Finding whimsy in a world full of flux

The quiet months are here

The other night before going to bed I felt an urge to go outside, the thought of an owl persisting at the edges of my mind. This fortnight we had a lurgy in our household and much time was spent at home caring, cooking, cleaning, holding the back of my hand to foreheads, and measuring out herbs and panadol. As is my habit, when the daylight hours don’t offer me sufficient time to myself, I stay up late against my better judgement, perpetuating a cycle of tiredness that is hard to break. But outside in the darkness while I should have been sleeping, I was rewarded: within two minutes an owl flew overhead, as low and as silent as the night that surrounded us. I went to bed with a sprinkling of serendipitous owl magic lingering in my thoughts and dreams.

During this fortnight spent juggling competing needs, I also managed what - to me - is an epic feat: I finished knitting and blocking the Sweater no. 23 I have been working on for three months, and began wearing it. Like I said over on my notes earlier this week, I have always wanted to learn to knit and it wasn’t until the confines of lockdowns in 2020 that I dredged up the garter stitch memory bank from my childhood, swapped my crochet hook for knitting needles and set my attention to learning - properly this time.

It has been a very slow process. This jumper is the culmination of five years of trial and error, from beanies to wonky scarves, to tiny baby jumpers, to this grown-human-sized garment. Knitting this jumper has stimulated my brain and quelled my tendency toward anxiety in ways that parenting/work/writing/study/walking hasn’t. It has had the capacity to absorb almost every piece of my attention and focus. It has helped me to feel connected to generations of women in my family who, going back a way, knit for purpose and utility - when the wool is moving rhythmically through my hands, I can’t stop thinking about them.

It might look like just a jumper, but somehow it holds everything in each tiny stitch (the effort, the genetic memory, the embodiment of my hands and the places it was stitched in, the intention) and the feeling of wearing it now against my skin and feeling its warmth is unfathomable, truly. Why I am so bewildered and ecstatic about this jumper might seem strange, I don’t know, but this is how I feel.

Other things…

• I listened to this conversation about the ethics of listening to whales while cooking dinner one night this fortnight, and found it endlessly fascinating. (I may have turned off a timer while I was listening and burnt a loaf of bread, I was so absorbed.)

• Some more wool arrived in the mail on Friday. This is my next project.

• I’m reading Hannah Kent’s memoir, Always Home, Always Homesick, and cannot put it down. (Another book from my shelf.)

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Things I’ve loved around Substack lately:

• I loved this post by Clare Mulvany - thoughts on Robert Macfarlane’s new book Is a River Alive? I have the book sitting on my shelf, and this reflection made me want to read it even more.

• A muse on the opportunity for resetting and refreshment around the solstice, here by Maggie Mackellar.

• This piece by rebecca hooper on orcas and anger which was potent and beautifully written.

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I hope to get out a little more this fortnight and go on some longer walks. While I love being at home, the bush is calling - urging at my edges - and I cannot ignore it for much longer.

And that’s quite enough for now.

Until next time, travel light x