Wool Gathering....

 Finally, I’ve reached the part of my roster I truly love—three uninterrupted days off. Well, that’s the plan. The phone is back on silent, and I’m hoping for no unexpected calls or errands.

Today began slowly, just the way I like it. Chores first, then a quiet sit-down with my knitting. I’ve cast on my first raspberry sock, and I’m giving those trio-style needles a proper trial. So far, I think I’m making good progress.

The yarn is a delight—shifting shades of purple and pink that bloom from ball to fabric, like a quiet sunrise stitched into each row. As I knit, it surprises me. In the ball, the colours nestle like petals—raspberry, blush, and a good dash of cream. But once knit, they don’t stripe or ripple. Instead, they soften and blur, creating a gentle marled texture—like watercolour on wool.

The cream that was so evident in the ball is now knitted and stirred into the stitches—no longer a bold presence, but a quiet breath beneath the pinks and purples. It’s softened into suggestion, letting the berry tones take the lead.

The trio needles are taking a little getting used to. I’m not sure yet if I’m more or less comfortable with these than the traditional DPNs. The rhythm is different—less clatter, more flex—but my hands haven’t quite decided if they like the change. I’ll persevere and see how things go. For now, the stitches are behaving, and the sock is growing. That’s enough.

*

Progress is also being made on the mohair sweater. It’s slow going—just a row or two here and there—but that’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. The yarn is light, the stitches are airy, and the pace suits me.

I have to say, the swap from 6.5 mm sweater needles to 2.5 mm sock needles is a leap. The mohair needles felt chunky, almost clumsy—like holding garden stakes. These sock needles are fine, precise, almost dainty. My fingers have to recalibrate, relearn the rhythm. But there’s something comforting in that shift. The smaller needles nestle into my hands differently, asking for a gentler touch. It’s a quieter kind of knitting, and I’m finding my way

*

In my last post, I hinted that I might have been shopping—for sock yarn, of course. And now, the evidence is here. No pinks or purples this time—just a bold, beautiful mix of mossy greens, stormy blues, chalky greys, and even a dash of sunset orange. Each skein feels like a story waiting to be told.

There’s Opal’s forest-toned celebration yarn, with its misty blues and glacier whites—like a walk through alpine shadows. Then there’s the holiday skein, bursting with cheerful greens and reds, like a sock-sized postcard from somewhere warm and festive. 

               

The Mandala wool leans into teal and maroon, deep and moody like a twilight tidepool. 

    

                  

And that Chalkhill Blue from West Yorkshire Spinners? It’s a butterfly wing in yarn form—delicate, dappled, and quietly wild.

I’m not sure which one I’ll cast on next. For now, they’re nestled beside the couch, waiting patiently. Like ingredients in a well-stocked pantry, they’ll reveal their true personalities when the time is right.

*

Twice recently, I’ve been gifted bags of yarn—some full balls, some curious little ends, each one a mystery in colour and ply.  I feel so lucky, so quietly blessed to receive these leftovers. There’s something generous and hopeful in yarn passed from one maker to another. They’ve all been added to the stash, tucked in beside the other odds and ends, waiting patiently for their turn. I suspect a scrappy crochet project is brewing somewhere in the background. It’s not planned yet, but the yarn knows. It always does.

*

It’s fair to say I’ve been bitten by the knitting bug. The sock yarn stash has grown, the needles are in rotation, and my hands seem to know what they want—at least for now. But crafting, for me, has always been a cycle. I’ve shifted from patchwork to crochet, wandered through EPP and cross stitch, and now I’m deep in knitting again. Round and round it goes, each phase bringing its own rhythm and comfort. I wonder where the next change will take me?

Do your crafting moods change too? Do you find yourself drawn to different fibres, colours, or tools depending on the season—or the week? I’d love to hear what’s on your needles, or what’s waiting patiently in your stash for its turn.

Socks, Cherry Blossoms and Cough Drops.

 There hasn’t been a huge amount happening here since I last wrote—just the usual shifts at work, plus an extra thrown in for good measure. I’ve taken the liberty of putting my phone on silent for yesterday and today, just in case work gets any ideas. I think I’ve earned my days off, and I intend to keep them.

I’ve had a sore throat lingering for a few days now. Not enough to make me miserable, but just enough to be noticed—especially at night, when it seems to settle in like an unwelcome guest. I’m not sure if this is the whole show or just the opening act, but for now I’m keeping it at bay with sugar-free cough sweets and quiet defiance.

Aside from work and throat-soothing rituals, it’s been the usual domestics. The other day, while emptying the bins, I spotted a pair of Tony’s rather expensive merino socks tossed in with the rubbish. One toe had worn through—but I only bought them a few weeks ago! No way were they going to landfill. I sat down and repaired the holey toe. It’s not the tidiest job in the world, but it’s certainly cheaper than buying new ones. Besides, there’s something satisfying about saving a sock from an untimely end. Let’s just say the socks weren’t the only thing in need of attention. I may have hinted that a toenail trim could save future wool casualties.

I treated myself to a set of those trio- needles to try out on my next pair of socks. Knitting up those pixie boots recently gave me a taste for sock-making again. I might just have another go—especially since I’ve got that lovely raspberry-coloured yarn waiting patiently in the wings. And yes, there may be more pretty sock yarn on the way. I’m not making promises, but the stash might be expanding.

The mohair sweater is coming along slowly—just a row or two here and there—but I’m happy with how it’s shaping up. It’s a quiet kind of progress, the sort that suits the season.

Speaking of seasons, the cherry trees in our garden continue their dance. The big tree is now mostly green, having shed its blossoms, but the little tree is in full bloom. Anyone standing beneath its branches will hear the gentle hum of bees, busy with their day. It’s a lovely sound—like nature’s own machine, stitching spring into place.

I’ve been playing with my chocolate and coconut slice again. Did I mention the peanut version? I added chopped peanuts and three generous tablespoons of peanut butter to a batch, and Tony absolutely loved it. Then I tried crushed freeze-dried raspberries in the next round—another delicious twist. It’s become a bit of a ritual now, tweaking the recipe and watching the smiles.

So that's me for now. A quiet week, in more ways than one. Now I'm off to put a chilli con carne in the slow cooker, what's for tea in your house tonight?

Voirrey Thistlewinks Boots.

So you know by now that I stumbled upon a knitting pattern for the cutest wee boots—turned-up toes, and a cuff of leaves circling the ankle like a forest whisper. I fell in love instantly and knew I had to make some.

I have no one small enough to wear pixie boots, and I hadn’t knitted in the round with DPNs for years. Even then, I’d only made three tiny baby socks. But I was determined. I was going to knit myself some pixie boots.

I had a vision—a dream, really—of a Faerie who came in from the cold, just wanting to be warm for a while. Then, caught off guard, she ran off barefoot, leaving her boots behind. That whimsical tale grew stitch by stitch as I knitted.

My first effort was ripped out, but I wasn’t deterred. I started again, a little tidier, a little wiser. The first completed boot still wasn’t perfect, but it taught me what I needed to know. The pair to the first was better, easier going. And this morning a surprise snowfall gave me the perfect excuse to stay home, sit down and finish the last of the leaves around the ankle.

The leaves knit up quickly, and before I knew it, I was slipping the second boot onto my DIY sock blocker. And finally this Faerie tale was born.

Voirrey Thistlewinks Boots.

She came in from the frost with a whispering tread,

A faerie in search of warmth amid yarn and thread.

She slipped past the fabric to a crafty retreat,

Where scissors hung sharp and the projects ran deep.

In boots knit from twilight and thistle’s own thread,

Voirrey danced softly where a crafters dreams spread.

An Inneen ny Shee, with a secretive grace,

She vanished, a whisper still warming the space.

Now resting alone with a whimsical toe,

Turned upward like laughter where faeries might go.

Their cuffs are all leafy, a green-stitched bouquet—

Two booties now waiting to dance the spring day.

*

A Note on Manx Folklore

Inneen ny Shee (pronounced in-yen nuh shee) is Manx Gaelic for “Girl of the Fairies.” In Manx tradition, the Shee are fairy folk—secretive, nature-bound, and often glimpsed at twilight. An Inneen ny Shee might be a gentle visitor, a mischief-maker, or a guardian of hidden places.

Voirrey is a Manx version of Mary, often linked to fairies and folklore. Soft, secretive, and Fae approved, it felt like just the right name for the owner of the boots supposedly left behind in my craft room.

I wonder what you make of Voirrey’s boots and my imaginings. Feel free to share—this corner of the internet is always open to a bit of whimsy.

*

Still here after my imaginings? You’ll be wondering what comes next after the completion of that little obsession. Another squirrel, of course.

Do you recall when I found the pattern for the mohair sweater my lovely mum knitted for me back when I was about 16 or 17? I started it the other night. I needed a break from the 2.75 mm needles and the 4-ply yarn—my eyes and fingers were beginning to complain. The mohair and the 6 mm needles were on hand, so I cast on the back of the sweater. There’s a lovely 2x2 rib in progress, soft and rhythmic.

To my surprise, the mohair isn’t nearly as troublesome as I feared. It’s behaving—mostly—and I’m very much enjoying the change of texture. I think I’ve found my next mindless TV project. It’s the kind of knitting that lets the story unfold on screen while the stitches grow quietly in my lap.

*

We’ve reached that time in my roster where I get three whole days off. Unless the phone rings, which seems unlikely this week. With only a few chores, a quick grocery shop, and a visit to the chiropractor on Friday afternoon, the rest of the time is mine.

So what to do with all of that time? 

**

Post Script

There’s always a phone call, isn’t there? Just as I was off editing photos and admiring Voirrey’s leafy cuffs, the phone rang. So, this evening I’m working a short shift—just four hours. Not too bad, really. Enough time to be useful, not enough to unravel the mohair mood. The boots will wait, the blog will post, and the squirrel will find me again tomorrow.

Springing Forward and Digging In, A day of soil and seasonal shifts

 Sunday at last—a day off, and blissfully so. I woke not to the alarm, but to the sound of birds. Even better, I was able to drift back to sleep for a while. When I woke again, the dawn chorus had passed and the birds were already busy about their day. The clocks in New Zealand sprang forward last night, so I’ve no idea what time it was. But I decided it was time to get up.

I started the day with a cup of peppermint and liquorice tea while checking blogs and answering emails. Then it was time to knit. I managed about a dozen rounds on my DPNs and nudged the pixie boot to its next milestone. This version is gliding along far more smoothly than its predecessor—what a relief.

At some point, Tony announced it was time to visit the garden center to shop for chilli peppers. I decided to tag along and sneak a few extras into the trolley. Once home, we had a quick lunch and headed straight into the garden.

First things first: I dug a hole under the cherry tree and planted another hellebore. I do love them—and the way they spread themselves around. The more ground they cover, the less I have to keep tidy. Next came two wildfire chillies, a Carolina Reaper, and a red capsicum, all tucked into the new greenhouse alongside some very sorry-looking marigolds. Hopefully they’ll perk up and help keep the bugs at bay. Tony, meanwhile, was busy planting tomatoes in the big greenhouse.

See that bright blue packet on the shelf? That’s the sulphates packet. THE packet. The one that housed the monster spider. (((Shudder)))

Next, we dug a hole in a sheltered corner and planted a lemon tree. Yes—I got my way, and we now have a new lemon tree. While Tony busied himself with lawn food, I planted sweet peas in the big barrels on the front patio, alongside the pansies and other flowers from last time.

Then came the broccoli, planted beside the cauli flowers. I picked a small cauli that was ready for the kitchen, then planted a few rows of leek sets in the next bed and covered them with netting to stop the blackbirds from digging them up. They do love to rummage through the gardens—especially that bed, which still wears its winter blanket of straw and leaf mulch.

Finally, we gave everything a big drink with some especially smelly food recommended to us. It’s made from leftovers in the factory that produces frozen fish fillets and fish fingers. Need I say more?

I made sure to stand for a while beneath the cherry tree. It’s not so pink now—many of the blossoms have drifted away—but enough remain to draw the bees, who hum through the branches like tiny, winged blessings. Their quiet industry filled the air with a calming pulse, a reminder that the garden still has its own rhythm.

The smaller cherry tree is just beginning to bloom. It’s not as showy as its larger sibling, but it holds its own charm—modest, steady, and still beloved by the bees. They don’t mind the difference. They simply go where the nectar calls

The wind’s rising now, and we’ve retreated indoors after a successful couple of hours in the garden. The soil’s been turned, the lemon tree’s in, and the bees have had their say. It might just be time to pick up the knitting again and let the pixie boot march on. Or maybe, just maybe I'll dig out the mohair and start something new.

How did your Sunday unfold? Did it come with soil, stitches, or something entirely unexpected? I’d love to hear.

Teapot Memories and a Squirrel Detour.

Though I’m back at work, the bootie knitting continues. I’ve surprised myself with how much energy I still have in the evenings—more than I expected, and it’s a welcome thing. The later starts in my new role help too, giving me space to ease into the day.

Most mornings, I manage 15 to 30 minutes of knitting or crochet before hopping into my wee car. It’s a gentle ritual—just enough time to add a few rows, sip something warm, and feel like I’ve done something creative before the day begins. Evenings bring more stitches, and the second boot is progressing nicely. I have to say, it’s looking much tidier than the first one.

I’ve been thinking about how best to tidy up the first boot. Maybe I’ll make a third and chalk number one up to the learning experience? While pondering that, I stumbled across some sock blockers online. Hmm. I’m not buying one of those just for a single pair of boots!

So I had a ponder and decided I’d make one myself.

As luck would have it, when I got home from work on Wednesday, Tony had a delivery. As soon as he’d opened his package, I claimed the cardboard it was wrapped in—good, heavy stuff too. I quickly flattened out the completed boot as best I could and drew around it, even that cheeky turned-up toe.

Next came the cutting, followed by a generous wrapping of waterproof bodge-it tape. I pulled the boot over my DIY sock block—perfect fit. Out came the spray bottle, filled with warm water and a dash of fabric softener, and I gave the boot a good misting. Then I propped it up on the bath taps to dry and walked away.

By Thursday after work, it was dry and smelling beautiful. When I pulled it off my homemade sock block, it held its shape nicely.

Loulee ingenuity at its best.

That first boot still isn’t perfect, but it looks a lot better for having been blocked. I think I’ll hang onto it. These boots aren’t meant to be worn—they’re for decoration only—And to be honest, I rather like the idea of them looking a little lived in.

There’s something comforting about a boot that’s seen a few adventures, even if those adventures were just in the making. A slightly wonky toe, a stitch that wandered—these are the marks of learning, of care, of time well spent. I’ll let it stand proudly beside its hopefully much tidier twin, a reminder that finished is better than perfect.

*

Who remembers one of these? 

A Dolly Bobbin, French Knitting Doll, I-cord Maker—what name do you know it by?

I have three of these now, two of these Dolly style and one that is a wooden cotton reel with tacks.

I came across this one quite by accident while looking for something for Tony last night. It was tucked into a bag of yarn scraps I’d picked up at an op shop. The yellow yarn was already started, so I pulled out a crochet hook and was instantly hooked. As you can see, I added some pink last night. I’m not sure what I’ll make yet, but I’m enjoying the process.

When I was a little girl, I had one of these and made a long cord. My lovely Gran turned it into a teapot cosy. I can still see it if I close my eyes—her little teapot held just enough for one China cup of tea. Not a mug, mind you—a proper cup and saucer. I remember the delicate clink as the cup settled into its saucer, and how proud I felt being trusted to carry it from the dining table to the kitchen. I was so careful, afraid I might drop that precious cup.

The teapot sat on a wicker basket lined with a cork mat, heat-stained from years of use. The pot was silvery in colour, with a black knob on the lid and a matching handle. My Gran stitched my bobbin cord into a snug little cosy and showed me how to make a pompom for the top. Nobody seems to use tea pots these days, though I do still have a couple tucked away.

Now I’m leaning toward making a very, very long cord —perhaps enough for a rug. 

What would you suggest? 

Do you remember what you made with yours as a youngster?

*

I’m working an extra shift tomorrow, and one of the girls I’ll be working with was on duty today. She knows I love to bake and cheekily asked if fresh baking might be on the cards. LOL—how could I resist?

As soon as I got home, I reached out to a friend for her recipe and whipped up a batch of raspberry muffins. They’re light, fruity, and I made mine with coconut milk instead of dairy—just a little twist that worked beautifully. I do hope my new colleagues enjoy them.

Easy Raspberry Muffins

🧺 Ingredients (makes 12 muffins)

• 250g plain flour
• 1 tbsp baking powder
• 100g golden caster sugar
• 75g chilled butter (coarsely grated)
• 1 large egg
• 175ml milk (I used more. 225-250).
• 150g fresh/frozen raspberries

🥣 Method

1. Preheat oven to 200°C (180°C fan). Line a 12-hole muffin tray with paper cases.
2. Sift flour and baking powder into a bowl. Stir in sugar.
3. Grate butter into the bowl and mix with a fork to coat.
4. Beat egg and milk together, then pour into the bowl. Mix lightly—don’t overbeat.
5. Gently fold in raspberries.
6. Spoon batter into muffin cases. Bake for 20–25 minutes until golden.
7. Optional: Sprinkle with sugar while warm or drizzle with melted chocolate for a treat.

*

My back is improving—slowly but surely. These days, the chiropractor doesn’t have to work quite so hard during my visits, and I can feel the difference both at work and when I get home.

Before the injury, even the commute home was uncomfortable. I couldn’t settle into anything that required focus, especially not knitting. But now, with the pain easing, I find I can concentrate again in the evenings. Even focusing on fiddly sock knitting, and it feels like a small victory.

I’ve gone from three chiropractic visits a week down to just one. That shift alone feels like progress—a quiet milestone in the background of my days.

Now if I could just find my way back to the WIPs and the sewing machine instead of chasing yarn squirrels!

I'm sure that one day soon, I’ll thread the needle again. For now, the squirrels are winning.

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That’s the week: a little baking, a little healing, and a few squirrelly detours. Drop a comment below if you’ve chased a yarn squirrel lately, baked for kindness, or have your own teapot memories to share—I’d love to hear them.