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Elderflower wine

a can of Sancerre grape concentrate and a packet of dried Elder flowers doesn’t really leave me feeling the joy of the hunter gatherer filling her store cupboards with God’s Bounty plucked from the hedgerow.

My Dearest has recently become a wine maker, needs must when the money runs out. I thought I’d join him, so we have set up a micro brewery in the kitchen. My first effort was to use a kit for Elderflower Wine, but I could not help feeling I was cheating; a can of Sancerre grape concentrate and a packet of dried Elder flowers doesn’t really leave me feeling the joy of the hunter gatherer filling her store cupboards with God’s Bounty plucked from the hedgerow.

I dug out an old book I had on country wine making, and found a recipe for elderflower wine that called for the gathering of real Elderflowers in the byways and field margins. We walked along a local cycle path well away from any road, and cut only two heads from each Elder tree (Sambucus Nigra) leaving plenty of flowers to produce berries for the birds (or maybe elderberry wine). There were so many Elder trees we only had to walk a few hundred yards to collect enough.

to a pint of elderflowers, add the juice and rind of two lemons

Back at the ranch, a pint of fresh Elderflowers, sugar, water, vinegar, lemons and yeast were put in a bucket to macerate for a few days before I strained the flowers off and putting the liquid in a demijohn.

Normally wine will take 10-14 days to brew depending on the ambient temperature and then stop. My wine has been has been bubbling away for more than 4 weeks and still going. I suspect it will be rocket fuel and will need to be served in thimbles.

I’ve been offered the flowers from an ornamental Elder, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea, flavour wise, we’ll see how this batch turns out. I’ve dried the excess flowers, in case I want to make some more before next summer.

ornamental Elder smells lemony, — ornamental Elder smells lemony

In the meantime we have a very satisfactory “cellar” developing which hopefully will be ready to drink by Christmas, Happy Days!

We’re having a heatwave…. Tropical heatwave.

Even my Dad, has been seen sitting outside in the sun, well OK in the shade, but nevertheless outside.

Who’d a thought it, a hot summer in England? After 6 disappointing summers in a row we are all raiding the forgotten depths of our wardrobes for summer clothes and throwing the windows open to let in whatever breeze we can catch, at last. No matter how hot it gets I will not complain, this has been a long time coming, and very welcome. Even my Dad, who has become a bit of a hot house flower, has been seen sitting outside in the sun, well OK in the shade, but nevertheless outside.
Last Father’s Day my sister and I had the perennial problem…. what do you buy a Dad who wants for nothing and says not to get him anything at all? Fortuitously I noticed the week before that his garden bench had seen better days, and was rotten at one end, threatening to pitch him onto the floor should he sit on it. THINKS… new bench required.

Dad's Father's Day present — Dad’s Father’s Day present

After a quick consultation, I agreed to go halves with my sister, picked one out and on Father’s day my Dearest and I went round to Mum and Dad’s armed with a flat packed bench and the requisite tools to put it together just in time for the sunny weather.
PROBLEM…. The bench cushion they had was bought to fit a larger bench.
Dad’s 82nd birthday was last Sunday, a month after Father’s Day. In this month’s Country Living Magazine to which I subscribe there was a craft article which included a padded bench cushion which set me thinking….

the beginnings of an idea, on my garden bench

I made a trip to Lancaster on Saturday, on the street market I managed to buy some upholstery foam and this jolly striped fabric, £12 the lot and there’s enough to make something else from the remnants. I folded the fabric over the foam and cut the fabric to fit the seat pad with a good inch and a half excess on three sides to allow for hems. I stitched the short sides first, and then stitched again 1 quarter inch in to make it fit better. You want it fairly close fitting to prevent creasing but not so tight it bursts the stitching when you sit on it.

I hand stitched the long side closed, so that if it needs to be washed at any time it can be removed washed and put back on, it wasn’t as difficult or fiddly as it might seem; I just folded one raw edge in and pinned it down by sticking pins into the foam the whole length of the pin, then folded in the other raw edge, tacked it into place to stop it rolling out as I pinned it again; and then slip stitched it into place. I even made a carrying handle.

My only regret is that I left it to the last minute and so I had to spend my Saturday Evening finishing it off, and missed out on an invitation to join friends for a drink to celebrate their wedding that day. Friend’s Weddings don’t happen very often, particularly at my age, but then neither do 82nd birthdays; or sultry summer evenings for that matter.

It’s no surprise to me that the heat wave broke this week, we’ve had thunder storms and rain, but only in blessedly short bursts, interspersed with more sunshine. Last night it rained after I got home, I stood at the open back door and watched all the foliage in my garden dance and tremble as the great raindrops hit them, the smell of flowers , wet earth and salty sea was wonderful.

Cecily’s Challenge: I fell at the last hurdle.

I hung the bunting in my garden, and sat on the front step in the late afternoon sunshine, chatting to my neighbour and enjoying a glass of Pimms with ice and cucumber. Sometimes the simple pleasures in life are what counts.

It’s Challenge Month again and this year’s challenge was to take a greetings card, and create something using the card as inspiration. We had to bring the card and finished item to the quilt group meeting tonight.
For months I have searched high and low for a greetings card which sparked my imagination, I even found an interesting sympathy card which might have worked but the card was bought for the purpose for which it was made, and went to a bereft friend, I could not find it again.
So last week I set myself a harder challenge, I would use a card I had, whether a card I had in my stash of “just in case” cards or one which had been received and kept for sentimental reasons, it was crunch time, I did not have time to look any further and would have to make do with what I had.

I found a rather tatty card I’d bought in a sale, (pictured) a hand finished decoupage card with wrapped presents and bunting. It was the bunting which caught my eye. Last year I made red, white and blue bunting to decorate the garden to celebrate the Queen’s Jubilee year and the London Olympics, I made it from off cuts of furnishing fabric, cut with pinking shears and due to the wet and windy weather it didn’t survive too well, this year I had planned to make some more, in prettier colours. This card with its Sweet Pea colours chimed with what I had wanted to make, so that was decision made.
I have a triangular cutting ruler which is pennant shaped and ideal for the job of cutting all the pieces….could I find it…… not! It took me a week to search the house, The thing is, when I have lost something I know my subconscious knows where it is so I often go and stand where I think it might be and wait for my subconscious to direct me, in this case it kept directing me to where a chair stood but I kept moving the chair to search beyond it. Doh! I found it at last, on the desk chair under a pile of other things which I had shoved out of the way several times to search the area in which it was sitting. I must have moved it 5 or 6 times in the week I was searching. Note to self, tidy up for goodness sake!

Next step, what fabric? I didn’t really want to use my precious quilt fabric stash, at £12 a metre it’s way too expensive for bunting just to decorate the garden this summer, so back to the charity shops I went, this time as well as looking for checked shirts to cut up I looked for cotton or poly /cotton sheeting or duvet cover sets in the right colours and patterns, I found a lovely pair of fine cotton curtains in blue and yellow, I think they may be home made as the cotton is dress weight not furnishing, they are now in my stash;I think they will make good quilt backs for lap quilts, not bunting. High and low have I searched but no suitable fabric did I find. Desperation set in on Sunday night, bearing in mind the bunting had to be ready to hang by Tuesday night.
Sometime after midnight I went into my studio (the spare bedroom) and opened the drawers, I had decided to pull out any fabric I knew I would never use for quilting, so what did I find? A flowery pink, poly cotton I’d had for more than 20 years, it was too thin and poly for quilting and would never have graced a quilt of mine, a pale blue bought at Abakhan which was coarser in weave than I was used to and not quite what I had in mind when I bought it, and another green fabric which is at least 30 years old, looks as if it may be a Laura Ashley but I suspect is a fake, printed by another company to take advantage of the popularity of the ditsy prints Laura Ashley made so fashionable on the 70’s. There should have been a fourth colour; a lavender shade, but I had none I was prepared to part with,three colours would have to do.

On Monday evening, after work and shopping, I cut out the pennants and stitched them on the two long sides, turned them out and put a row of tacking along the edge to hold the seams in place till I could topstitch them. I really did burn the midnight oil for this one.
On Tuesday evening after work and a walk to pick the last of the Elder flowers for drying (of which more another time), and a long chat with my neighbour in the front garden, I top stitched the pennants and stitched them to a 5m length of cotton tape, eh Voila, my Sweet Pea bunting was ready to go by midnight.

Tonight I came home hot and bothered from work, and was just about to jump in the shower when Mum called, she wasn’t feeling well, and would not be going to the quilting group tonight. I took a shower anyway and while I stood in the shower pondered, should I still go, should I not? I decided not, much as I wanted to take my bunting and have it displayed as Cecily would have enjoyed a good display of work, did I really want to drive in this heat and sit indoors on such a lovely evening? No, I decided not, instead I hung the bunting in my garden, and sat on the front step in the late afternoon sunshine, chatting to my neighbour and enjoying a glass of Pimms with ice and cucumber. Sometimes the simple pleasures in life are what counts.

The sun shines on the righteous

the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, my spirits lifted, the gardens were a little piece of Paradise, so it’s true what they say the sun really does shine on the righteous

Last week the 13 year old went off to France on a school trip, whilst his father fretted and worried about him I was happy that he was off on a Big Adventure, and saw it as a great opportunity for a few day’s leave, so that we could go out early and stay out late because we had no-one to come home to feed or make sure homework was being done or bed time adhered to. If only the weather had been kind! It rained and rained… and rained. I found myself humming the Travis tune “why does it always rain on me, was it because I lied when I was 17?”

By the third day I was determined to enjoy my day whatever the weather. We had planned to visit a National Trust property near Manchester but couldn’t face a wet, grey journey down the M6, so we headed east towards promised drier weather. We drove to Skipton for lunch then on to Bolton Abbey and Wharfedale in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, to visit a famous garden attached to Parcevall Hall; which comprise 24 acres of formal and woodland gardens which rise up the hillside for 200 feet giving wonderful views in every direction.

The house itself is not open to garden visitors, sadly; it must be fascinating, dating back to 1584 at least and extended in the 1920’s. It belongs to the College of Guardians of the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham and is used by the Bradford Diocese as a retreat house and conference centre. Hardly surprising then, that as we arrived in the neighbourhood of Parcevall Hall, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, my spirits lifted, the gardens were a little piece of Paradise, so it’s true what they say the sun really does shine on the righteous.

The last three miles as we drove towards the Hall were nerve racking, the roads narrow and winding, we both held our breath in fear of meeting another vehicle coming the other way; mostly we only passed walkers and cyclists.

We had tea before exploring the gardens; a little sparrow came and begged for food, even standing on our table inches from my hand. On the garden wall I spotted a baby sparrow just fledged and not quite in control of itself. There were beautifully planted terraces nearer to the house, an orchard of rare old apples trees, a lake and a babbling brook, woodland walks and a walled garden. Against a wall in a sheltered spot there was a crinodendron I’ve only seen it once before.

Later I spotted a wren, I stood for many minutes camera to face so as not to frighten it, hoping to get a picture but sadly she was too fast for me, I only got one blurry shot, I used to have a little wren in my garden, they are so tiny, so pretty, I love wrens.

a Purple shirted Bishop and lesser spotted female in dog collar.

As we left it seemed that the roads had become even narrower, so much so that if we met a vehicle coming in the other direction both drivers and passengers needed to breathe in, in order to pass safely. It’s strange what you see in the hedgerows, once when we pulled over to allow another driver to pass I spotted both currants and gooseberries growing wild, I didn’t look too closely under the gooseberry bush, never know what you might find!

The Button Jar

as a button jar mine was hardly a thing of beauty

So, having cut up all my charity shop shirts I have a satisfactory pile of checked fabrics which make the beginnings of a potential new plaid quilt. I think I need some more greens and also some more deep saturated colours. I’m going to keep collecting till I have a mix I like, and then start cutting.

One secondary benefit of all those shirts is a healthy supply of shirt buttons to add to my button jar. Pictured are my shirt buttons and a selection of buttons which were orphaned and hanging about the house in drawers and on surfaces waiting to be re-homed.

Being a practical person, when I come home from a shopping trip with a new garment I always cut off the little plastic bag with the spare buttons in and put them carefully aside in case I ever lose a button… but I’m also a great believer of that old adage “a stitch in time saves nine” or in this case “a stitch in time saves having to replace a button” so if I see a loose button I re-stitch it, consequently I rarely lose my buttons. Those many little plastic bags containing buttons remain long after the garment they came with has long since departed my wardrobe.

These buttons in bags have mostly gravitated to my button jar, but they do not have much to recommend aesthetically, in fact as a button jar mine was hardly a thing of beauty. Plastic has its place and I would not be without it, but it is not pleasing to the eye.

Taking as my guide William Morris, who said “Have nothing in your house which you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful” I want my button jar to be both useful and beautiful. I have ejected all the plastic and added the shirt buttons. It is only a small jar, and not very full but time will take care of that, grandma’s always have the most well stocked button collections and I have a few years to go yet before I will qualify, age wise. I wonder how many plaid shirt quilts I would have to make to fill the jar? But then if I use the buttons to tie the quilt I might end up buying buttons.

The shirt off his back

I have yet to follow one down the street with covetous intent, but you never know….

Have you ever seen a person wearing a garment whose fabric you would happily have in your stash? I must admit until recently I hadn’t, but since I have been gathering checked shirt fabrics for a future project I have found myself studying passing gentlemen, many of the most unprepossessing type, and wishing I could have the shirts off their backs, only for my stash you understand. It has become a running joke with my Dearest, as I find my eye captured and held by men of all ages, sizes and types each wearing loud checks of all colours and design. I have yet to follow one down the street with covetous intent, but you never know….

My passion for fabric outstrips my available fabric buying resources exponentially, so I am always on the lookout for ways of acquiring fabric for quilting with the least outlay of funds. Inspired by my love for recycling and by the plaid scrap quilts I have seen on Pinterest I began collecting checked shirts bought in charity shops. My local charity shop has been an almost weekly supplier of treasure, and each so far costing between £1 and £2.50.

I find that a man’s “small” shirt will render the largest piece from the back measuring 21” by 25” measuring under the armholes and from yoke to tail, which is equal to a fat quarter, the front a similar amount of fabric in two halves, and then the sleeves although an odd shape will render at least as much as a fat quarter between them or less if short sleeves, but if I calculate each shirt to represent half a yard of fabric I don’t think I will be disappointed.

short sleeves, still would render two 5" squares each — short sleeves, still would render two 5″ squares each

The smallest shirt I have bought for £1 (pictured) was age 11-12 and gave me a back measuring 18.5” by 22”, the biggest a 17.5” collar shirt from Boden which rendered a back measuring 31” by 30” but bizarrely was cut on the bias and looks like a table cloth, the sleeves were cut on the straight grain, so although large the shirt will similarly render only a half yard.
The inside of the Yoke is often cut on the bias which limits its use but two small squares could be cut from it for another scrap project, and the yoke will render squares or strings.

My rule in choosing which shirts to buy is that they must be 100% cotton, not seersucker, must be bright not muddy colours, and must be checked not striped. Mostly the shirts I buy are unworn or barely worn and that can be discerned by looking at the labels for wash fatigue and collar for signs of wear. So far I have made only two mistakes, poplin is too crackly, and does not iron well. To achieve a good mix of colour and pattern I will need perhaps 30 to 40 shirts, but that will give me 15-20 yards of fabric which should be enough for more than one quilt, one large and maybe a couple of lap quilts.

My observations on charity shop shirt buying so far are:-the louder the shirt the more likely that it will be unworn, perhaps it’s a case of loud shirts having a limited use, or that they generally fall into the unwanted gift, or “seemed like a good idea at the time” category, which languished at the back of the wardrobe for a couple of years and then got edited out to the charity shop. And…. children’s clothes, particularly summer wear in Britain, unless passed down from oldest to youngest, probably only has an 8 to 10 week window of wear, before its back to school uniform in September, so many summer shirts have hardly seen a washing machine more than half a dozen times before they are put away to have been outgrown by the following summer, so a future life in a quilt is a greener alternative to another 8 to 10 weeks life in a different boy’s wardrobe.

Been there, done that, got the tee shirt

Before I fell into bed, I pulled back the curtains, there was a rosy glow of dawn on the horizon, and before I slept I heard the dawn chorus begin over the gentle snores of my Dearest.

Where were you on the night of the 8th of June 2013 between 11.00 and 02.50? I was pounding the pavements with more than 900 women dressed in neon pink tee shirts and flashing bunny ears. Some even wore pink tutus and feather boas. Why? You might ask.
This strange phenomenon occurs annually but it was my first and perhaps only time. The St John’s Hospice Moonlight walk happens every year in June and involves volunteers from the local community raising money through sponsorship to walk either 14 or 25 kilometres through the city’s streets, country roads and coastal route to Morecambe and back. It’s a women only event and women sign up in groups or singly to take part. Consequently there is little competitive edge but much laughter, and good humoured banter along the way.
I arrived at 11pm to be met with a sea of flashing bunny ears on the heads of women of all ages each dressed in the same tee shirt, on the back of which was a space to write the name of a departed loved one in whose memory they were walking. One I caught sight of named a young man I had known who died heartbreakingly young; it was good to see he was still remembered fondly by a young woman who must have been a friend and contemporary of his.
We all lined up behind a ribbon, counted down 5…4…3…2…1 the ribbon was cut and off we went, in a hurry to get to the front and stay out in front so as not to be slowed down. Photographers waited at the gates to snap the sea of women disgorging from the hospice grounds, and people were standing there just to see us off and cheer us on.
The event was so well organised. The army were there, nice young men and women in fatigues waiting to marshal the traffic through the village of Slyne where the foot path is too narrow, volunteer marshals at the half way point to give out sweets and collect empty water bottles, temporary toilet facilities for the weak of bladder, and rescue vehicles for those who had bitten off more than they could chew. The most heartening thing was the amount of people who waited along the route just to cheer us on as we passed their house or street, one little boy was out in his dressing gown and slippers to wave his mother on as she passed.

Got the Tee shirt...and the medal — Got the Tee shirt…and the medal

It was a long 9 miles, and I was really pleased to reach the finish line, I accepted my medal, but didn’t stay for the pink fizz or the hog roast, I said a brief good night to my walking companion, and wended a weary way back to my car, it was 02.50 and my Dearest would be waiting up for me. As I drove back along part of the route groups of weary women mostly still smiling were headed towards the finish line I had just left. To the North the sky was already lightening, as I crossed the bridge over the River Lune I could see a wide expanse of silvery pre dawn sky, I was home by 03.00.
Before I fell into bed, I pulled back the curtains, there was a rosy glow of dawn on the horizon, and before I slept I heard the dawn chorus begin over the gentle snores of my Dearest. He said he was proud of me and for once I concur, sore and weary but I’m pleased I did it.

Gadget girl

I hardly stopped to put away the groceries, before running out to the back garden to try out my new toy.

I’ve never really been a gadget lover unless you include my sewing kit, but one thing I have always had a hankering for is a detail sander; a neat little hand held device which I could use to save time when preparing surfaces for paint. Probably because I love shabby chic and would like to customise found objects and charity shop finds.
Last week I bought some teak oil to treat my Garden furniture but didn’t get any further than storing it in the garage, I couldn’t face the work of sanding them all down by hand with a sanding block, and hadn’t the patience to try to persuade my Dearest to do it, he doesn’t DO manual labour!
Imagine then my delight at finding the very thing I needed in my local supermarket, at a very reasonable price. No contest; one of those was coming home with me. I hardly stopped to put away the groceries, before running out to the back garden to try out my new toy. A gadget which saves time and effort is always a blessing, especially if it means you enjoy the task, even better if you can get someone else to enjoy the task instead, I wonder if I could get the thirteen year old interested…..?

stripped down and ready in half an hour!

My old grotty moss stained teak garden chair was sanded down and given a coat of Teak oil in less than an hour, next task is the teak garden bench which lives on the terrace in the back garden, and then the bench from the front of the house. Note the foolish mistake, I didn’t put down newspaper before I began, so now I will need to clean the paving, Doh! Next time I’ll work on the lawn, it won’t do any permanent damage.

Teak oiled.....Good as new — Teak oiled…..Good as new

Fair shines the day

There is an easy walk I’m very fond of from Elterwater to Skelwith Bridge…..and finally to a very nice café with retail therapy opportunity for the very long of pocket.

So as I was saying, my Dearest and I had come to the conclusion that if we were to get any fun out of the coming weekend we had to put fun first. It was going to be sunny on Saturday and Sunday , but then pour with rain all day Monday, (typical Whitsuntide Bank Holiday then!), and probably Tuesday as well since I’d booked a day’s leave to take my Dad to a hospital appointment.

Saturday was to be fun day. I called my sister and planned to take her with us but she had better things to do, which is OK. Getting My Dearest out of bed, dressed, medicated and ablutions performed before lunchtime is always a challenge at the weekend, so we set off for the Lake District by 12.00, picnic packed and fuel tank filled. We took my little precious, my Mazda MX5, top down, hats firmly attached to heads and, in my case at least, sun block applied.

Free parking for National Trust members,that's lucky — Free parking for National Trust members,that’s lucky

There is an easy walk I’m very fond of from Elterwater to Skelwith Bridge, it’s not more than 2 and a half miles and flat most of the way and yet it passes from Lakeland village to babbling brook and marshy ground, from ancient Beech wood, to open meadows full of wild flowers and sheep, a Lake with distant views of the Langdales, and then more Beech wood with cascading waterfalls, and finally to a very nice café with retail therapy opportunity for the very long of pocket.

Typical Lakeland farmhouse in Elterwater

I poked round in the shop, admiring the pretty things I had neither wherewithal nor intention to buy, while my Dearest considered whether there was anything on the menu he might eat, there rarely is in these expensive and rarefied places, he won’t eat anything he can’t pronounce.

Then we wandered down to the bridge itself, sat on a slate bench under a majestic mature Beech tree whose leaves were all newly opened and as perfect as they could be, and unpacked our picnic.

Then walked back the way we had come, there are other walks which can be taken from Skelwith Bridge, and perhaps next time we’ll trek back another way but I wanted more time in that Bluebell wood, and to enjoy the wild flowers en route.

We called in at Ambleside on our way home for coffee, I scored two more 100% cotton checked shirts in the Oxfam charity shop, £2 each, bargain. We returned home tired and someone a little sun burned, but having had a Day Out.

All we need is a cunning plan

I wanted to stand ankle deep in bluebells in a sun dappled wood

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This winter I have been feeling dissatisfied with life. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why but it had something to do with feeling the dullness of all work and no play. Working full time as I do weekends are precious but the pressure to squeeze some “me time” out of the weekend has caused me to be fraught with competing pressures of laundry and shopping, cleaning and visiting family and friends; all winter I have been dashing about filling every weekend with “things that must be done” rather than doing what I wanted to do, even quilting had become a “must do”, working to an exhibition deadline.
So last weekend as Sunday evening darkened and I was driving home from another journey made for someone else’s benefit, I determined that I needed to develop a cunning plan which would allow me time to do something I had been yearning to do; walk in a wood carpeted with native Bluebells (Hyacinthoides nonscripta) while they are still flowering, admittedly rather late this year. As I have been driving about for work I have passed many a little glade by the roadside and seen a blue mist above the undergrowth and caught a faint whiff of that wonderful scent, which indicated Bluebells were flowering there; I wanted to stand ankle deep in bluebells in a sun dappled wood. Saturday is usually my shopping day, but not this weekend, the forecast indicated that the sun would shine on Saturday and I planned to be in a Bluebell wood.