Cold days, cold nights. Low, grey skies all day, then the most glorious winter sunshine filled, blue sky, want to close my eyes, lift my chin, see the golden orange through my eyelids kind of days. They're shiny these days. Everything has a brilliance, a kind of glary radiance that makes everyone, every tree, every flower, every tiny bird smile. These days are good. We head outside, the girls climb and dig and cuddle chooks. Mama makes kale chips & popcorn & piles of pumpkin soup for another Mama with a new baby. The wintersweet is blooming. Tiny flowers on bare branches. Zahra brings some inside and fills the house with its amazing scent. I finish Niamh's Petites Feuilles Vest and cast on a hat meant for a seven week old but big enough to fit my nearly ten year old. I need fingering weight but only have DK & want to keep my hands busy after finishing the vest. I have Ramona on my mind, constantly. She's been on my mind for nearly two years now, ever since I was gifted enough wool for that then birthday. But I can't seem to commit. I've even swatched, something I almost never do. I keep finding myself looking at other patterns. I've watched Alicia with her Ramona. I get enthused...then cast on another hat instead. She was going to be my project, the project this winter. Little knits are so enticing. I've not knit anything for myself on this scale before. I think I'm terrified of spending all this time on her only to find we don't fit well together. Oh, Ramona.
Crunching up to the chook yard this morning through the frosty grass, the family of red cheeked wattlebirds, or honey birds as Niamh calls them, watches me. I break the ice on the girls' water bowl & throw them some grain. They're eager only for the warming corn, leaving the wheat and peas for later. Funny old biddies, our girls. They're nearing nine years old, being two of the original batch Zahra & I raised when she was only a toddling two year old. It's the first winter they've spent most of their days in the chook house, coming out only to eat. They're inseparable, doing everything together. If one lags behind or finds a tasty morsel they call out for the other to hurry up, come see. They're rising earlier & roosting later this past week. Perhaps we'll have eggs again soon ( Clothilde still lays in the warmer weather despite being considered a geriatric in the poultry world). This is the spring to add some new gals to the mix I think. That will test their apple cart! I'm eager to get out in the garden. This is the month for brassicas, leeks, spring onions, snow peas & salad greens. Looking out the window at the white, frost covered mulch in the veggie patch is a little off putting for the moment. The garlic I planted in late autumn is going strong. We've just about run out of last years harvest, 97 head. This year I planted more than 160, hoping it will be enough for an entire year.
We've dived, or rather eased ourselves into third term. Always the hardest I find, for everyone. Energies are still drawn inward even though we can feel the birds & garden & bush start to bustle with the coming spring. Bulbs are flowering, blossoms are blooming on the Japanese plum, the birds are starting to call in the wee hours again. Before we know it the social bird calendar will be in full swing & we'll be lying in bed with their morning song ringing around our little valley.
Yesterday I took Zahra north to spend five days with her Meme. Today was very quiet without her. Niamh & I walked Kaya down the road, stopping to look at every ant & crack in the pavement. We painted. Niamh danced. I built her a train track & reassembled it's bridge innumerable times. I moved wood. Niamh jumped on the trampoline. We drew with chalk. We ate. We cuddled. I knit. Niamh watched Maisy. I did laundry & cooked dinner. I had no adult conversation all day until William got home around three. Sometimes I think motherhood is very isolating. Rewarding, but isolating. And then I went horseriding, my most very favourite part of every week. And now I am exhausted, ready for the weekend.
