some velvet flowers

and the possibility of a workshop

Last spring I planted a chocolate cosmos in my seaside dye garden. It survived limited watering (once a week) but spent the summer looking slightly miserable and wondering what on earth it was doing there. Then in April we had some lovely rains and suddenly, tra la la, the peerie plant sprouted a mass of leaves and decided to flourish, in the best sense of that word. For a few weeks I simply marvelled at the flowers, and praised each new leafy sprout. Then last week (by happy chance) I was given a press which is really for making cheese but which, while we wait for one of our milking cows to have another calf, is now having a practice run as a flower flattener.

I find these flowers swoonworthily beautiful. When I was thirteen I sewed a pirate shirt from a similarly hued velvet curtain my mother had discarded. When not in school uniform I spent an entire winter clad in it. It was also the first time I had set a sleeve and until I grasped that the garment needs to be inside out and the sleeve right side out in order for the two pieces to be united as a functional object, I had to unpick it at least three times. We won’t talk about the difficulty of comprehending the difference between such instructions as “ease” and “gather”on the sleeve head either, or the challenge of getting the cuffs to face in their correct directions. My mother insisted I learn how to execute bound button holes, too. Suffice it to say they are tricky to do in a velvet and I haven’t attempted any since then.

Anyway because I am about to embark on a short research trip (for my next book, which is not a dye book or a memoir but the novel I have been working on for some nine years¹) and feels essential despite the unnerving state of the world, I overcame my resistance to picking these volutinous² blooms and harvested some for the press. Flowers print more effectively when frozen or dried (compromising the cell structure helps release the colour), and are certainly much easier to store when they have been flattened.

I was also tempted by the more delicate efflorescences of Pelargonium sidoides.

I think I should have trimmed the stalks a little shorter, but I wasn’t wearing my eyes of seeing at the time and have only now noticed they’re a bit long.

The plant responded beautifully to being trimmed and yesterday was again awash with flowers, so I gathered a few more. In the event of my safe return I shall be bundling them in my tidewanderer dress, I think. She’s about due for another layer of amusement. That said, she may well return from the north embellished with other memories, in which case I’ll find something else. There’s always something in the wardrobe in need of a refresh.

My allotment gives me so much joy, and despite the average winds and rainfall being very similar to that of the farm somehow seems a kinder growing environment. I’ve been concentrating on planting up the lower portion of the block, keeping the area close to the road clear in the hope of eventually building a house and studio. The aerial view below (thank you, interweb maps) from 18 months ago contrasts nicely with the present situation in and around the tank.

I’m hoping to be able to hold small workshops and sewing circles there in due course, but as you can see the facilities are not quite adequate yet. It’s ideally situated for tidewandering though, as the lapping waves on the shore are only a short walk from the bottom of the garden.

Speaking of workshops, there has been some discussion about offering one at the Hahndorf Academy on the last weekend of their current exhibitions :: June 13 & 14

I have suggested a version of “the Talisman Book” as the theme (I’m also putting that workshop together in longer form for the School of Nomad Arts - but it’s been progressing slowly though due to a few life situations that have taken priority, bear with me). If this interests you please drop a line to the Academy so they can see if it’s worth proceeding with the idea.

CONTACT@HAHNDORFACADEMY.ORG.AU

My next task was the mixing of a potion to keep the Scourge of Scotland³ at bay.

I’ve mixed juniper, clove, lavender, cedar, rosemary, peppermint, frankincense, callitris, corymbia citriodora and lemon tea tree into some argan oil. It should be a pretty powerful spell to keep those wee beasties away, and certainly smells much nicer than that ghastly Avon Skin-so-Soft that so many people swear by. I’ve packed a fly veil and hat as well (necessary on the farm in summer otherwise every breath would be a mouthful of flies) and I’ll let you know how I get on…

1. I’m hoping to finish it before I turn 70!

2. Isn’t that a splendid word? Merriam Webster Dictionary definition - covered with a fine and dense silky pubescence : velvety.

3. Scotland, Canada and Aotearoa New Zealand are all utterly delightful countries that in summer are infested by tiny black flying insects. Across the ditch they manifest as sandflies, in Canada they go by the moniker “no-seeums”. Scotland produces the fiercest variety that hunt not just in packs, but in veritable clouds.