Dear readers,
Generally speaking November does not get a good press. I don't know about you but I would like to relinquish all notions of a four-quartered year. The ragged interface, for example, between autumn and winter, which could be considered a short, hybrid season in itself, usually occurs in November, I think. Rotting leaves turn into a fragrant mulch. Birds still berry in the woods. The damp air is full of distinct noises; dripping branches and seedpods like tiny rattles on the trees. The air here in France is cold without being chill. We no longer fight the urge to close the shutters tight come early evening. We become homebodies mostly.
And then the first, magical frost comes.
"There's nothing like a touch of frost to add glamour to the winter garden. Like hard white icing on a dark fruit cake, it transforms the stuff of everyday life into something special - a birthday or a christening instead of the usual Saturday teatime in front of the telly."
Katherine Swift, The Morville Year (p. 244).
I love frost! Don't you? And I thank Katherine Swift for raising it the thrilling heights of birthday celebrations for I realise now that, undeniable aesthetic values aside, for decades I must have associated the first frosts with my November birthday. Yes indeed I will be celebrating gaining another year this week. On the day itself I will be eating out with a precious friend at our favourite local haunt, La Part Belle and for the first time ever in our nine years of wedded bliss (hee, hee!) MIckaël is taking me away for the weekend to a surprise destination whilst his parents sweetly come and look after our children. I am as excited as can be!
Aside from making 'Eve's Pudding', using my favourite fragrant Blechard apples with a touch of lemon zest, or ''Chocolate Puddle Pudding' served when the children are home from school with a little cream or vanilla ice cream I had to channel my excitement into something more creative and less calorific!
Here is Mademoiselle Ciel d'Hiver (Winter Sky), an enchanted hare, who represents the most magic of all natural beauty; the unique snowflake, the silvery and intricate calligraphy of Jack Frost (I loved him as a child), the glaze of ice on water, a deep winter sleep, and in particular the winter sky. When I first arrived in France fifteen years ago I settled down in a little fishing village on the Normandy coastline and would follow the country road to get to the nearest town, Bayeux. My first winter left me breathless with excitement. I would slow my car down and gasp at the mist swirling over the frosty pastures and the sky pink, grey, and mauve, with occasional flashes of orange as the sun lazily woke up. It was so beautiful.
Mademoiselle Ciel d'Hiver loves to gaze at the winter landscape suffused with pink light. She will clap her hands with pleasure when the first frost or snowfall occur. In the long evenings when the curtains are drawn she will be supremely content sitting in an armchair with the candles lit and reading a good book such as "The Secret Garden". She is very feminine and quietly spoken and very fond of white icing sugar and silver balls on cakes.
Ivory silk (from Angélique's christening gown) line her ears. Silvery embroidered snowflakes cover her slender feet and long ears. Translucent glass beads have been knitted into her little tunic which, to my mind, contains all the colours of the winter sky I first found in France by the sea all those years ago. And, best of all, a beautiful ivory lace, HANDMADE by a specialist lacemaker, trims the trousers. It's intricate, regular pattern reminds me of Jack Frost's delicate designs on icy windowpanes and the effect of frosty parterre designs in Baroque and Renaissance gardens. It's the same as the one I used for Mademoiselle Autumn Serenade (hi Claire!). This little hare appeared in my Etsy shop yesterday and disappeared again, as if by magic, not once but twice (oops).
In short I have made her, partly, to celebrate my fast approaching birthday, and my favourite books, which I always dip into with every first frost; Marina Warner's book "The Skating Party", and my favourite part of Virginia Woolf's "Orlando" which describes the Great Freeze in London in the sixteenth century.
Do you see the book on the right? A few days ago Lori, in an inspiring post in which she reveals the most stunning reindeer shawl she knitted herself on her return from adventures in Alaska, eagerly shared her opinion of Eowyn Ivey's The Snow Child. She wrote; 'the snow child is about homesteading in alaska in the 1920's. magical, delicate,
poignant, a beautiful story. and the art work on the cover, LOVE that too'. It did not take me long to order two copies of this book. One of these I would like to gift to you. My copy is patiently sitting on my (dusty) bedside table. I longingly brush a finger over its beautiful cover every night when I creep into bed well past midnight. I have many hares to stitch for Christmas, you see, and little time to read. I love the idea, however, of sending this book out to someone special and reading it together; simultaneously. Another small connection in this vast world we live in.
So, dear readers, this is my small birthday present to you. If you are interested in reading The Snow Child simply leave me a comment. I would be most grateful if you could become a follower too, although it is by no means essential. (Of course if you care to 'like' my facebook page, Madame Millefeuilles, I would be equally thankful.) I will announce the winner in a week's time.
'Til then, I wish you all a beautiful week and thank you so much for taking the time to visit.
A bientôt,
Stephanie
ps Happy, happy Thanksgiving to all our friends across the seas. I will raise a glass to you on my birthday :-)
