Knit. Stitch. Bitch.

I bought this bargain antique from the Sally Anne in Nanaimo a year and a half ago. It’s seen the light of day three times - most recently for a long overdue project: Mac Sacs. Roddy’s patiently waiting for his, and my “trial” sac is waiting for a new button.

I didn’t follow a pattern but the fact that this pouch is functional is probably pure luck. I sure love the the hum of the Singer and the sensation of fabric whizzing through my fingers. It’s a good thing too: I may need to make my own clothes soon out of sheer necessity!

See that pointed finger? No one seems to be paying attention. Shona is doing her thing, Roddy’s gaze is elsewhere, and Nancy has left the scene completely.

We were on vacation, but I wanted to work in the garden. I offered my services (I had something to prove - my baking “services” at Redburn are still the butt end of jokes). And I was happy to help, I just didn’t expect to be taken so seriously… while on holiday. So after stepping up to the plate with pick axe in hand to dig the trench, I played bench warmer the following day to document our fine group achievement.

But photos can be deceptive. Alistair is a man of action. He knows what he wants, and he knows how he wants it done. Whether it’s pruning fruit trees, prepping a bondie (bonfire for those non-Scots), or planting a beech hedge. He whipped us into shape and had the continuation of the hedge he planted with Ru and Cal done and dusted in no time.

Kudos to Al! Not only do he and Shona now have a balanced border to their beautiful Nairnshire property, but he taught Roddy and I how to plant a beech hedge:

1. Dig trench about 1 ft wide, and 2 ft deep. Be prepared to be told to dig deeper. Then prepare yourself for further instruction to dig deeper still.

2. Swing the pick axe like you mean it. No namby-pamby nonesense - let the axe do the work.

3. Remove bountiful stones while shoveling earth off to side. Brace your back against striking stones forcefully (and unintentionally) with shovel, again and again.

4. Take a break - a refreshing G&T recommended at this time.

5. Purchase spindly beech trees from friendly local nursery.

6. “Heel them in” to soil until ready to plant (this keeps the roots alive).

7. Take another break if on holiday.

8. Shovel a good layer of composted dung into the trench.

9. Plant wee beech trees a foot apart, sprinkle bone meal over roots, and fill with earth from side of trench.

10. Water in.

11. Admire your work.

Scotland was wonderful - I’m longing to be back already.

I’m not finished sorting through all our photos and still too tender to tell tales… I’ll be back in blogland shortly!   (Photo credit: Roddy)

Roddy and I are off for a week and a half of revelry in Scotland. His dad, Donald, and Fran are getting married in a medieval castle in the Borders. Donald knows how to throw a party - our 3 days at the castle will most certainly be lavish and boisterous.

Our travels will then take us north to Edinburgh, and farther still to the Highlands (see above), where reunions with friends and family will inevitably see the party continue (see below) ’til we board our plane again.

Looks like spring, doesn’t it? Chilled out kittie.  Roddy working up a sweat in a thin top. Can you hear the birds chirping? Can you see the edge of the box containing our basil seedlings? They’re growing tall and looking for a transplant.  Here Roddy is yesterday throwing together a cold frame from scrap materials. It’s not quite there yet, but neither is spring apparently.

Here’s the scene from our kitchen window this morning. Yep. Cold frame will have to wait for hot lovin’.

My grandma tells tales of the anticipation that would mount at the train station in Lindsay, Ontario over 80 years ago. With trains came mail, and in the 1920’s people would gather on the platform with hopes of letters and parcels. She spent her teenage years attending high school miles from home, so correspondence from family was a highlight of my grandma’s weekly routine.

It’s been a long time since I’ve rushed out to check the mail filled with hope and expectation. Mail was a hot commodity at summer camp – especially care packages (a box full of junk food). While on student exchange in high school, nothing was better than reading words in my mother tongue. And on the last stretch of a white water canoe trip, I powered toward a van containing the first mail I’d read in 3 weeks (a long love letter and a mix tape).

These days, it’s not worth running to collect bills from the mailbox. But for the past month I’ve been waiting for a very special delivery: my first babies.

The delivery of my 1 lb 9 oz box was long and drawn out. But words cannot describe how wonderful it is to finally see my precious packages after all this time. Roddy and I are proud to announce our little arrivals:

Organic Heirloom Scarlet Nantes carrots
Heirloom Red Bull’s Horn peppers
Bush Delicata squash
Festival squash
Juliet tomatoes
Organic Heritage Westlandse kale
Oregon Trail shelling peas
Mammoth Melting Sugar snow peas
Tricolour Blend bush beans
Sayamusume edamame soybeans
Bea Garden wildflower blend
Butterfly wildflower blend

(And despite the crude slicing of the box with a sharp chef’s knife, mother and babies are doing just fine).

I arrived home the other day to a mysterious gift left on our doorstep. A seed tray, plant pots, and a tangled mass of celery leaves. Now, while this was much appreciated, it stayed outside overnight. And another night. Yesterday I shifted it two feet into our entryway.

Overwrought with guilt, I finally carried the puzzle of mud, leaves and roots into the kitchen tonight. See, I’ve never even touched celeriac until an hour ago. Has anyone ever encountered a recipe calling for 2 cups of diced celeriac? It must be one of the most uncommon vegetables!… or else I’m once again coming face to face with my relatively sheltered culinary upbringing. I’m sure my grandma knows about it.

Celeriac. It sounds like something that kept people alive during famines. Or a medicine.

Has anyone got a delicious recipe they can recommend? (Roddy’s requesting a pie).

As we wait (and wait, and wait) for our seed order to arrive, spring is bursting to life. The season emerges early and meanders for months in Victoria. The crocuses have been up for a few weeks now, tormenting me as I was poorly bed.

On my feet again, I finally picked up thread today to sew a collar button back onto my favourite winter coat. I’ve braced myself against icy cold blasts sneaking down my neck for over two months, and now the coat is too warm for this weather! But spring has a way of making a little setback like this seem entirely insignificant as I stroll down a street lined with the first cherry blossoms of the season.