(This is an old Roman road at the entrance to the olive farm)
Still here at the house with the oranges, in the town with the olive farm, waiting for Ruby to recover. The mechanic has started holding his head in his hands when he sees us… no translation necessary. It seems there’s still a problem. My mother reminded me that this is when I do craft stuff. I left the crafting stuff in the van.
Then I remembered I had two balls of yarn and there was probably a crochet needle in my pencil-case. When I searched I found the laundry bag. Oh yes, the washing… thinking there would be a washing machine I carried our laundry the twenty-minute walk to the house with the oranges. There was no washing machine. First I hand washed the clothes, then I started crocheting.
(It says Camel Wool…)
On the first day we arrived in this town we saw a shop with a sign offering accommodation. The lady explained the rooms were a bit far outside the town unless you had transport and we didn’t. As we chatted my eyes wandered to a colourful display – yarn. I realised she sold yarn. She had wool and cotton and a camel wool mix! Camel wool? Really? Anyway. Beautiful colours. Irresistible. I wanted one ball of every colour – just to look at. I bought two balls.
Crochet is very forgiving. Well at least it is the way I do it. My sister-in-law, Kate, taught me that you can join odd unmatched pieces of crochet work together like a patchwork quilt. So that’s what I have been doing ever since. Before that I was stockpiling squares, hiding them in cupboards, finding them when I was looking for something else. Taking them out to marvel at their colour, their texture, their comfort. Wondering how I could have forgotten them. The first one I pieced together made me laugh and cry, it was so surprisingly lovely.
(Looks way bigger close up)
I kept crocheting over the weekend. I have no crochet books with me but I know one pattern off by heart, so that’s the one I’m doing. It’s called granny square and it starts with six stitches which are joined together to make a circle. By the third row it starts to look like a square and the square gets bigger as you continue. You can keep going until you run out of wool… or you decide this piece is done. I decide a piece is done when the work in my hand feels big enough, which is different each time. When it’s done you have to close it off so the yarn doesn’t unravel. The piece is actually finished when the yarn is cut. There is a moment when I realise something has been accomplished. Sometimes I notice this moment and sometimes I don’t but when I do it brings a feeling of contentment. Imagine if contentment was so simply attainable.
What if it is? Mairead.