Filling the bird feeders is my first job of the morning. Three fat-ball holders and two seed holders hanging on branches of the surrounding fir trees provide a feast and it only takes a minute for the birds to descend and squabble over perching rights. I watch from the window, sipping strong tea and half leaning on the radiator. Sunshine and a cloudless blue sky promises a beautiful autumn morning.Earlier, I had seen the cows by the gate at the end of the meadow. They had wandered back up the hill now. I’m happy to stand for a while and drink it all in, never tiring of what I see and enjoying the changing each season brings.
I’m not at home. This is Dumfries and Galloway. My perfect place for some much needed rest and relaxation, and my birthday in a couple of days. I am trying to make myself unwind, determined to make the most of this longer than usual stay, but I’m aware that just below the surface of my calm exterior, stress is bubbling.There’s always family stuff and I’m not quite well but not bad enough to be ill.I need to chill, so I’m thankful to have my knitting to occupy me later on and help me to relax.
Knitting has been and continues to be a lifetime occupation.I might be repeating myself here if I’ve previously mentioned about being taught to knit by my mother and grandmother.It was when my mother was expecting my baby sister. Of course, the gender wasn’t known before birth in those days. Both ladies were constantly knitting and I was taking an interest. , One of them started me off with a few stitches on their spare needles and talked me through it in simple terms of ‘in, round, through, off’ until I got the hang of it.I tried hard, dropped stitches, added stitches from somewhere and made a mess, probably more than once, but with their saintly patience and my determination, I’ve learnt a wealth of knitting and crochet skills that I’m constantly putting into practice.From baby clothes to Aran sweaters, plain knits to complicated, I’ve done it all.It is Christmas jumper time again, which is what I’m working on at the moment, for my grandchildren.By the way, the photograph is from last year, in case you’re thinking I’m super-fast at churning them out.
I found this poem, Mrs Moon by Roger McGough,
Mrs Moon
Sitting up in the sky
Little old lady
Rock-a-bye
With a ball of fading light
And silvery needles
Knitting the night.
Thanks for reading, Pam x
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