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Wearable garden

(original post August 26 2008)

When I tuck sprigs of herbs like lavender, rosemary, Australian bushmint, southernwood into the cuffs of my socks, I am wearing my garden.

As is the person who puts a flower behind her ear or a flower into his buttonhole.

As are children making dandelion chains as a necklace or bracelet or anklet.

So too is the farmer with a length of wheat between his teeth.

At times I have knit scented plants into an object.

This is a living wearable garden.  I started with a circle of clear plastic, folded it to make a pocket, made holes with a paper punch, secured the receptacle with some hemp, attached it to a Greek braid hemp cord, put in some dirt....planted a seed or more.

It's been an ongoing adventure over many weeks, trying new things, waiting on the growth.

This is a close up of a sunflower seed a few days old.  I put some flax seeds on the left but they don't seem to like the conditions.

(PS  A day or so later those teeny seeds are sprouting!)

This was an earlier garden;  moss and rocks and a bit of earth was a pleasure to wear.

A  vine growing out of the pocket seemed appealing so a scarlet runner bean got planted and this is it in its earliest stage.  This was back in March when the soil in the garden outside seemed awfully cold so I put some fleece as the growing medium as well.  The bean did grow up and out but its size was limited, obviously.

Has anyone experience with this, or can suggest what else could be planted? 

Glove Gone Missing: About A Cat, of Course.

GLOVE GONE MISSING

re post

Such a lovely warm and sunny day inspired the washing of all the winter gloves and mitts and hanging them on chairs and tables on the deck, the clothesline already being full with towels and such.  It wasn't until I returned from my after- dinner walk that I remembered to gather them up and bring them indoors.  One glove was missing.  The purple one.  Of  the favourite pair.  I knew who the likely culprit was.  So I trotted next door and inquired if the gorgeous orange cat had been up to his old trick of relocating any wool he found on my property to his.  Apparently not.  A small wooden birdhouse was his latest acquisition but I told him he was welcome to this if he would bring me back my glove.  A few minutes later the two ladies of his household were at my front door with the glove.  They had checked the back porch and there it was.  He was with them and paraded about with that nonchalance that cats have perfectly perfected.  After I came indoors with the glove  I got to wondering what he was thinking as he came onto the deck, chose this particular glove from many, carried it away.  Was it some pure instinct of ownership. I don't think so.  Anyone who has given themself up to the pleasure of a cat knows that they do think, that they do not just react.  I imagine he sauntered up when he knew I had left the premises, surveyed the wealth of woolies, perhaps leapt onto the table and walked among them before he chose the purple one which had been hanging with its mate on the back of a chair.  He must have transported it with care for it was clean and unmarked.  And he left in on the porch of his home, did not take it indoors.  I wonder what he was thinking.  Once, while sitting at the computer, I saw his orange head suddenly peek around the door of the sunroom at me, and when he saw that I had noticed him he made a dash for the basket of wool at the end of the sunroom, grabbed a ball, and ran madly toward the door.  I played the game, of course, and gave chase.  He dropped the ball on the steps and made his getaway.  Then he  stopped on the sidewalk and gave some serious attention to a front paw paying my laughter  not the slightest notice.

Posted on February 13, 2014 at 07:03 AM | Permalink

re post

Such a lovely warm and sunny day inspired the washing of all the winter gloves and mitts and hanging them on chairs and tables on the deck, the clothesline already being full with towels and such.  It wasn't until I returned from my after- dinner walk that I remembered to gather them up and bring them indoors.  One glove was missing.  The purple one.  Of  the favourite pair.  I knew who the likely culprit was.  So I trotted next door and inquired if the gorgeous orange cat had been up to his old trick of relocating any wool he found on my property to his.  Apparently not.  A small wooden birdhouse was his latest acquisition but I told him he was welcome to this if he would bring me back my glove.  A few minutes later the two ladies of his household were at my front door with the glove.  They had checked the back porch and there it was.  He was with them and paraded about with that nonchalance that cats have perfectly perfected.  After I came indoors with the glove  I got to wondering what he was thinking as he came onto the deck, chose this particular glove from many, carried it away.  Was it some pure instinct of ownership. I don't think so.  Anyone who has given themself up to the pleasure of a cat knows that they do think, that they do not just react.  I imagine he sauntered up when he knew I had left the premises, surveyed the wealth of woolies, perhaps leapt onto the table and walked among them before he chose the purple one which had been hanging with its mate on the back of a chair.  He must have transported it with care for it was clean and unmarked.  And he left in on the porch of his home, did not take it indoors.  I wonder what he was thinking.  Once, while sitting at the computer, I saw his orange head suddenly peek around the door of the sunroom at me, and when he saw that I had noticed him he made a dash for the basket of wool at the end of the sunroom, grabbed a ball, and ran madly toward the door.  I played the game, of course, and gave chase.  He dropped the ball on the steps and made his getaway.  Then he  stopped on the sidewalk and gave some serious attention to a front paw paying my laughter  not the slightest notice.

What happens when you knit with elastic bands.....!!!!

(re-post from 6/19/2008)

These bits and pieces on the floor had me looking this way and that to see what had caused them - and then I looked up......

This is the moebius cowl I knit last autumn using elastic bands as the yarn, wondering what it would be like to knit with elastic bands, wondering what the item would be like.  It was an adventure and a challenge. Slow knitting, knitting with awareness, focusing on each stitch because elastic is so - well, gripping! 

  I started out knitting wristbands for dearly loved family members who shall not be named here but one of whom told me their cat ate the wristband. A little more tone of regret when that piece of information was shared would have been welcomed.  Okay, I was amused as well. 

The cowl pleases me - it has substance and movement of its own when worn; it is more wearable art than an everyday accessory so it hangs on the wall. Then I noticed the 'sheddings' and looked more closely at the cowl.
Wow.  Can you see how it is disintegrating?  Click on the photo to enlarge it.  I find that fascinating. It wasn't in sun which I would have expected to break down elastic with its light and heat; it was (still is!) in the path of the wind through the house so I guess it is drying out.  Neat.  It will be on view in the Fernwood Art Stroll  this weekend and then hung back on the doorway where the breeze trots by when I open doors and windows.  I look forward to watching further happenings.

Nostepinne

(re-post from November 20 2008)

An illustration in a book was my first introduction to a nostepinne;  I understood that it was a means of handwinding  wool into a ball  but the fact of it being a center-pull ball escaped me and I had no idea how it was done;  I thought it was pronounced nos - ta - pine and only much later discovered it is nosta-pinney.  Time tends to fill in the blanks in life so eventually I learned how it was used.

 Awhile ago I was standing in a church thrift shop with the middle item in the photo in my hand, staring at it and likely grinning.  A woman approached and said,  "Are you planning on making breakfast, then?"  in that delightful accent that almost had me answering, "Oh, in  a wee while," except I had no idea what she was talking about.  "Isn't this a nostepinne?"  I asked and then she looked totally confused.  "It's for stirring your porridge,"she told me.  "I thought it was for stirring - I mean winding - wool," I replied and she smiled at me - a bit nervously, I thought -  and walked away.
Well, it 'stirs' wool into very nice balls. 

Here is what it looks like in the final stages of winding.  

It's not hard to do;  google and choose from a wealth of information about methods and history etc.

Since an oatmeal porridge stirrer can make a fine nostepinne I assume almost anything with a tapered end could be used.  The tool on the left is meant to strain fruit for jelly, isn't it?  The pestle on the right works also but it a bit fiddly;  the simpler the nostepinne, at least at its operational end, the better.

I tried winding some fine golden mohair on a chopstick to see if I could make tiny balls that might be used in greeting card making or perhaps jewellery and I think it could give a satisfactory product with some practice but I ran out of patience.

Knitting : Bushtit nest.

Bushtits were not part of  my bird life in Ontario;  I made their acquaintance when I moved to the west coast.  Tiny and egg-shaped, when they cover a piece of hanging suet they resemble a bunch of grapes - moving grapes!

The first bushtit nest I saw I thought was  an old sock hanging in a tree.  Learning that the nest is woven from moss and lichen and plant material - and spider webs! - and the passageway from the hole at the top to the 'nursery' at the bottom is lined with fur and feathers and fluff I was astonished and fascinated.  I wanted to honour such an   incredible structure so I knit this humbly-human one.  It is a mixture of fibres with white mohair used to represent the spider webs. 

When I took it out on the deck to photograph it for this posting, and the bushtits were on the suet feeder, I hoped they were honoured but I suspect they were giggling.