by Krista | Mar 18, 2016 | Autumn
Things have been rather quiet around here lately. I came down with a bad virus and had to step back from everything for a while to rest, rest, rest. I’m doing a bit better this weekend thanks to good medicine, but we’re still waiting on test results to figure out what to do next.
Before things got really bad, I was able to spend a day with some of my Viking friends. I’ve been waiting all week to tell you about our adventures learning how to dye linen with indigo, red and brown onion skins, and ferrous.
It was a wildly stormy day so we decided the best thing was to start with a cuppa.
Then we organized our gear: powdered indigo, bags of dried onion skins, little pots of ferrous and various powders. We set out all our buckets and stirrers and recipes, and submerged our unbleached and bleached linen pieces in vats of clean, cold water to get thoroughly saturated
My Dutch-Aussie friends, Mieke and Kate, are old hands at dyeing. They’ve been dyeing fabrics for years and have the most gorgeous collections of things they’ve made, from a woolen blanket dyed with bits of old iron and turned into a cozy cloak, to billowing sheets of silk dyed in luscious earth tones with eucalyptus leaves before being wrapped around a rusty iron bar, drizzled with salt water, and left for a few days until the rust dyed the sumptuous fabric in mesmerizing patterns.
We chuckled at ourselves looking like witches of old as we poured powders and mixed concoctions and stirred bubbling pots over the fire. Mieke was the chief witch, measuring out everything just so for the indigo dye, stirring gently clockwise and watching carefully for the telltale coppery sheen and flower at the center of the mixture that told us it was ready.
While the indigo dye sat for a bit, we got busy at the fire. One end of the fire was for cooking lunch – a succulent roast lamb and root veggies – the other for pots full of onion skins, alum, and hot water. We were excited to see what colors the different onion skins would create.
The brown onion skins turned the linen a rich buttery yellow.
The red onion skins, amazingly, also turned the linen yellow, but a brighter, clearer yellow, not so rich.
I like them both.
As we worked, the scent of fire-roasted lamb wafted enticingly by, making us ravenously hungry. Soon it was time to sit down and everyone left their jobs – making leather shoes, stitching a woolen garment, squirting brothers with squirt guns – and clustered around the big table for a mighty feast.
I’ve never had such good lamb – moist, tender, full of smoky, garlicky flavor. It went beautifully with the assortment of root veggies also cooked over the fire.
We added thick slices of fresh bread, plump olives, savory sun-dried tomatoes, fruit and nuts, and a glass of red wine, and ate and visited while the rain poured down. Wonderful.
After lunch we tackled dyeing with ferrous. Unlike the onion dyes, ferrous is done in cool water and goes through a couple of stages.
The first stage turns the white linen a muddy sort of gray.
The next turns it a chocolate brown.
And when you expose it to the air – the magic happens. The brown disappears and the fabric gets lighter and brighter until within a few minutes…
It looks like this. Isn’t it gorgeously sunny and wonderful?
After it dried awhile, Kate double-dipped the fabric and it became a richer, deeper shade, almost a rust. So beautiful.
Our final project of the day was dyeing with indigo.
Indigo is pure magic to me. The name conjures up images of exotic Bedouin women swathed in layers of luscious indigo robes billowing in the desert winds.
Unlike the onion dyes which could be stirred vigorously, or the ferrous dyes which involved squeezing and swirling the fabric, indigo dyeing is a slow, methodical process. The fabric is carefully lowered into the vat of dye and gently submerged and oh-so-gently stirred to avoid any air bubbles.
When the linen is brought up from the indigo dye bath, it’s not much to look at, the color a rather insipid blue-green.
But as the air hits the fabric, the chemistry happens, and before our eyes it transformed from sickly green to gorgeous turquoise to…
…a rich indigo blue.
Learning to dye linen was an incredible experience. I’ve wanted to play with natural dyes for a long time and I loved learning from Mieke and Kate.
I drove home that night in the pouring rain, inspired to experiment with things growing in my gardens, orchards, and our woods and fields. I want to try red cabbages and fennel fronds, gum leaves and mulberries. I’m especially looking forward to a dyeing project with my friend Mim, who is going to teach me how to dye with madder.
The pieces I dyed with Mieke and Kate are going to be turned into a medieval quilt to keep Bear and I cozy on our medieval camping trips. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.
Have you ever used natural dyes? What color would you like to learn how to make? xo
by Krista | Mar 9, 2016 | Autumn
I love trees.
New, springy saplings and old, weathered stumps, good climbers and great shade-ers, ones that rustle dreamily in the wind and others that burst into scent when the sun warms them.
And I especially love ghostly ones that shimmer and shiver ominously and look stark in the moonlight.
My friend Sue recently took me to a spot filled with such beauties, Underwood Park. Just down the road from the Buddhist Temple, it is a gorgeous pond/swamp that looks delectably mysterious on dark, overcast days.
At first glance the area seems empty and eerily quiet, but the longer you look the more you see until it is veritably teeming with wildlife.
Oodles of birds make their homes here, Purple Swamphens and Australasian Grebes, Dusky Moorhens and Little Black Cormorants. Sue and I stood for ages watching them paddle, swoop, and float, amazed by some of their otherworldly markings that look straight out of a Dr. Seuss book.
Other creatures live here too, vivid green tree snakes and terrifying brown ones. We met a lady along the boardwalk who told us about a particularly aggressive brown who chased her husband the other day when he was out for his run. Yipes!
Before we heard that charming tale, I was blissfully unaware, thoroughly delighting in the deliciously creepy surroundings, peering into the murky waters to see what I could see.
I was just saying to Sue, “This water looks like it would be full of life…” when this fellow popped up from the depths and startled me half to death. A man on the boardwalk came over for a chinwag, (they’re a chatty lot, these board-walkers) and informed us that he, the lizardy chap, was a water dragon. I was delighted. Especially since he stayed right where he was and only blinked at me.
On we walked, loving the darkly medieval feel of the place yet keeping a weather eye open for any bad tempered brown snakes that might be lurking nearby. It reminded me of that scene in the old Disney Swiss Family Robinson movie when the two brothers and the girl they rescued are wading warily through a similar swamp, only to be accosted by a massive anaconda. Shiver.
Thankfully the snakes kept themselves to themselves and we had a terror-free stroll through an exquisitely beautiful place, watching Spoonbills and Ibis sun themselves and look for breakfast beneath the rippling surface of the swamp.
Where is your favorite place to go for a morning stroll? xo
by Krista | Mar 7, 2016 | Autumn
“When you separate yourself by belief, by nationality, by tradition, it breeds violence.
So a man who is seeking to eradicate violence does not belong to
any country, to any religion, to any political party or partial system;
he is concerned with the total understanding of mankind.”
J. Krishnamurti
I have a tricky relationship with religion. And politics. And organized belief systems of any sort.
Being part of a faith system for many years that happily tromped over the rights and worth of anyone who was not deemed acceptable has made me leery of anyone or anything claiming to know The Truth. I can’t fathom how it is possible for anyone to know The Truth. We can’t even fully understand ourselves or each other let alone our Deity (or lack thereof) of choice, so it’s baffling to me that any of us have the hide to say, “I know. I’m right and you are wrong.”
I do believe, however, that we have the incredible privilege of muddling along through life trying to figure it all out. And what a gift that is. To be able to go through life observing and reading and studying and experimenting and discussing and thinking as we find the beliefs that make sense to us and help us navigate this world in a braver and more loving way.
I think that’s a marvelous adventure.
Over the weekend my friend Sue took me to a Buddhist temple near her house. It is a stunningly beautiful place set in the middle of the bush, surrounded by trees and gardens and kangaroos nibbling on the grass.
I know next to nothing about Buddhism, so it was rather lovely to wander around without any preconceived notions to influence my experience.
The first thing that caught my attention was the color. Isn’t that orange marvelously vibrant and full of life? And such incredible workmanship in every detail, from roof lines and door lintels to pathways and gardens. So much love and work has gone into this place.
The second thing I noticed was the practice of removing shoes before entering the temple. I don’t know the reasoning behind this, but it delights me. How I would’ve loved going to church barefoot when I was a girl. As an adult I found that it instantly reminded me of my humanity, of my equal standing with all those around me, and I must say the cool marble underfoot felt wonderful on a hot day.
I really loved the courtyards and gardens that fill the temple and grounds. Their serenity gives me the same feeling I experience at the Japanese Gardens I visit regularly. Wandering the pathways was so calming and soothing, especially with the accompaniment of tinkling bells and incense wafting out from the temple.
Carefully clipped hedges were festooned with vivid orange berries and lush purple flowers, and the paths were carpeted with crunchy fallen leaves, the first harbingers of Autumn.
Tucked among the rosemary, flowering bushes, and pebbled pathways were statues of Buddha at various stages of his life. This one was so jolly and carefree I couldn’t help but smile.
I’ve always liked elephants, finding them such incredible examples of controlled strength. This beauty and his twin guarded the entrance to the temple, and I think he looks rather fetching in his flowered headband and the richly decorated blanket over his back.
Frangipanis (known as plumeria to my North American friends) never fail to delight me. They represent all that is wonderful about the tropics – beauty and warmth and heady scents on soft breezes.
We wandered through a more woodsy part of the garden and spotted this fellow who looked so lovely with a lion cub playfully licking his face.
Turns out he is the “man of cats” – a one time lion hunter who later converted to Buddhism. After he attained enlightenment, a tiny lion cub trotted up to him. Onlookers believed the cub was thanking the man for giving up the killing of lions which had spared the lives of his family. Since that moment, the man of cats and the lion cub were inseparable.
I think that’s beautiful. A gorgeous reminder that no matter what we’ve done in the past, we can become loving and kind people now.
It was a beautiful afternoon in a beautiful place, and we returned home with peaceful and full hearts. xo
by Krista | Mar 1, 2016 | Autumn
Autumn arrived this morning and I am overjoyed. It brought some wind, a smattering of rain drops, and cooler temperatures, so Bear and I celebrated with ham potato soup for breakfast. So cozy and good.
We had a really lovely weekend in spite of scorching heat. We spent a day with some of our Viking friends, shuffling from one patch of shade to another as we worked on all sorts of projects. Some made leather shoes and sewed linen garments, others carved beautiful Viking symbols into wood and one used the finest linen thread I’ve ever seen to start the process of making her own linen. Amazing. I brought my spinning wheel and loom along, and received really great tips on weaving and spinning that make the processes not nearly so daunting. Unlike Bear, who astounds me with his ability to design and build things in his head before ever pounding a nail or drawing a pattern, I’m a more hands on approach kind of girl, and learn much better watching someone do something. I’m always so thankful for patient people who don’t mind walking me through things.
We also picked up all our beekeeping equipment, and are now thoroughly kitted out with big white suits, a smoker, honey extractor, leather gloves, and a hodgepodge of other things you need to get honey from comb to jar. Our lovely bees will arrive soon and I can’t wait to see them.
On Saturday I made a batch of lilly pilly liqueur using the lilly pillies growing in a big clay pot in my kitchen garden.
Although making big batches of wine and cider is great, I have a soft spot for liqueurs because you can make them with only a handful of fruit and still have something lovely to sip on within a week or two.
Since my lilly pilly bush is still young and only producing a few cups of berries each season, liqueur is a wonderful way to capture the essence of this Australian native fruit. By next year I should be harvesting enough berries to make jam and jelly, but for now, I will cherish my little bottle of lilly pilly liqueur.
The process is simple: for every cup of fruit add 1 cup of vodka/rum/spirits and one cup of simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water heated until the sugar dissolves, then cooled). You can also do it with straight sugar, but I prefer the simple syrup which isn’t as sweet but still gives a smooth liqueur texture and flavor.
Give the fruit a bit of a mash (since lilly pillies are not a soft fruit like raspberries, I chopped most of them in a food processor) and pour into a sterilized glass jar. Top up with vodka and simple syrup and stir well. Cover with a clean dish towel or cheesecloth and secure tightly with string. Store in a cool, dark place for at least a week or two, and up to a couple of months, making sure to stir the fruit mixture once a day with a sterilized stainless steel spoon so no mold forms.
Taste once a week and when it reaches your desired flavor, strain the liqueur into a sterilized bottle and seal until ready to drink. Some folks throw away the fruit, but I like its boozy flavor and fold it into cakes, pancakes, and scones, or simply pour over ice cream.
Lilly pilly liqueur is a gorgeous color, beautiful for festive occasions such as Christmas or Valentine’s Day, or whenever you feel like treating yourself. It’s delicious at room temperature, but during the heat of summer it is even better cold. You can drink it straight, stir it into a mojito, or pour it over panna cotta or ice cream.
It’s been a good but busy weekend and I’m ready to curl up with a book and a nip of lilly pilly liqueur.
What is your favorite fruit? Have you ever made it into a liqueur? xo
by Krista | Feb 26, 2016 | Summer
I like a lot of things about my Bear, but one of my favorites is his ability to turn mundane chores into memorable adventures. Today he transformed a car appointment into the loveliest day out, and it was just what I needed after an exhausting week.
He started by pulling into our favorite cafe in a nearby city and treating us to brunch. We had toasted sandwiches and shared a sumptuously creamy chicken, avocado, and sun-dried tomato salad. A surprise brunch just wouldn’t be right without coffees and dessert, so we indulged in our usual drinks – long black for him, flat white for me – and pieces of opera cake, heavenly layers of wafer thin almond sponge, coffee syrup, coffee butter cream, and a dark chocolate glaze. Bliss.
Then we hopped in the car and he took us for a drive.
It was a gorgeous day for a drive, blazing hot and sunny with brilliant blue skies, just the sort of day you want to enjoy from the comfort of an air-conditioned car.
We had a cuppa with our good friend and blacksmith at his country home in Wivenhoe Pocket – isn’t that the best name? – and talked about swords and motorcycles and plants and goats and home renovations, all the lovely mundane things that are interesting when shared with comfy friends.
Then we drove down to a spot by the Brisbane River that we’d noticed on our drive in.
It is such a beautiful spot with crystal clear water and lovely old trees along the riverbank.
Families fished along the shore while others kept cool under a shelter with a cold beer in hand. Teenagers too hot to care about going home for swimming togs, swam happily in their underwear, luxuriating in cool river water against their sunburned skin.
I wandered along the rocky shore and over the bridge, watching vivid green weeds bobbing serenely with the current, loving the twisted gum trees casting shadows over shallow pools.
Rivers have a beautiful mesmerizing quality that lulls and soothes as the water flows steadily, pouring over rocks and twirling around fence posts and tree branches. I find it utterly relaxing to watch the water, listening to it gurgle and sigh.
Back in the car Bear and I grinned at each other, basking in the novelty of sitting and just enjoying our surroundings.
There’s not much better than a hot, sunny afternoon by the water to restore weary spirits.
Then we headed for home, Bear taking every back road he could find to give us new surroundings to look at. We meandered past acres of lush farmland and stopped at vegetable stalls in search of Roma tomatoes. We drove through the mountains, along twisting, narrow lanes that led past towering rock cliffs and tidy little farms nestled next to open meadows and dry creek beds. Bear kept me entertained as he pointed out landmarks he remembered from his childhood: swimming holes, picnicking spots, and places his parents once took him on Sunday drives. It was marvelous.
Where is your favorite place to escape to when you need a little break? xo
