Of Mayday Celebrations, And How Fur is used for Warm Nests

On the first day of May we made our way up to the ancient site of the Cathair in the mountains which divide Cork from Kerry.  Didn't quite make it at dawn, but soon after, when the rising sun struck the great central stone in the enclosure and lit up the Paps beyond.

People have been coming to this high place since the dawn of time, to hail the rising sun on May Day or Bealtaine, and look forward to the summer.  The two smoothly rounded mountains in the distance are the Paps of Danu, goddess of fertility and the land.

Christianity, unable to break the tradition of climbing to the Cathair at Bealtaine, turned the gathering and the ritual circling of the enclosure at sunrise  into a religious observance.  It put up a more modern statue too, but she fits in quite well.  Our Lady of the Wayside is not that different to Danu, and she watches over the countryside and the mountains as her pagan ancestress did.

 Here are some of the deeply-incised stones, several of which have clearly been etched by willing hands since long before Christianity came to this island.

One observance that has never changed over the centuries is the custom of bringing animals to the well to drink on May morning or, if that isn't possible, taking the well water home in a bottle to administer as needed during the year ahead.  The well is enclosed now, to avoid too much muddy activity, but I walked both Sophy and Tamzin through the stream which runs down from it, to ensure their happiness in the months to come.

Tamzin has come on by leaps and bounds, grown a good coat, and is (almost) ready to come for a cuddle when coaxed.  There are still moments of blind terror and her reaction to sudden movements alerts us to possible past traumas but she is being gently eased out of bad memories and into a full realisation that life can be a happy thing.

Trouble about that hairy little face is that you simply couldn't see if she was happy or not.  All you could glimpse was the occasional gleam of an eye through the thicket of fringe.  And so, very reluctantly, we did a small amount of trimming.

And what do you know, there was a bright little facekin in there all the time!  Now at least we can check her expression more easily.  (Sophy long ago adopted a permanent air of gloomy pessimism.  She found it got her more attention.)

The cats, too, are blooming, and (unfortunately) as full of mischief as a cauldron of squirrels!  They appear to be happy enough indoors,

although my heart misgives me when I see them gazing out at the grass and the trees (and the birds, the birds, the tail lashing tells of basic instincts coming to the fore).  But the memory of a small still body lying on that  road outside is still vivid.  They do not go outside.  Not until they're a lot calmer and more placid.  Which may never happen, judging by the way they carry on at present.

Sock Madness started in early March, and both moggies took to it with great delight, seizing every opportunity to assist with yarn winding, advanced knitting techniques, and, best of all, independent frogging.

You'd cast on for a sock, get the ribbing started, then incautiously leave the room for a nanosecond.  That was enough!  Even large baskets of hand-dyed skeins weren't safe, and neither were those gorgeous balls of violet blue alpaca/silk from a recent Norwegian Stash Enhancement Expedition..  Do you know, they even tore open a ziplock bag of precious cashmere/silk/merino Sublime intended for the Michael Kors sweater, and distributed no fewer than three balls of it around a fairly large room, incorporating as many chair, table and sofa legs as possible?  One good thing:  DH is becoming quite an expert at disentangling and winding neat balls of yarn too.

They get on absolutely fine with the dogs, occasionally deigning to play with them, but mostly preferring to enjoy their own feline games.

Ooh, look an invite to The Lion King!

Podge is marginally more placid.

He never loses an opportunity to grab food, even if it's something that somebody else was actually enjoying at the time.  (Tamzin really is very tolerant and gentle with the cats, and they know they can risk it.  Sophy would snap their whiskers off if they tried this.)

Pollywog, however, has a more explosive nature, and likes to watch fellow wild creatures on television

and then practise their moves to make sure he's got them right.

But their devotion to each other has never wavered, since that very first day Pollywog put his paws round a tiny squalling baby Podge and washed him until he slept.

It hasn't been a good spring so far in West Cork.  Chilly easterly winds continued far too long, and we were giving up hope as the end of April approached.  However, May exerted its power, and suddenly everything was happening at once.  Primroses, blackthorn, celandines, all the early flowers came out at the same time as the later bluebells, dandelions, buttercups, making for a wonderfully colourful display.  And the birds got busy all at once.  

We always put little bunches of soft undercoat dog combings on the bushes near the house at this time of year, and this morning DH literally had no time for breakfast with the activity going on outside.

First came this little bluetit

who gathered such a bundle of Sophy-fur that he looked like a flying cloud rather than a little bird heading back to his nestbox!

Then came a tiny goldcrest who preferred Tamzin's light grey

and lastly a wren who chose a blend of both.  We followed this little chap back to the corner of the garden where he had tucked his nest in behind a fencepost.  Cock wrens build several of these little boudoirs and then conduct their lady-love around to each, to see which she prefers.

Clearly the little lady liked this one best, because she was very busy tidying up, placing the fur her mate had brought in just the right way, and then finding a skeleton leaf to make it all beautiful.

Meanwhile, of course, her mate was showing off most elegantly, raising himself on tiptoe, fanning his wings and tail, and singing his heart out.  It was a lovely morning, although we got very little else done.  So much to watch and see.

The garden is starting to unfurl at last too.  And I have a tiny nosegay on my windowsill which blends past, present and future in a very special way.

Just one stem of the rare rose-tinted lily of the valley which DH's mother brought from France many years ago to set in the garden here.  Muguet de bois is traditionally associated with May Day there.  The more usual white variety grew in the garden of my old home, and my mother would tuck its flowers into our hair on special occasions.   Its scent is unforgettable.  It didn't quite make it for May 1, but then, Old May Day isn't until the 11th, so this one is an advance guard, promising joy to come.

With it are some sprigs of southernwood (also known in different places as Lads Love, appleringie and several other charming country names).  It's an artemisia variety, possibly abrotanum.  This, above all else, reminds me of my old home and childhood.  My mother grew bushes of it, shaping them roundly so that she could put handkerchiefs to dry on their surface and give them that sweet scent.  When I unwillingly left home for other countries, I brought cuttings of that southernwood with me, and planted them wherever I went.  Moving on, I would either dig up the plants, or take cuttings again (it is exceptionally good natured about propagating - all you need to do is tear off a little branchlet with a heel and put it in water for a week when it will produce tiny roots, all ready for planting on).

When at last I came home to Ireland, I brought cuttings again, and set them in our garden here in West Cork. They are the great-great-great grandchildren of those original plants which grew in the place I loved best in all the world.  (Mount Verdon still stands, with my brother doing his best to keep it propped up, but these big old places need resources beyond the realms of possibility to restore.)  The last few bad winters hit the plants hard, but two at least have survived, albeit spindly and tired.  Gently I took little cuttings, and they are now getting ready to make their own place in the garden here, which I have come to love as much as my old home.  It is entirely fitting that they are tucked into an antique glass bottle which my brother discovered in the gardens of Mount Verdon.

In Which Yet A Further Furry Paw Is Pleadingly Extended

Strewth, has it been raining here.  I think I may have said it before, but one is certainly grateful for the fact that Ireland - or at least West Cork - is nothing but a gigantic sponge.  Torrents pour down upon it on a daily basis, and it still manages to absorb the lot and push it somewhere down the thousands of streams which gurgle happily to the coast and swell the sea.

I was calculating this morning that it was either last March or last June that I last hung out a load of laundry under a clear blowy sky at morn and brought it all back in, nicely dried, at evening.   Oh for spring, I moaned, wandering sadly out into the soggy brown disaster that was the garden.  And then I saw something unexpected poking out of a tired mass of wet foliage in a flowerpot.

 It couldn't have been a more dreary January day, but this little iris had poked its way through last summer's dead leaves and pushed up its bright little head, all covered with jewelled raindrops.  Well done little iris!  Cheered me up considerably, it did.

Of course dark winter days and nights are ideal for craftwork, and there has been plenty of that.  I had promised to show you that little Norwegian Angel crochet cape on its recipient and here it is.  Doesn't she look cute in it?

Once the festive gifts had been got out of the way, and still maintaining my vow of Knit From Stash, I remembered a whole pack of extremely expensive Karabella merino/yak chunky that really needed to be used up, so started the Wave Hello Knit Cardi by Melissa Monday.

Here is Wave Hello to a Yak in progress.  I decided to continue two strips of the cabling up from the hem along the back, to give what would otherwise be plain stockinet fabric a bit of texture.  It's a really quick knit so hopefully I'll get it done before something shinier beckons.

 Like the Michael Kors cabled tunic, for example.  Lusted after this as soon as I saw it in Vogue Knitting some years back, but hadn't got round to it until I discovered a huge pack of Sublime cashmere/merino/silk in pure white in the stash.  What possessed me to buy so much of something so expensive in the first place I cannot now recall, but clearly it can't be left there to slumber in peace.  Will adapt of course.  The Kors design is very large and loose, and I'd prefer a fitting polo neck.  Also Aran designs should really be done with a raglan sleeve.  It looks so much neater than a drop shoulder.  Plenty of ancient pattern leaflets to hand, and I can just follow one of them for the shaping.  Suspect this will be a long-term project.  After that, the legendary St Brigid beckons yet again.  Never did find exactly the right colourway and fibre to use for that baby.  Maybe 2013 will do it?

But there have been other matters to occupy the mind (and indeed the hands) over the past week.  Oh there have indeed!  Why did nobody warn me that reaching out to lift a little frightened fur person to safety and love was extremely addictive?


Of all the auspicious times in the calendar it was New Year's Day when a friend who runs a rescue centre rang me.  As is unfortunately always the case after the festive season, she was full to overflowing with dumped, unwanted, rejected dogs.  Could I possibly consider fostering a little Shi Tzu for a few weeks, to get her back to some sense of normality and security?  For two seconds I wondered frantically what DH would say to yet another arrival, but then did the only possible thing and said, 'I'll be round in ten minutes.'  DH, bless him, rolled his eyes, laughed, and said, 'Why am I not surprised?'  That man's a keeper.

One terrified, bewildered little bundle to be wrapped up warm and held snugly.

Look at that expression.  Fear, mistrust, a beating heart.

Hated upsetting her further, but she really really needed a gentle warm bath to remove at least some of the signs of serious neglect.  Before that she had had a small but nutritious meal to get started on putting some flesh on that skinny ribcage.  She would have eaten an entire pack of food if she had got the chance, and the bowl too, but you mustn't rush these things.

Then it was a stroll on nice green grass with Sophy Wackles, who accepted her with surprising equanimity.  Even when it meant having drops of water shaken all over you.

In fact everybody has accepted little Tamzin (or Tamsin, can't decide which spelling I prefer) extremely well. Here is a snatched picture of one corner of my small study at this precise moment.  On the chair, Pollywog and Podge.  On the floor, Tamzsie and Sophy.  Barely enough room for me!

It's going to take time.  (Fostering, fostering?  What nonsense is that?  She ain't goin' nowhere, isn't Tamsie!)  She still won't come readily to your hand, and tends to cringe if you stoop down to her unexpectedly from above.  Sudden noises or raised voices send her into a huddled terrified heap.  The contrast with Madam Sophy, spoiled and petted from birth, is distressing.  But we're getting there.  And DH is enjoying every moment of photographing her gradual dawning confidence, as she explores the garden on her own, discovers how to get down stairs (bounding up was no problem, but oh help, what do I do next?) and, just now and again, a very rare lick to a friendly hand that she is learning to trust.

So very very glad we were there at the right moment, Tamsin.  Already we can't imagine life without your whiskery little face.  And when the spring comes, you won't believe what a wonderful wide world there is out there to enjoy!

Of Frozen Far-Flung Foragings and Cunning Cat Capers

Oh my, now I know what real cold is!

Let me hasten to reassure.  This is not West Cork.  This is nowhere near Ireland.  Just before Christmas we took a quick trip to Lithuania.  Right now it's cheaper to fly there than it is to take the train to Dublin.  Really!  And we so wanted to see something other than rain, sodden fields, rain, wet grass, rain, dripping trees.

And did we just about get that!  Dear heaven, I will never complain about what I considered cold days in Ireland again!  Many degrees below zero here in the main street of Vilnius, and a wind from Siberia via Belarus driving freezing, iron-hard ice crystals against your face.  Was extremely glad I'd brought my lined ski cap and cashmere cowl.  Needed both of them.  And more.

Here is another view of Vilnius by night.  It's beautiful.  Spectacular old buildings, onion domes, archways, wedding-cake Baroque splendour, and very little traffic.  (Well you wouldn't drive in that weather unless you had to.)

There were little stalls everywhere, selling hand-knit gloves, hats, and socks.  I liked these ones with cats on.  There appears to be a separate toe on the side of the foot there, or maybe a pouch for secreting small amounts of amber?  Because Lithuania is of course the home of amber.  Pretty well all the supplies for the legendary Amber Room in St Petersburg came from there, as I recall.

Caught a glimpse of this beautiful Aran-style jacket in the window of a linen shop (linen being Lithuania's other main export).  It looks for all the world like the one worn by Cameron Diaz in The Holiday.

Shop was shut at the time unfortunately, so couldn't check it out.

And there were even smaller establishments selling handknits too.

Elderly ladies like this one would come into town every morning early from their villages and set out their wares, socks and gloves knitted with loving care.  It was a long hard day in that freezing cold and bitter wind, but they kept their posts and even managed to smile for potential customers.  I'll remember her when the next Sock Madness starts and I'm whinging about not having exactly the right colourway or fibre.

I had a special mission on this trip, and it involved searching out the best yarn shop in all of Lithuania (naturally!)

This is Mezgimo Zona or the Crafty Place.  And thanks to Ravelry, I had a friend to meet there.

Virginija lives in Vilnius.  She's also on Ravelry (virginute) and her colourwork would make you ashamed to claim to be a knitter.

I had some commissions from friends for various yarns and Virginija guided me towards the right ones for mittens, lace shawls, and more.  And then we went for coffee and were able to talk about so many things.  My Lithuanian is practically non-existent but Virginija's English was, thankfully, far better, so I was able to find out what life was like before 1991 when they finally became independent.  It made me thoroughly ashamed of the way we complain in Ireland about weather and politics and annoyances generally.  Try living in Eastern Europe during Iron Curtain days and you might have more reason to complain.   But it really is marvellous to be able to exchange ideas and thoughts and ask questions in strange countries.  That way you make real contact.

I was even introduced to the best thrift store (a favourite occupation of mine in foreign cities) and Virginija pointed out that if I wanted nice leather buttons for a new knit (as I did) it was actually far cheaper to buy an entire coat and snip off the buttons than to go shopping for those expensive little items alone.  Which I did!  On that particular day, at a cost of all of one Lita (about 25c).  It was a truly hideous black and white tweed coat that had seen better days, but it had not only twelve beautiful black leather buttons but also twelve tiny flat ones, sewn on at the back.  And a buckle on the belt too.   (Yes, yes, the coat went back to the shop.  Nothing wasted, nothing thrown away.  'You learned to be very thrifty in Soviet times,' said Virginija soberly.  Rest of the world, take note and learn.)

We walked under the bare black branches of trees in the park and shivered to see the castle on the hill above with the wind and snow howling around it.  Rather grateful to be staying within the thick walls of an old nunnery (Domus Maria) rather than an ancient castle, however historic.  You could just imagine those tapestries flapping and the icy draughts caressing bare shoulders as the banquet progressed and the minstrels tried to keep their fingers warm enough to play.

These cheery birchwood elves look happy enough to be outdoors.  It's a nice idea and one I might copy myself next winter.  Wonder how they would take to endless mist and rain though?

Even getting back on the plane for the flight home was an endurance test.  You stood in that warm building and saw everyone in front of you donning coats, hats, gloves in preparation for the short walk across the tarmac.  'Is that really necessary?' I wondered out loud.  I soon found out! 

Absolutely adored Vilnius.  Glorious architecture, lovely people, delightful food (dined in this most atmospheric restaurant down in brick-lined cellars).  Its name, Lokys, means The Bear, and yes, there are still bears in Lithuania.  Next time, next time...

Back home it was all systems go for the Christmas rush.  This is the final result of the Advent Scarf KAL organised by Zemy on Ravelry.  The angora/merino was so cosy I was most reluctant to take it off to give to its intended recipient!  Every day of Advent brought a different Aran pattern so you had got plenty of practice in the technique by Christmas Eve.

And this is a little Norwegian-style cape for a small friend aged just 15 months.  Crochet is much quicker than knitting and I was able to get this whipped up in a few evenings. 

Sophy Wackles tried her best to help on a shorter neckwarmer-style Aran scarf in scarlet alpaca, but she still hasn't got the hang of cabling without an extra needle which makes her rather slow.  Never mind, slow and steady wins the race, doesn't it, Sophy?

Regrettably, the cats are more interested in the machinery than the manipulation.  The skein winder fascinated them both and now each morning they have a few energetic minutes turning it, just to flex up their paws.

They are both working hard for their Yarnslayer badges though, and hope to be able to wear these with pride in the New Year.

And finally, as a good wish for that same New Year, here is a picture to make you smile through the clearing up and the tidying away and the wondering what the future holds.

Wockin' Aroun' Da Cat-Mas Tree...