Friday, January 20, 2017

when the wind blows

I'm sitting on the daybed in our studio looking out the window at the wind blowing through the enormous eucalypts and blackwoods and the leaves flying off them and fluttering to the ground. It's summer but it's cold. I'm warm inside but I'm unsettled.

A lot has happened over the past week. We cleaned out my grandparents' apartment and I was shocked to discover that without their presence their possessions and their spaces weren't special anymore. Glass jugs that had been filled with the most incredibly delicious mixtures of ginger-ale, pineapple juice and soda water every Friday night of my childhood, were now the same sort of glass jugs that line the walls of so many op shops. Their king sized bed which had always seemed so grand and luxurious, looked cold and uninviting. Their cupboards that were once filled with items my grandmother would reach inside for to look after us and make us feel special, were now filled with things we didn't want or need.  It made me feel so sad. 

I do have a few objects from their home that now sit and hang in my home and carry memories and feelings of their lives and the people they were and my enormous love for them, but without them the sparkle has rubbed off.


Last Sunday we drove to the beach for a few days. As farmers and as forest dwellers, we never feel comfortable leaving our farm in summer when everything is growing quickly and there is a risk of bushfire. This year, however, with the cooler than average temperatures and the higher than average rainfall, we felt safe to take a little break.

And it was lovely to get away from the chores and the endless lists, it was gorgeous to spend some time with Bren's parents, it was fun to stroll along the sand and swim at the beach and it was idyllic to have big chunks of time to play board games with the girls, read books, look in shops and just talk.


The first night we were at the beach we watched Grand Designs and I knitted. The second night we were there we went to the movies to see La la Land which Jazzy and I loved but Bren and Pepper didn't think much of. And the third night they went to see the new Star Wars and I read an entire book in bed. Uninterrupted. Such a luxury.


While we were away I finished reading William Faulkner's As I lay Dying which is one of Indi's VCE English books for this year. To be honest I found it quite difficult and often found myself reading bits over and over to work out what was going on. It did get easier and more understandable as it went on and I got used to the language and found some of the narrators more articulate than others, but still it wasn't what I would call an enjoyable read.

In the few days since I read it I have found myself thinking about it and wondering about what it would be like to study it.

Then the night they were all out I read Elspeth Muir's Wasted. I feel like this was a really raw, brave and beautifully written book. Bren says that whenever I read non fiction I become obsessed with the topic for ages afterwards. I guess I'll never look at bunches of smashed twenty-something-year olds standing outside pubs, or supermarket-sized bottle shops along the highways, or any alcohol fuelled violence in quite the same way again.

Elspeth's insight is heart-breaking and way too close to home. In the early hours of the morning, as I was lying awake reading the last few pages of her book, my sister Emily was scrambling under furniture, fearing for her and her friends' lives, as two men who were denied entry to the pub they were in for being too drunk, proceeded to get violent and aggressive, and ended up waving a gun around threatening staff and patrons before fleeing in a taxi.

I felt sick as I read most of the book, and then distraught about how easily my sister, who witnessed an act of drunk violence, could have been killed or injured. Terrible.

An article about the incident from The Age.

And then I started A Long Way From Verona. My mum gave it to me because she thought I'd like it. So far it's slow and old fashioned and sweet. Perfect.



When we arrived home from the beach we were so excited to find that our cucumbers have finally started fruiting. So far it's only one a day but I do remember from last year that a trickle very quickly becomes a stream. A trickle means cucumbers in sandwiches and salads, and a stream means jars of pickled cucumbers bubbling away on the bench, and then sealed in the fridge. I cannot wait.

We've also been enjoying the last of the strawberries and all sorts of other currants and berries in our cereal and as snacks.


We've also been having a lot of conversations about separating the feeling of failure from that of disappointment. It's been a strange growing season. We didn't really have dry, still spring days for the orchards to blossom and the bees to fly and so the fruit set wasn't great. And then when there was a continuous cycle of warm and then wet days, the mould took over and black spot set in. As 16 year apple growers we've experienced more than our fair share of set backs and crappy crops, but this year felt like it was shaping up to be a great one and now that it's not we're finding the balance between blaming the season and Mother Nature and taking it personally, very challenging.

And while we have grown and are still growing beautiful veggies this season, there are others that still shatter our confidence as farmers. That tee-pee covered in scarlet runner beans in the photos above, so far has just eight beans on it. (Actually only seven since lunch this afternoon). The vine has grown and woven its way up healthily, it has flowered beautifully, we've seen masses of bees visiting,  it's been irrigated and weeded, and yet for some reason the blossoms are breaking off before they set fruit.

Like I said, we're trying to remain disappointed without allowing ourselves to feel like we've failed.

Fingers crossed that those red flowers that are still there, will produce so many beans we'll have more than enough to eat and store. Or at least eight more.






And in amongst all of that there's been a lot of talk about what we really believe in and what we really want to do with our lives. There's been listening to the Start Up podcast, and watching all of the This is Us episodes. I bought jeans finally, I'm still knitting Bren's birthday socks, I'm trying to work out how to use Lightroom and I have plans to sew up a dress. And starting next week we'll be working through a very long back to school list, while at the same time trying to enjoy the last week of the summer holidays, please wish us luck.

And I guess that's me, a bit unsettled, asking all the hard questions, over emotional and trying to finish this off quickly so I can cut into some fabric and get my sewing machine out. It's been far too long.

So how about you? What are you wearing, or wondering about, or working on?

I hope you have a gorgeous weekend.

Love Kate xx


ps my heart is with you Melbourne

Friday, January 13, 2017

birthday blog

Hello lovelies,

Happy Friday! How's your week been? How's your weekend looking?

Thank you so much for your care for the girl in the forest post. As the days have gone by her place in our story and in our lives has settled somewhat. The other day though out of nowhere I grew desperate for some details and quizzed Bren about what shoes she was wearing - lace up black boots, what colour and how long her hair was - black long bob, and what she had screamed for the most - her boyfriend. 

It's strange to be so connected to someone else in their time of complete distress, for such a short but intense time, and then to have nothing to do with them ever again. But I guess her story is now part of our story and we'll think of her at different times and hope for the best for her. I daresay we'll look at the forest a bit differently now when we drive through it. We'll probably look for lost girls and imagine how it would feel to be out there lost and alone.


What I really want to talk about today is farmer Bren's birthday last Saturday.

When I first started blogging, birthdays were blog gold. There was the planning stage, the invitations, the food, the presents and the party. So many creative opportunities. So much to photograph and say. So much fun! My girls love looking back at those posts and remembering their childhood celebrations. 


My farmer boy was born at the start of January which is right in the middle of the summer school holidays. Growing up he never had birthday parties because all his friends would be away. Since I've known him every year I've come up with a long list of fancy ways we could celebrate him but every year he chooses the simple. And every year we all agree that his way of celebrating is the best.

We started the day off with a huge stack of crepes, and plates full of all the summer fruit, and cups of strong coffee.

We sang, he read out his cards, he opened his presents and we all made a big fuss over him.

Then we went outside and sang for him while he played To Her Door over and over and over until he nailed it. 


Then he carved a birthday spoon out of apple wood. 

What fun to spend an entire day doing the things that make you happy.


While he was axing and carving and cutting, I wound the yarn for his birthday socks and knitted the toes.

After a little lunch, we wandered down to the windmill dam for a swim.

During the week while we had watched the weather forecast for his birthday get hotter and hotter it had occurred to our boy that he'd love to spend the day at the beach. When that wasn't going to work out he decided to bring the beach to him.

The day before his birthday he mowed and cleared a section of bank of the dam. He put some old tarps down and lay some fine gravel over the top. Very early on the morning of his birthday he had a truck of sand delivered. He smoothed it out and voila! Bren's birthday beach!

We found some old air mattresses and a yabby net in the caravan and in between swims and floats, the girls used a bit of sausage to catch the nippy critters.



They discussed the anatomy of each one, they gave them names and then they raced them.

The highlight of the afternoon was when Bob junior beat Bob senior in the grand final race. The worst part was watching in horror as Sheila ate Pepper's prize frog!

All the yabbies were let go at the end of the races and no animals were hurt at all apart from that poor little frog.

As evening fell we came back inside and watched Pete's Dragon together. We ate pasta with pesto, ice cream cake and toasted our boy with mugs full of ginger beer.

He's pretty awesome our boy and it's such a treat to celebrate him.

Happy birthday Farmer Bren!

We love you to bits.

x

So I was just wondering, if you could spend a whole day doing the things that bring you the most joy, what would they be?

I think mine would involve coffee and a few chapters of a good book in bed, lots of knitting, time together in the garden, a family movie that would make me cry, a salad with crunchy noodles, fruit salad and yogurt and a fancy cocktail or two.


Hope your weekend is ace!

Love! Love!





Wednesday, January 11, 2017

the girl in the forest


Late last Sunday afternoon Indi was away camping, Jazzy was up at the house, and Pepper, Bren and I were hanging out by the windmill dam. It was the end of a stinking hot, dry day and just sitting by the water's edge, listening to it gently lapping at the sandy shore, was soothing my frazzled brain and cooling me right down.

Pepper was floating out in the middle of the dam and Bren and I were chatting about something or other, or nothing, when one of us noticed that our dogs at the top of the hill were barking more than usual. At first we dismissed it and kept talking. But when it didn't stop and we listened closer, we heard another sound in amongst the barking. Bren thought it might have been the peacock that has recently made our garage roof its residence, I thought it might have been someone walking past on a forest track, or perhaps it might have even been a car coming up from our back gate.

But the barking continued and we still couldn't identify the other noise.

So Bren got in his car and drove up to the top of the hill to check it all out. By the time he got there the dogs had calmed down a bit but he could still hear shouting coming from somewhere in the forest and although he couldn't work out what it was about, something didn't feel right. So he went inside the house, put boots and socks on, grabbed his phone, some water and the first aid kit and drove out into the forest to look around.

Meanwhile Pepper and I were still down by the dam when the noise we'd heard amid the barking, suddenly became a very distinct scream. High pitched and terrified and LOUD! It was a girl's voice and she was screaming for help and the immediate phrase that jumped into my mind was blood curdling.

Every single hair on my body was sticking up and my heart was about to jump out of my chest but somehow I had to remain calm for Pepper. And as she screamed I imagined she was a girl who had been kidnapped years ago and held in a dark room somewhere but had now escaped and was terrified and running for her freedom. (Bren thinks I read too many scary books).

Even though the screaming continued, Bren meanwhile was much calmer and more rational than I. Thank goodness for Bren. His first thought was that someone had been bitten by a snake.

He drove out the back gate and slowly along a forest track when he saw the girl wandering through the trees looking quite distressed. He approached her carefully and cautiously. The sun was burning down, she was wearing a sun dress and had scratches all over her arms and legs.

As soon as she saw him with her big terrified eyes she started screaming. She was screaming for help, for her boyfriend, and for all sorts of other stuff too. That's what we must have heard down by the dam.

He told her that she was safe. He told her that he lived close by and had water for her to drink. And he asked her if she was hurt, or if she had taken any drugs, and what her name was. She screamed and screamed. And in between screams she told him that she had lost her friends and her boyfriend, SCREAM! She was 18 and from Melbourne, SCREAM! She wasn't on drugs but had borderline personality disorder, SCREAM!

In the middle of all this I called Bren, he'd been away for far too long and we were scared and stranded and worried about him. I never expected him to answer his phone, but thankfully he did. He briefly told me the story of the girl in the forest. He'd given her some water but she refused to get in his car. I told him I was going to call an ambulance.

In all my life I have never called 000 for emergency before but I'm pleased to report that I stayed calm and even though I couldn't answer a lot of the questions they asked me, I told them what I knew and they told me that they'd call Bren to fill in the blanks.

Meanwhile Bren had been surprised to watch as the distraught girl accepted his phone and using her two thumbs pressed in her boy friend's number. He was sure that her shaking fingers wouldn't have been able to hit their targets, but they did. He called the number twice and no one answered but then tried a third time and the boyfriend did.

The distressed girl was sitting on the ground crying. Bren was on the phone trying to make sense of what her boyfriend was saying, and then the ambulance called him, and then the police, and then just to add another call to all those he was juggling, me.

After he told us that he had spoken to her people and that the police and ambulance were on their way, I got Pepper out of the water and we walked barefoot back up to the house. She was intrigued and wanted to know every question the emergency services had asked me, and what my answers had been. She was fascinated by all the details and didn't seem frightened at all despite the thumping heart next to her, the hand gripping hers tightly, and the tears that streamed down my face as I told her about the poor, frightened girl in the forest.

When we'd been in the house for long enough for me to shower her off and make us both a cool drink, Bren came back home. We threw questions at him fast and wanted so many answers, but it took him quite some time to be able to respond. Poor thing.

The ambulance people had asked him a lot of questions on the phone and then told him what to do. He wasn't to give her any food or more to drink just in case, but he was to keep her safe if he could. When he worked out that the local police woman didn't know the forest tracks as well as he did, he'd made a plan to meet her on the main road. Luckily by this time he'd calmed the girl down enough to get her into his car, but she was very distressed when she learnt that the police were involved. She was worried she'd get into trouble.

When they arrived at the road they were met by three police cars, which is unheard of in this area, and the boyfriend and his family. The police interviewed Bren on one side of the car and the girl on the other. The boyfriend and his family were kept completely separate. She was still pretty upset and had her head in her hands, but they wouldn't let Bren answer for her, even the details he knew.

After a while they helped the girl out of the car and they let him go. Just like that. No one thanked him, or told him what had happened, or even what was going to happen. He just drove away.

Not long after he'd arrived home and finally started telling us his story, the ambulance arrived. Ours was the original address they'd been given but we'd assumed they'd be redirected when the girl had met up with the police. They'd even driven past all the police cars on their way to our place. We gave them all the information we knew and sent them on their way.

Half an hour later when we drove past on our way into town for dinner, all signs of the story were gone.

Had they taken her to hospital? Had this happened before? Where had she come from? Had she run away from them, or them from her?

Later that night as we got into bed my farmer boy couldn't close his eyes without seeing her. The next day when we went back down to the windmill dam to swim we listened for her.

I just hope that wherever she is, she feels safe.



x

Friday, January 6, 2017

knitting socks - past, present + future

Hello lovely friends and welcome to the first Friday Foxs Lane of the new year. Have you had a nice week? I hope so.

Things here have been pretty quiet. Outside, we've been mowing and planting and eating out of the garden and irrigating and trying to get the lines out of the overgrown orchards. Inside we've been reading, and knitting, and cleaning up our house, and watching lots of movies at night. Our days are long and mostly we don't come in for dinner until well after eight, but still often I'll lie in bed in the middle of the night and wonder where the time went.

I adore summer: The fruit, the garden, the salads, the clothes, the holidays, the heat and the way the washing dries so fast on the line that I can actually see the bottom of the laundry basket.

Not very summery though are socks. Especially woolly, thick, hand knit socks. But just because they're not suitable to the current season, doesn't mean I can stop myself from knitting them.

So here it is, my early January 2017 version of socks - past, present and future;




Socks past are a pair I knitted for Bren back in April of last year. The blue was yarn that I bought at Loop London on our Europe trip and I can't remember what the grey for the heels, toes and cuffs was.

I called them Farmer Boy socks and true to their name my boy wore them under his boots, on the farm and often.

After many washes and many, many wears the farmer boy socks tore at the heels and ended up in the mending basket. (I suspect the grey yarn was pure wool and didn't have any nylon for toughness.) Now I don't know what it's like at your house, but here the mending basket is a bit of a black hole. Once something finds its way in, it may never be seen again. After all, how dull is mending when you can start something shiny and new?!

And so it was with the farmer boy socks until yesterday. With his birthday coming up tomorrow and talk of a new pair of socks, we started discussing the old. I got up on the chair and had a bit of a rummage through the mending department and pulled them out.

My friend Bria had once emailed me the instructions for how to repair a hand-knit sock with a knit-in-place patch, which I'd filed under 'one day', and what do you know, for some unknown reason today is that day. So in between loading photos and thinking of words, I'm knit-mending those socks.

The wooden darning mushroom was my grandmother's and looks like it had quite a busy life.

And so it seems socks past may become socks present once more. Hopefully.







Socks present, after much sewing in of the millions of ends, are the colourful fair isle socks. How cool do they look inside out.


I'm sure I've blogged the story of Anna, my sock knitting clarinet teacher from my teen-age years, as my inspiration for learning to knit socks all these years later. But the truth is that Anna used to knit these intricate fair isle socks filled with colourful patterns and pictures and words. The ones that stick in my mind had houses and trees and flowers and birds and butterflies. While I am still a long way away from crafting anything so technically brilliant, these socks make me feel like I am heading in the right direction.




And socks future, will be my farmer boy's birthday socks. Yep, I know the colours are incredibly similar to the last pair but he chose them and I'm going with them. They will be pretty plain, but there will be a bit of colour-work at the top, so I'm happy.

And with that I'll wish you a wonderful weekend and a fabulous second week of the new year.

But just before you go please tell me what you've been making, or mending, or meaning to.
I'd love to know.


Love Kate xx

PS. It's been suggested that I change my blog name to Soxs Lane, what do you think? Haha!


Sunday, January 1, 2017

on the first



Happy new year lovely ones!!

I know it's Sunday and not Friday but I still haven't decided whether or not I'll blog each day this month so I thought I'd hedge my bets and pop in to say hello just in case.

Also I felt that my last blog post was a little on the negative side with so many things I had not checked off my 2016 to-do list, and wanted a chance to get on record some of the things I had.

I won't keep you long, the girls are watching The Notebook and my farmer boy is reading his book, but I'm sure someone will want me soon. I've quickly noted down seven things and hopefully I'll come up with an eighth before I get to the end because I'm not at all a fan of odd numbers, so here we go.

I took the cover shot for the autumn issue of Slow Living magazine. I can't begin to tell you what a thrill that was. Every time I saw it in a shop or a cafe or on some one's Instagram feed I couldn't help but let out a little squeal of pride and delight.

One time just after it came out, I was in a cafe in Ballarat and asked the woman behind the counter if she could pass it to me so I could have a look. She started telling me about the gorgeous farm stall just outside Daylesford that sold the most delicious apples she'd ever tasted. Of course I must have been bright pink before I admitted to her that that was me. Crazy!!

We did a small renovation of our house that added another bedroom, a retreat for the girls, a studio for us, a remodelled lounge-room and a corridor with a long bench seat and a desk. Our friend Annabel drew up the plans, our friend Jobbo and Bren worked on it two days a week, our friend Gary painted it and our friend Jezza did all the electrics. And Bren worked tirelessly to make sure that every bit of material used was as sustainable, and as recycled, and as local as he could find. The shelves in particular all tell their own stories coming from the change-rooms at the old Alcoa factory (via our friends at Imperial Fox), our friend Liam's mill down the road, and some that was milled here from trees out of our forest.

In April I lost my last remaining grandparent. That's not something I achieved obviously, but sometimes when I remember that my Booba and Zeida are not here anymore I feel so overcome with grief and heaviness that even taking the next breath seems like an achievement. This morning it occurred to me that this will be the first year of my life lived without them and my eyes filled up with hot tears, as they are now too.

I knitted seven pairs of socks, two shawls, one doll's cardigan, one jumper, one beanie, three hot water bottle covers, and have several other projects that are on the go.

I dealt with a bully by exposing the issue.


Jazzy and I went to visit the optometrist in March and have been wearing glasses ever since. Not just for reading but all the time. That's not all that easy when you're a grubby farmer either. 

My new glasses and I read 44 books last year! I must admit I raced to get through the last pages of Outlander to make the final count a nice even number, but unfortunately the page count still sits at 14,425. Thanks Goodreads for the tally.


And after years of suggestion and encouragement from my farmer boy I stopped buying my aluminum filled deodorant from the supermarket and started wearing a hippie one instead. I resisted for so long because I thought I was too smelly to try such a thing, but I'm here to say that it works. I farm and I gym and I mother and I do lots of stuff that makes me sweaty, but I'm possibly less stinky than ever. AND the sweaty-deoderanty smell doesn't get stuck to my clothes anymore and the underarms of my tee-shirts come out of the wash smelling fresh.

I highly recommend the change if you haven't already. I've tried quite a few over the last few months and my favourite is the miessence - ancient spice.


And of course; I mothered and wifed and loved and daughtered and sistered and friended and thought and felt and listened and learned and ate and ran and lifted and laughed and planted and dug and wrote and photographed and posted and tried and wondered and stressed and blogged and texted and cooked and hoped and dreamed and grew and burned and wept and harvested and planned and drove and missed and knitted and encouraged and and and

and I might see you tomorrow or maybe on Friday.

Lots and lots of love and wishes for a sweet and productive and love-filled new year.

Love Kate xx




Friday, December 30, 2016

the friday foxslane



Hello and a very happy Friday to you dear friends of Foxs Lane.

It's funny, now that Friday blogging is a thing, it's amazing how the pieces click together to make it so. I've started carrying my big camera around with me again (you should see how grubby it is); I've started looking at things as they happen and turning over phrases in my mind that I might use to describe them; my girls often refer to my blog and ask me if I'll be posting about this or that; you guys leave comments which delight me and inspire me to continue; and then, because they know it must be done, come Friday, my family leave me alone for the writing - which is no mean feat in week three of the summer holidays. I guess the fact that I now know that I blog on Fridays removes the guilt and the yearning from the rest of the week too.

Right now Bren's taken the girls into town to give me space, I'm sitting up on the daybed in our studio and I'm wondering what this blog should be.

I could do a rundown month by month of what 2016 looked like and felt like to me: including crafts, farm life, books, and family stuff. I could talk about the fact that we don't do Christmas and how much I love those few days of living in a bubble of exclusion. I could write about how some of my girls struggled with the no Christmas thing this year, and how we dealt with that and what that made me think about ritual and belonging and culture. I could tell you how much I've adored this past week -  it might have even been my happiest of the whole year - when all five of us worked together as a team to plant the tomatoes, cook the meals and clean the house. And then when the jobs were done, all five of us took walks around the farm, played music and sang songs, watched movies and just hung out.

Okay I've decided, after a quick check of my posts from this time last year, I think I'll go through what I wrote back then, about what I hoped to achieve in the year to come and see how that looks now in retrospect.



As well as blogging more regularly, this year 
Haha I guess I didn't exactly win in that department but at least I pulled myself up before the end of the year with my five Friday posts.
I'd love to buy a flock of sheep for land management and wool
That one I definitely tried but unfortunately rather unsuccessfully. We do have a lovely local farmer/fencer booked in to visit soon and hopefully put in some tougher, permanent fencing so we can try our hands at being shepherds again in 2017.


I'd love to play with natural dyes
I bought a book, I bought some natural sock yarn and I bought some mordant, but for some reason I never got to it. I'm not quite sure why. I'm thinking I might book into a class one day though as I might just have confused myself with all the options and possibilities and not know where to start.

 I'd love to work hard to find balance between work and play
Yeah, nah.

I must say though, that the house renovation and creation of our studio has helped with this one as it has made a space completely separate from the kitchen and garden where I can sit comfortably and read and knit while the dishes in the sink, the crumbs under the table and the unweeded garden are out of sight and out of mind.





I'd love to design a piece of knitwear
While this one is probably still a no too, I feel like I have made headway by taking a plain sock pattern and knitting a bunch of fair isle motifs into it. Counting stitches, choosing colours and selecting all the patterns hurt my brain at times, but gosh I loved knitting them.

What I didn't quite love was the sight that greeted me when I turned them inside out yesterday ready to darn in the ends!! Who would have thought there'd be such a hairy mane hiding inside. And there I had thought that they were practically finished when I cast them off. Goodness what a mess.

I posted a photo of them on instagram last night with the caption - the secret life of fair isle socks - because seriously, who knew?!

I'd love to work on being kinder to myself in my head
Let's just say I still have a lot of work to do on that one. I don't understand it and I don't like it and it would upset me so much if my girls grow up to be so self critical - but it's there and it's my truth. For now.

I'd love to find ways to get more involved with the causes that make me cry
Honestly I almost deleted this one because it makes me feel guilty that I haven't done enough. Not nearly. 

I'd love to knit a Lopi Icelandic sweater
Nope.
I'd love to unfollow a few people on social media who are not kind
I can tick this one off because I remember following through with it at the start of the year and how great it felt to have them disappear from my life. Out of instagram - out of mind. It's weird the way I let some very unkind, very preachy, very condescending, people dominate my feed for so long out of some form of misguided loyalty. On the very rare occasion that I come across their negativity now it is instantly obvious how little has changed for them, while over here I no longer have that sick feeling in my stomach and that tight feeling in my chest.


 I'd love to find some new recipes to add to our tired collection
Oh 2016 was not adventurous in the kitchen by any stretch of the imagination.

I'd love to play with some botanical embroidery
I love that I wanted to but I feel like these days posting beautiful botanical embroidery pictures to my pinterest page is much more realistic.

I'd love to teach
In 2016 I was asked by so many people to teach sock knitting, knitting in general, crochet and crafty classes but it never happened. Looking back I feel like 2016 was a year where I needed all my energy to gather and hold my loved ones with not a lot left over to spare. Hopefully next year?


I'd love to reacquaint myself with my sewing machine and sew some garments
Well, due to the renovations my sewing machine was stored in a shipping container up near the shed for a lot of 2016, but now it's set up on my desk ready to use. 




and I'd love to find a way to do a bit of housework regularly rather than leaving it until it's overwhelming
This one will forever be an issue for me. As anyone who knows me knows - tidiness and cleanliness are not exactly personality traits that I express liberally. Why clean when there's so many more fun things to do? Why scrub when its only going to get messy again? Why neaten - unless guests are coming over and I all of a sudden have a panic and see our house the way they will?

Yesterday morning though we tried something different. We divided the house into areas, allocated each area to a family member and spent the next three hours cleaning. Someone put on some loud music and we all scrubbed and vacuumed and mopped and washed and wiped. It was awesome. The fact that everyone in the house was working meant we weren't resentful at doing the job ourselves. The fact that we had time meant we could get into the nitty gritty. The fact that John Marsden allocates time each day for the students at his schools to clean their school means that our girls know how to clean and put value in the process. And the squeals that could be heard for the rest of the day as we each discovered another sparkly clean area were priceless. I hope to repeat the process each week of the school holidays and see how we can continue it into the school year.

I'm sure there's more but that's a start
Haha that's more than enough, wouldn't you say.


I guess the thing to do now is to repeat the process for 2017.

I'd like to be kinder to myself, to find one thing that is mine and pursue it, to learn how to drive a tractor, to learn how to spin and knit a garment from the yarn I've spun, to knit an Icelandic Lopi sweater, to fence some paddocks and keep a flock of sheep, to continue getting physically fitter and stronger (arm wrestle anyone), to push my photography further, to entertain more, to get involved with some of the causes that make me cry, and I'd love to write something other than this blog, imagine if my Fridays could be a whole day for writing...

I guess now I have to decide if I'll blog every day in January like I have for the past two years, or if I'll stick to the Friday blogging which feels like it's working a treat.


Happy last few days and hours of 2016 my friends.


Are you where you thought you'd be this time last year?
Do you know where you want to be this time next year?

See ya in 2017!

Lots of love,

Kate xx






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