Sweet Relief

Dear Autumn,

I think this year you must have sensed my reluctance to let go of summer. I needed to continue to feel the sun on my skin and to play my favourite game of Wishful Thinking.  The thought of facing up to reality was a little hard to bear, you see.

 

You are also called "fall", from the Old English faellan, to fall down, which leads back through time to the Indo-European phol, to fall.  Fall is the time of course when leaves drop from the trees. But there is that other fall, the one in the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve hid their nakedness with a fig leaf, remember?  Flurrying leaves and the Harlequin beauty of your trees help us forget about passing time and the temporary death which winter brings.  With the arrival of each autumn I feel we slip and slide as though on wet leaves down a steep hill towards the winter solstice.  Time seems to accelerate.  Breathing becomes shorter and sharper. Winter, however, brings its fair share of beauty and enchantment.  Thankfully.

 

Now, I am at peace with you.  I have gorged myself on late summer's brilliant blue skies, bleached cornfields and blazing, glossy rose-hips. I have smiled like a lighthearted child at september's generous warmth and confetti-coloured wildflowers.  I have marvelled at the seedpods which decorate our countryside and the Clematis vitalba - or Old Man's Beard - with its trailing silver seed-heads draping our surrounding hedges.  I am no longer afraid to welcome you.

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Today is autumn.  Today my husband received the good news we were almost too afraid to hope for. Some of you may remember how I shared the frustration of our two-and-a-half year wait here; a lingering legal case of unfair dismissal which threatened to linger a lot longer than we could bear after his ex-boss decided to appeal the court's original verdict in favour of Mickaël.  I am so relieved to share with you the fact that he has won for the second time and, dare I whisper, has been awarded twice as much financial compensation this time round.  Such sweet relief as you can all imagine. So now we may face autumn with lighter hearts.

 

To celebrate I leave you with these images of Mademoiselle September Meadow created for a truly lovely lady who lives in an old steading deep in the Aberdeenshire countryside. She won me over with her descriptions of surrounding meadows filled with ox-eye daisies in summer and blushing rose-hips now. 

This little creature wears the same garb as my summer hares but with distinct autumn colours.  She marks the transition towards the different styled autumn hares I am currently working on.  Some will be adorned with these beautiful hand dyed silk ribbons.  By the way, if you're reading Madelief, Susan, and Jeanne; you will be receiving your long-eared orders soon;  I promise!

A final picture taken by Tristan of my husband MIckaël photographing Héloïse at the Chaumont Garden Festival in August. He may be a stubborn, overly dynamic Breton but my goodness he is wonderful.

Please cross your fingers if you have the time on Sunday.  Héloïse will be auditioning at the regional academy of music and theatre where she hopes to study acting outside school hours. 

I wish each and every one of you a wonderful autumn.

 

Stephanie

 

 

Bubble

Dearest readers,

 When Mickaël proposed to me nine and a half years ago just four months after we had first met there were many good reasons which urged me to beam and nod my acceptance.  Perhaps I would put in my top three reasons his blue eyes, dark curls and the simple fact he was born and bred in southern Brittany on the verge of the Guérande Peninsula with its windswept salt marshes and glittering quartz flecked rocky coastline. 

 

 On our last evening in Brittany this year we headed to the dunes and restless waves of the Pen Bron beach situated near La Turballe.  It is a magical place which leaves your feet sparkling with pale sand and powdered quartz and your hair tangled and sticky with brine.  As we made our way home along the twisting lanes through the flat marshes, where grey coarse salt and the more refined fleur de sel have been harvested since Roman times, even the youngest member of our family was unusually quiet as if under the spell of the landscape which surrounded us.

 

If I love Brittany it is also because its people are generally considered to be spirited, dynamic, and bold in the face of change.  And this, dear readers, truthfully, is the trait I most admire in my husband.  I am also aware that Angélique, our two year old, has inherited his determination and drive.  She is of course half Breton and I witnessed with joy how naturally she slipped into her coastline environment this summer.

A few weeks ago I fell hook, line, and sinker for this version of the French pattern Bulle.

Bulle means bubble and I simply knew I would have to knit this pattern in blue by the sea in Brittany for my blue-eyed Angélique.

I chose to knit it in Quince & Co. Lark in Delft blue which is a much deeper blue in reality.

 I loved every stitch of this pattern which can be purchased in French and English.  It is delightfully simple and fun too and also exists for grown-up girls and ladies too. Héloïse is hankering after one of her own.

I decided not to make the side pockets incorporated into the original design for I think the simpler line of this knitted tunic is more flattering for my slightly chubby two-year-old!

The white mother-of-pearl buttons,which remind me of the sea spray on that restless  sea, were found in my dear mother-in-law's rusty button tin.

My Ravelry notes are to be found here.

 

It's lovely to be back and now I am gleefully off to visit you all!

 

A bientôt,

 

Stephanie