had those signs of long wear–a cuff and hem where the entire edge is on the verge of giving way.  I wonder if the drummer knows the knitter and/or spinner? [When I returned the mended item she told me her grandmother had made it but she wasn’t sure whether her grandmother had spun the wool].

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The biggest holes were in the elbows.  Generously sized and sporting some long ladders in both directions.  Happily, the ladders are easy to fix with a crochet hook, so I picked them up, stabilised the edges of the holes and set about knitting up some patches.

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Remarkably, I had some matching wool–same colours, handspun and marled.  But not the same gauge.  She had said she was up for a visible mend, so I just went ahead and knit some patches in.

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She will now be able to wear her cardigan again, just as she said she wanted.  Next, a merino jumper.  It’s a style that is readily recognisable but a little bit complicated to match.  The complex nature of the machine knit had limited the size of the holes, so I tried for a woven mend in something pale enough not to yell out.

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Two more mends..

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And we’re done.

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And lest you think I’m only mending away from home, followed up the next week by darns to the elbows of one of my beloved’s possum wool jackets.

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These darns show a bit, but not nearly as much as her shirts were showing underneath through what remained of the elbows!

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Slippers old and new

Warning.  This post contains many images created in poor lighting conditions! Apologies in advance.

Oh dear.  A much loved and well worn pair of slippers came back to me from a friend for examination. I thought I would have matching yarn but I really didn’t.  In the end I went for visible mending of this pair and also decided to knit her a new pair. #Menditmay I thought!

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Here they are about to be returned to their owner over breakfast (in May), with big mends in the heels.  The inside sole is black so these darns will be less visible when they are being worn, perhaps!  I cast on the new pair…

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The next step was knitting a new pair.  Two pairs for different people, in the end, and two dinners with associated felting (no end to the thrills when you visit us!)  With appalling photographs to match.  This pair are a rich purple and they are on a blue background, not that it shows.

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They went to a new home with a cherished friend who has been feeling the cold terribly.  She also scored these hand warmers, knit from the remainder of a ball of Noro sock yarn some time ago and awaiting the right moment.  They look better on!

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Then, my beloved negotiated handover of a small pile of pre-loved and partially felted socks that will fit my friend better than my beloved at this stage.  Some required running repairs.

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Some were too felted for anything other than brutal patching.  No way to knit a patch in.  Can’t find any stitches to pick up! Some of these socks were knit before I really understood the kind of yarn that was suitable.  But pairs like this, made from Bendigo Woollen Mills 8 ply alpaca, were such a hit among my friends I made a lot of them anyway.

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I’ve since had an email about blue socks being worn at Pilates class and a photo of my friend’s ankle as she heads out to dinner in handspun, handknit socks!  Too good.  These are the people for whom hand knits should, indeed, be made.  And finally, the friend whose slippers I was darning at the top of the post came over and I felted her new slippers to size.  She arrived wearing hand knit socks… perfect!

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Hand spun, hand knit socks

Remember this hand spun sock yarn?

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It had a long journey toward becoming a pair of socks.  Here we are early on, on the train…

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On my way to a meeting at work.  Five minutes early, enjoying the sunshine and shrubs… knitting down the heel.

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Visiting a friend in hospital (and past the heel flap on sock 1)…

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Here we are on our way to Newcastle to blockade a coal port–second sock started.  I got a lot of knitting done during train travel and nonviolence training (for an entire day–some climate change activists don’t muck about!) and there was another knitter in the training, too!

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Then I noticed late in the life of sock 2 that sock 1 and sock 2 were a bit different.  I made some adjustments.  Finally, I went over to my friend’s house for a try on. Turns out that the stretchy factor in knitting sorts out a multitude of small spinning and knitting crimes. It’s common ground between us that if he doesn’t care, I don’t either.  Usually he goes further than not caring and is pretty pleased about the whole woollen sock thing. Fantastic attitude.

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Here he is showing customary forbearance as a sock model.  Note hand knit sock on other foot.  Come to think of it, note hand spun, hand knit jumper in use years after being dyed with eucalypt. This is the attitude to hand knits that gets you another pair of socks in my circle of beloveds!

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Crafting time: How to make trousers

The question I hear more often than anything other, about this blog or my life in general, is ‘how do you fit it all in?’  There are a lot of ways I could answer, but one of the big ones is: slowly, in many small steps.  I started this post as a way of demonstrating the point, but quite early on decided this post might be much too long, even though I left out all the days when nothing happened on this project!  This is the story of how I made enough time to make a pair of trousers.

Day 1: drop in at the public library and find David Page Coffin has written a book on making trousers.  Borrow it. In Week 1, read this book in various states of understanding and misunderstanding and failing to follow.  Feel my confidence in attempting double welt pockets begin to rise. This has been the barrier to the creation of some new summer work pants for some years now.  So this is progress!

Day 2: Iron fabric from the stash.

Day 3: Cut out.  Mostly remembering adjustments (I think) and deciding to try cutting on the fly facing.  I am surprised to find a zipper in the pattern envelope. Clearly I have had good intentions before, so long ago I can’t figure out what they were.  Black pants, I assume!

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Day 4: Choose one of my grandma’s scarves for the pocket bags.  Silk pockets!! I have looked up Clifford Bond online and found him listed alongside vintage silk scarves.  This one is vintage, certainly.  It is also stained and well loved.  To my surprise, when I ironed it, a faint waft of my beloved, stylish grandmother’s cosmetic choices wafted up, even after so many years.  The silk is beautiful quality to my way of thinking, and the hand rolled hem is exquisitely stitched.  The tiny tag says it was made in Japan.  I do not know how Merle would have come to have this scarf.  She had many, and they were a style statement of hers so well recognised she received many as gifts.

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Day 5: Read two more ways of creating  welt pockets, beginning with a lovely illustrated tutorial on Male Pattern Boldness.  The lead post was on welt pockets when I happened past his blog.  At this stage, I am beginning to feel the universe telling me to make those pants.  Well, I confess, I don’t think the universe troubles itself about me personally very much.  Really, I am experiencing recognition that I am scared of making the welt pockets, and that this is irrational.  Perhaps I should get over it and get on with it.  The blog post makes me think of an article in Threads magazine which I copied years ago and had used to create two sets of pockets with success and (relative) ease.  I dig that out and consider.  I pull out the two pairs of wool pants I made using this approach.  The pocket openings look great.  Much better than those I made using the method in the pattern–albeit in a fabric better suited to the pocket style.

Day 6: carry out an extensive search for organza, required by the Threads article method. This inspires plans for about seven other projects.  I find some organza that probably isn’t silk (silk is proposed by the authors in question).  I also find an op shopped silk scarf that leads to reconsideration of the pocket bags.  Ahem.

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Day 7: It is a weekend.  I have at least two hours.  I could sew the pockets.  Nerve fails me.  I make a soothing patchwork square.

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One turns out not to be enough (the cupboard-by-cupboard search for organza has uncovered yet more scraps, needless to say).  Well.  There’s the end of the time that could have been used to create the dreaded pockets, but some of the scraps from this pair of pants have been used up! I have also given up the chance to go to the Farmer’s Market, for good or ill.

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Day 8.  Return book on sewing trousers to the library. This should be a clue that considerable time has passed between some of the days listed here.

Day 9.  After much deferring, stitch the organza to the trouser fronts.

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Next, baste the welts together and iron ready for insertion.  Done!  Having deferred so long, it is now time to have dinner.  So, you know, a day of high trouser sewing achievement.

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Day 10: turn the facings, create the pocket mouths, pin the welts in place.

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Smoking speed, I’d say!

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I did all that before work, and then took the trouser fronts to my spinning group at Guild and stab stitched them into position while supporting a new spinner (or at least trying to be friendly–she is lovely); listening to several conversations; debriefing someone about a recent difficult situation; fielding jokes about how I would spin this when I was finished and responding to queries about my embroidery (yes, stitching the pocket welts in).  These pictures are a bit watching-paint-dry, I think.  Apologies.  And here ends the first ten days, with the pockets almost finished…

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Day 11: Day 11 was, for once, the next day after day 10.  Not spaced out by a week or so as some have been.  I machine stitched the welts into position and problem solved my pocket bags, the part of this method that seems to me a bit problematic.  Because I’ve done it before and washed and worn many times, I understand that nothing catastrophic happens despite my worries.  Finally, the part that has been really putting me off, the welt pockets, is done.  The pockets are imperfect but this is to be expected (I made them) they are pockets (hooray, pants without pockets are not for me) and they will not attract attention from passersby (imperfect but not astonishingly awful).  Now I only have to manage the fly and much of the rest will be plain sailing, sewing wise.  I hope.  I make a start on the fly facing.

Day 12: The next day.  I decide against going out in the evening for no really good reason and instead have a lovely chat with friends who give me eggs and cake as well as the pleasure of their company, and insert most of the fly for good measure before bed.

Day 13: I am on a roll!  Finish zipper insertion before work.  Come across some bias binding I made from ties and select some I might use on the hems for fun.

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Day 14: it’s a long weekend.  Stitch the darts, stitch the main seams, figure out what to do about interfacing (cut pieces from a recycled black linen shirt sleeve.  Stitch to pattern pieces. Realise later that this would mean lots of stitching showing on the main pattern pieces. Decide I can live with it).  Decide to finish the waist facing with more recycled tie bias binding.  Stitch one side on with the machine, then hand stitch the inside edge into position in front of the TV.  This looks really neat and lovely, so it’s a shame about my interfacing stitching being so random. As you can see.

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Day 15: Stitch on the waist facing.  Tack some seams so I can find my way through making the front edges look good.  Machine a buttonhole into the fly facing so there can be a button on the inside top edge–thank you to Page Coffin’s book.  Hand stitch on a small button for it.  Hand stitch on a hook and slide.  Create the belt loops.  Fail to find the loop turner.  I love that thing.  Room to room search.  No joy. Much time passes, I clean some drawers out, eventually turn belt loops without the loop turner.

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Day 16: Stitch belt loops in place; try on (they are roomy and will require a belt!  Better than being too small which was my concern)…

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Take up hems with tie bias binding and use a quilt binding trick to do this in the neatest way I have ever managed.  Feel so proud I have learned something. Rip out the tacking holding the welts together so Merle’s scarf can peep out.  DONE!

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I love the hem finish on these.  I have done this before and enjoyed looking at this tiny, loving detail at odd moments while wearing them, for years.  Here’s hoping this pair will have a long and cheerful life in my work wardrobe.

 

 

 

 

 

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Just mend it: Getting started

In preparation for the upcoming mending workshops, I’ve created a directory of mending tutorials.  I’ve also been beetling away creating mending kits. Friends have been handing over their spare unwanted haberdashery and tins.  I have raided local op shops.  At one of them I was offered a motherlode of  unwanted notions that were seeking a new home. Here’s a partial view.

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Such treasures.  Including a lifetime’s collection of travelling mending kits from hotels and airlines the like of which I have never seen.  Now, it is going to new homes. I’ve even sewed little covers for thread snips from lino samples I seem to somehow have acquired.

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There are pincushions and measuring tapes, thimbles and safety pins and many reels of thread.  Amazing collections of needles, pins and such.

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The creation of the needle case gallery has been ongoing. Scraps of fabric with a lovely button and all manner of little bits of ribbon, string and cord I have saved for a special occasion (or just a use) have been converted into needle books.

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Lovely little bits of hand embroidery on fabric that has gone well past original use, now adorn a few.  Beautiful Australian print remnants have been  turned to use too.  Some have buttonholes and some have loop closures. Some are plant dyed and some are tied with cord too short to form a drawstring on a bag.

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I am very fond of my own needle case, so eventually I made some just like it.  Well, sort of like it. We started here (mine on the left, and pieces of dyed blanket on the right).

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Eventually, there were about eight.  I stitched at triathlons and in front of the TV and on the train.  I finished some with fancy buttons, beads or little bells saved from Easter bunnies.  I tied some with cotton string that has also seen the dye bath, and others with some hand twined silk string, with a thankyou to India Flint for allowing me to see this was possible and that string was not only to be made from plants.  I was thinking about the fact that I had saved all these improbable things, while others had been handed on to me by relatives and friends with similar habits–

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It brought to mind my mother’s parents, two people who lived in poverty their entire lives, scaling up to indoor plumbing and heated water during my lifetime.  My grandfather left countless pieces of recycled string, pre-loved screws and straightened out nails when he died. My grandmother had a drawer where special treasures lived that I was allowed to admire as a child.   There was a special safety pin in there she used to pierce a hole in the filter of her rare cigarettes for some supposed health reason.  There was also a little black cat made of plastic.  I knew it had come from a box of Black Magic chocolates.  I had seen the boxes for sale but never had any.  Like her, I thought this little creature was a treasure worth saving when the cardboard box and the rather amazing papers surrounding each chocolate might have passed on.

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My life is utterly unlike Millie’s.  But it is good to have things in common with her. It warms me to carry these memories of her along and hold them in my mind as I craft these little books for future menders who will share some fraction of the skills she had.

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Walnut, weld and purple fountain grass

I went out to help with the local organic food co-op recently and came home with walnuts from the local food forest produce swap, with the nuts soon ready for eating and the hulls ready for dyeing:

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In the bucket, ready for their three week soak/fermentation:

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Post soaking and ready for the heat:

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With the application of heat, the dye bath grew darker still.  So in went my remaining suffolk fleece. It was with deep relief that I assessed the (acceptable though not delectable) smell of the dye bath.  It was a walnut dye bath that almost had me excommunicated from my Guild for cooking it up in the dye room when the Little Glory Gallery was open.  Ahem!

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Here is weld growing in the vegie patch:

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One of my plants wilted and fell over for no obvious reason, so I cut it out and set it to dry. I wondered if something has nibbled on its roots from below ground. Some days later I went out and found that the rest of the plant had died.  This time it is obvious that the main root has been chewed on or rotted away.  Curious.  I followed Jenny Dean’s instructions (more or less…) and due to lack of time, left the dye bath to sit for some days.

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Mum saved me her purple fountain grass–a whole wheelbarrow load.  I saw a post on Ravelry where a lovely green came from this plant just about when she was planning to cut hers back.  This was exciting!  For me, however–it gave only a fawn colour.  Sadly!

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Here is the walnut dye on the left and the fountain grass on the right.  It is a little more yellow-brown in life, but nothing exciting.  It went into the walnut exhaust.

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I now have two shades of brown Suffolk and some weld-yellow crossbred fleece ready to join a future colour knitting project.  May the rinsing begin!

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Socks, some more, again, still

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These socks arose from my holiday gift of sock yarn.  Here I am casting on, on the train.

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Clearly I didn’t consider sock in progress shots too often.  This one seems to be another train shot on a sunny day.  The design is Jaywalker, by Grumperina.  One of the designs I can hold in my tiny mind even on public transport.

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And here they are, done and ready to be rolled, tied and delivered to their new owner, a dear friend who I think will enjoy them… the next pair have been cast on from the handspun sock yarn I’ve made recently.  I have had them with me on busy public transport a few times already and in between the people who are surprised to find that anyone can still knit, there was an eye-and-gesture-conversation with some tourists who seemed to be Chinese and who were clearly intrigued, and another conversation with an out of practice knitter who had never seen socks knit on two circulars and who had been planing to cast on a tea cosy for some years without actually managing to do it.  So, my friends, if you are unable to start conversations on public transport, I have a strategy for you…

 

 

 

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Harvest

There is a very large patch of dyers’ chamomile beside the Torrens River in a public park in the city.  I was going that way recently and decided I would deadhead the chamomile.  So I packed my secateurs and bags when I was headed that way again (en route to a day at WOMAD with friends) and took a detour. The summer has not been kind to this patch and some of it has turned black.  But there is so much of it, there was no way I could cut all the dead flowers.

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I had a lot of company.  Regular ducks and maned wood ducks and a coot and a top knot pigeon and some moor hens came to chat.  Most departed when I didn’t offer any morning tea.

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This young one was persistent, chatting on to me as I worked away.  Eventually quite a few of its relatives came along to make sure everything was OK and watch carefully from the other side of the path.

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I kept snipping out dead flowers as passersby stared or ignored me or hurried past in case my strangeness was contagious, and maintained a bit of a conversation with the young moorhen. Next day I had this to set out to dry in the heat.

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I can feel future dye baths coming on.  It has been a great summer of harvest.  We have had so many cucumbers!

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The rhubarb kept coming even though the summer has been hard on it.

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I have been out in the neighbourhood collecting saltbush seed.

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I even found a new kind of saltbush that the council has planted a little way away from my house.

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Friends had an open garden where they sold plants for an excellent cause.  I donated my collection of divided succulents, and they all sold.

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In March, we continued to enjoy local strawberries and bought the big box of seconds for the sheer delight of them.

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And now autumn has begun, the quince harvest has come in too, lest the possums eat them all… and the new season’s harvest is begun already.

 

 

 

 

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So many hand made bags!

When I turned that pair of Thai fishing pants into bag linings a while back… it had the predictable effect of setting off a bag jag. Since then, there have been dozens more.  In fact, I gave some away without ever photographing them.  I lost count.  One had a silk panel of E Cinerea leaves and a hemp base, with purple sheeting lining.

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A few had ikat fabrics salvaged from the op shop.

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There were fabrics from my friend’s mother’s stash.  Her mother has now passed on, but I think she would be pleased to know they were being used and appreciated.  There were fabrics from my stash acquired with other purposes in mind, or perhaps no purpose at all.  Those red flowers mystify me.

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E Cinerea leaves on calico and hemp fabric left over from making a pair of shorts.

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Bags with dragonflies.

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Bags with flowers. I remember acquiring this fabric in Melbourne! There are two-handled models and over-the-shoulder models.

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On the lining front, I used up a lot of manufacturers’ waste sheeting offcuts, and not before time (having had them for perhaps 20 years).  But scraps from recent sewing went into the mix too, along with random findings of patch-worked flour-bag-scraps.  Apparently this strange fixation with sewing little bits together has been going on longer than I imagine.

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There was a series of bags made with fat quarters (at least, I think that’s what they were) acquired when I made a quilt panel for a community quilt project.

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I still love these fabrics, and a friend let me see hers peeping out of her backpack on the bus to work recently.  It evaded photography apparently–and I see these are also lined with Thai fishing pant fabrics!

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But honestly, linings both fugly and lovely (to my eye) have been created.  Some fugly fabrics became lovely linings.

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Somewhat faded batiks from a garage sale.

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Screenprints of a cockatoo, from the same garage sale!  One of was destined for a friend whose taste is deliriously nineteen eighties even now, bless her. She loves it.

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Oh my.  Well, that was a major incursion into the stash.  Lots of bags were gifted over afternoon tea with a clutch of friends, which was great fun (I like it when people can choose what they really like and will use).  Then more at another celebratory lunch with a different bunch of friends. Others have been stuffed with handspun wool and handed to a friend undergoing horrible cancer treatment who still finds knitting a pleasure; stuffed with yarn for a knitting obsessive who is excited about my most outrageously strange yarns; wrapped around an awkwardly shaped birthday gift for another treasure in my life; and taken home full of clothes by my daughter instead of her using some random plastic bag.  Some have been handed to people who seem like especially strong candidates for some sentimental reason or because of a sense of taste or the sheer wish to give a gift.

As I neared the finish line and my puff started to recede, I realised I had a hessian potato sack with a hole in it awaiting attention.  Converted to a bag, mended and embellished all in one step! Then I tidied up remaining scraps by making the final two bags and called it the end of this particular bag jag.  A pile of bags has gone to Port Augusta to be shared with Adnyamathanha women through her work.  And there’s an end of it, until next time!

 

 

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Adventures at Mount George

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Recently I was invited for a walk and blackberry picking at Mount George with dear friends.  We began by going past the ‘fairy’ homes.

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Clearly some small people have had a lot of fun here.  There were even letters for the fairy folk.

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Then we were passing through the creek where the blackberries ramble.  They are an awful pest in Australia, intentionally introduced initially (and still a source of free food) and then spread by every bird and beast, by water and trouser cuff and so on.

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I have many happy childhood memories of searching for free food of various sorts.  Clearly my parents had special talents in this area!  We picked many blackberries along the banks of the Yarra when we lived in outer Melbourne and there was a suburban block sized bramble at the end of our street, where Melbourne then ended.  And since then, in so many national parks and otherwise beautiful spots.  They are delicious but horribly invasive.

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Then, off up the mount to a favourite picnic spot of my friends’ in a rock formation.  I found evidence of other spinners at work.

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Right at the top, some austral indigo (indigofera australis) which I did not realise was native to our state.  And a spectacular picnic!

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Then on the way back, a stand of St John’s wort.  I picked a big bunch, and probably should have done the bush a favour and taken it all.

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It was a week of time poverty, so after some days in the fridge, I decided it was now or never and bundled up my St John’s wort, wrapping some thread in with the fabric for later use.

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On a whim, I put dried prunus leaves in the bath, and then began some days of cycling between slow cooking and wrapping in my trusty dog blanket in time with my schedule of many other things to do.  I am delighted to say that I think I really learned something from India about dyeing with this kind of plant, at Mansfield.  Where once I was experiencing an awful lot of mystery, now I’m able to apply a little knowledge and judgment–even if cramped a bit by other commitments.  With understanding, I find I can often manage those to my advantage.

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When I finally unbundled, there was some lovely purple and green.  The prunus bath was less exciting and quite brown (not a bad effect, but not purple either).  I decided to replenish the leaves and go again with some alum mordanted wool and see what happened.

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My hurried bundle has left a landscape of wrinkles and plant prints on some parts of the fabric.  I think I can have some fun times sewing this into something snug for winter…

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