countryside · general stuff · spring

On having hope

Hello, how are you? I truly hope that you’re managing and that those you love are safe and well. Here there are good days and bad days. The hardest thing for me is not being able to explain to Toby why everything he knows and loves has stopped and he has had many more meltdowns than usual, but there is a highlight to each day and that is our walk in the woods. We weren’t going out to the woods at the beginning of the lockdown because there was some confusion as to whether we were allowed to drive the 3 miles there and back but recent clarification from the government on people with autism being allowed to travel to familiar places has meant that Toby now has one loved activity available.

Whilst we are struggling with daily life here, I know there are so many having a much worse time than us: those medical and health careworkers on the front line dealing with hugely stressful days, those overwhelmed by mental health issues, those fearful of loosing their livelihoods and especially those who have lost loved ones and have not been able to even say goodbye, heartbreak that is happening on a global scale right now. It feels impossible to believe that the human world will ever be the same again after this and I’ve been thinking how important it is to hold on to hope that there will be good times again.

Each year, in the quiet pause that is New Years day, I sit and fill in important dates in my brand new diary. I so enjoy this ritual – writing on crisp, clean pages the birthdays of loved ones, the eagerly anticipated events, and all the while imagining the whole year spread out and full of possibilities.

On the first page I always try to write myself a little message or quote, a kind of guiding principle for my thoughts in the coming year. Last year, faced as we were with many challenges surrounding Toby’s transition from child to adult support services I wrote the words

‘Don’t let bitterness become you’.

I’m still working on that one and I’m guessing that as the parent of a now adult son who is severely autistic I will need to keep that one as a constant reminder for years to come – a verbal talisman for when I feel overwhelmed by all the things Toby can’t do, can’t have and can’t be and all the things we’ll never have as a family. Calling to mind these words does help to pull my thoughts away from destructive negativity.

On January 1st of this year, I wrote these words in my nice new 2020 diary:

‘I can still have hope while facing a future I do not know’.

When I wrote that out I was really thinking on a very insular and personal level about the ongoing issues involved in caring for Toby, but that phrase could not have been more apt for the global situation that has unfolded and affects all of us now. The last few months have changed life for us all in unimaginable ways and never more have we needed to believe that there is hope in all of our futures.

So, that’s my wish for you today: That you find hope, in whatever form it appears for you, and you cherish, nuture and tend it so that it fortifies you in these darkly terrifying times.

J x

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:: ‘Don’t let bitterness become you’ is a line taken from the lyrics of Elysium by Bear’s Den

:: ‘I can still have hope while facing a future I do not know’ย  is a quote from Morgan Harper Nichols, it’s the 4th slide on November 22nd 2019

 

All of the pictures above were taken in previous springs (the last one with Amy in was from 2011). Toby’s favourite wood doesn’t have bluebells, and even if it did he’d not let me stop to take photos ๐Ÿ˜‰ย  It is though a comforting thought, that despite everything nature is unaffected – other than perhaps in positive ways from less pollution/human intrusion. And although I may not be able to go and see bluebells this year, I know they’re out there blooming away, smelling wonderful and looking tear-inducingly beautiful.

 

countryside · in the woods · spring · winter

snowdrop woods

 

The first sign of spring around our way is the arrival of snowdrops. They are such delicate little flowers, held aloft on a single slender stalk above smooth, narrow leaves they shimmer in the cold late winter breezes. And yet despite their fragile appearance they are tough little plants, breaking through the frozen earth with their tenacious green shoots and unfurling their pure white petals in patches of dappled sunlight.

There’s nothing quite as uplifting as the sight of drifts of them spread beneath the bare trees, clustered together as though huddling against the cold weather. The February landscape is still dull and brown and appears dormant but snowdrops signal that a change is gradually gathering pace. I’ve been feeling a little low of late and was in need of a little natural pick-me-up, so today I wrapped up warmly in lots of woolly layers and braved the frosty morning and cold winds to go on a snowdrop hunt. There are quite a few places to find them locally but my favourite is a tiny patch of woodland sandwiched between a quarry and the tiny hamlet of Westmill – just a few pretty red-roofed cottages clustered around an old medival mill.

I’ve arrived back home with muddy knees; a few nettle stings around my ankles (I managed to kneel it a patch of them and didn’t notice until it was too late) and cold, red cheeks but I’m feeling cheered and invigorated. I’m now warming up with knitting and a cup of tea before heading out to pick Toby up from his after school club.

If you’re also feeling a little down I hope you find a little something to lift your spirits this week. If you have time let me know in the comments what’s brightening your days at the moment. See you soon with a little of what I’ve been knitting

J x

 

 

countryside · crafts & knitting · in the woods · wildlife · winter

Hibernating

The first few months of the year always feel to me like a time for quiet rest and a gentler pace of life. Perhaps it’s the short daylight hours of winter which make me feel a little like hibernating and using less energy. In summer I might walk in the woods in the evening or we’ll be in the garden until after 10pm when dusk falls, but in January and February, with darkness falling before four o’clock in the afternoon, all I feel like doing in my free moments is curling up in a cosy corner by the fire and reading or knitting.

Along with bunny knitting I’ve been knitting lots of mittens. I have lots of wristwarmers, which I wear constantly throughout the winter months, but have been getting cold fingertips on my woodwalks and so it seemed a good plan to knit something a bit more cosy. This was a free pattern that I found on Ravelry and it’s perfect, knitting up very quickly and with such a clever and comfortable thumb placket. It’s called Garnomeras enkla vantar by Maria Samuelsson and I’ve loved knitting these in the ‘silver birch’ย  organic merino Viola yarn that I gifted myself for Christmas, a beautiful hand-dyed yarn which has so many subtle tones. In fact I love the pattern so much that I’ve knitted a second pair, also in Viola Organic merino yarn, colourway ‘frozen earth’. I have made a few modifications to the pattern (which is written for worsted weight yarn) in order to accomodate the DK yarn weight and I’ve added a little texture too – notes are over on my project page.

This morning there was a spectacular sunrise, which made me want to get up, dressed and out for a walk. So I headed off to the woods to see if the wood anemones were up yet but there was no sign of them, not even the tips of their leaves breaking through the soil. The woods are still deep in winter’s pause, and we’ve not yet had a cold snap so it will be a little longer before the growing season starts again, although tree buds are starting to swell and small bird songs were all around as they start to pair up ready for spring. At least I’m now ready for ice and snow if it does arrive soon, and my hands will stay toasty and warm in my new mittens.