A tiny mouse house for a bee suit

While I'm reasonably happy with my current 'crazy person' bee outfit, (cobbled together using various pieces of clothing, pants tucked into socks, and an old insect net which I found at the markets), now that we've got our beehive full of bees, I feel like I need to upgrade.

Not that my current getup doesn't do the job - I haven't had too many stings - but it makes me nervous, which means I tend to check the hive VERY quickly, and perhaps not as thoroughly as I should.

So I've decided to buy a proper bee suit. With a proper hat, and proper gloves. Exciting.

To raise funds for this purchase, I'm silently auctioning off the tiny mouse in a tiny house I crocheted at the beginning of this year. It's adorable, and won first prize in the handmade toy section at the Bega show! 

The mouse, house and blanket are all crocheted using 100%wool. The house is lined in polka dot fabric, and the lid/roof zips on and off so you can get your mousie out to play and then tuck it up in bed when it needs a rest.

To be in the running to win this little mousie house, you just need to send me a message - pearlandelspeth at gmail dot com - with your offer. In a week's time I'll announce the winner. 

Of course, if you've got a bee suit lying around, we can just do a direct trade...

Fruit, music and brand new babies

Today I finished off a baby quilt I've been working on for a few days now. It's the first baby quilt I've ever made that's not been for a dear friend.

Normally when I'm making a baby quilt I channel a lot of energy and love into imagining the little person whose quilt I'm making, thinking of their parents, the life that's beginning, as I select the fabric and make the stitches. It's a beautiful process and I absolutely love it.

When I was asked recently by our friend Kate if I could make something for a dear friend of hers who's soon to have a baby, I was super-keen to make a quilt for her. And it came together beautifully.

Even though I've never met the soon-to-be parents, or their soon-to-be bubba, I still imagined and channeled love and joy as I stitched, musing on what adventures were in store for the new little family, and imagining how the quilt might figure in their daily lives.

Selecting fabrics and laying it all out, making pockets and tassels and mini-bunting, and then stitching it all together while meditating on life and love and growth and change is such a fun way to spend some hours. I love the process, and I love knowing that my craft is involved in a whole cycle of giving and receiving that's founded in love and a respect for handmade goodness.

Oh, and the quilt is part of a trade: you know how much I love bartering. So in exchange for the love stitched up in the quilt, Kate's providing me with music and fruit. How awesome is that?

Happy life, little bubba. May it be filled with heartfelt music, warm sunshine and sweet fruit.

So we barter

When I was young and idealistic I entertained various fantasies of being self-sufficient: Building my own house, growing my own food, and basically being a hermit. No environmental footprint for me.

Now that I'm older (though still idealistic) my feelings about self-sufficiency have changed. For starters, I now have a family who don't necessarily share my hermit plans. But more significantly, now that we've really and whole-heartedly embarked upon a life where we are attempting to provide for ourselves in as many ways as we possibly can, we've realised how bloody hard it would be to actually produce everything you need by your own hands. Not to say that kind of life wouldn't be rewarding - I'm sure it would - but my feelings about 'how to save the world' have ripened a bit now, and my ideology has ultimately found a home in community-building.

What do I mean by that? Well, I mean talking to people. I mean valuing the work people do. I mean supporting people who are creating and growing things in our local area. I mean sharing and providing food for people. I mean sharing knowledge and information and encouraging people. And maybe more than anything else, I mean swapping and bartering as much as possible. 

One thing that hasn't changed for me since those heady early days of ideological veganism and Grass Roots idolatry, is my belief that money is pretty much the root of all evil. Unfortunately for us, (and even more unfortunately for the billions of impoverished and enslaved peoples around the world) we live under capitalism, which means that, short of the aforementioned hermit lifestyle, you kinda need to participate, at least a little bit, in the money economy. So what can you do about it? Well, you can be super-hyper vigilant about who you give your money to. Yes folks, it's true that under capitalism, one of your most powerful weapons is what you do and do not choose to spend your money on. Ask yourself: What kinds of things is this purchase supporting? Child labour? Slave labour? Crapy living conditions for factory workers? Environmental destruction? Cultural destruction? If you're answering yes to any of these questions, find an alternative, or go without.

Springvale community food swap at Linda and Paul's, down the road. What the heck kind of  shop comes with these views, cups of tea, cake and friendly advice about gardening and craft???

While that may seem like a kind of crazily austere or strict regime to adhere to, let me tell you that it's actually a ton of fun, because in the process of seeking alternatives, you'll probably meet people and make connections you wouldn't otherwise make, and you will strengthen your sense of community. By supporting local people you will build resilience in your community, and you will help people find alternatives to the confines of capitalism, even if just for a little bit. Liiiiike.... you might start or participate in your local food swap, or you might think of some other way you can barter for the things you need. 

And more food swap action at Autumn Farm

You might get involved with a local food co-op, or you might start buying your produce (and I mean all of your produce) direct from the person who grew it. You might start growing more of your own, and sharing it with a neighbour!

We are pretty much massive bartering devotees these days, bartering our chickens and craft for as much as we possibly can including acupuncture, veggies, fermented foods, art therapy,  spoon carving lessons, pork, art classes, lamb, hand-knitted gloves and bread. Yes, many of these things we could produce ourselves, it's true. But you know what? Our friends Thea and Tim have the most amazing market garden. But they don't have the time and inclination to also grow chickens, just like we don't have the time or inclination (or watering prowess) to grow massive beautiful bunches of coriander and celery. So we barter.

Bartered veggie box from Thea and Tim's Fish Bone Farm

 Similarly, our friend Emily makes incredible sauerkraut,  kefir and kimchi. Yes of course we could make these for ourselves, but that's her thing, so she's really good at it, just like we're really good at growing delicious chickens. So we barter.

Bartered fermented awesomeness courtesy of Emily

I can't knit, but I really wanted a pair of rainbow-hand-dyed fingerless gloves for riding my bike in the early morning chill, and Vee really wanted one of my skirts. Her handy man Grimm knits beautiful fingerless gloves. So we barter.

Awesomely awesome riding gloves knitted by Grimm, bartered for a skirt

You see what I'm getting at? By valuing other people's skills and interests, you don't have to be super-skilled at everything yourself. And besides which, sharing the love just feels plain old awesome.

Fish Bone Farm abundance gracing the Autumn Farm kitchen. Happy days..

Shallots forever

At our last community food swap (which was outstanding, by the way - sausages! Lemon butter! Bread!) I was lucky enough to snavel a massive bunch of shallots, and was talking to our friend Anneke about our method of planting the root bit of veg like shallots and leeks. To my surprise, she was highly dubious and highly suspicious of the practice - she'd never heard of such a thing! Given that she's basically the queen of Bega Valley Seedsavers, and a well-known guru of all things to do with propagation (if you've seen Pip magazine, you will have seen Anneke's gorgeous house), I was super-shocked, as it's something we do regularly, and have had great success with. I thought I'd better do a little post to spread the good news, in case some of you are also unaware of the awesomeness of the perennial leek and shallot action that you can get for FREE, by saving your cut off ends from the compost.

The cut-off shallot root ends, headed to the garden for infinite re-sprouting

Basically, by planting the chopped-off root bits of your leeks and shallots, you'll get another leek or shallot. If you cut this one off at ground level, rather than pulling it out, you'll get yet another. In this way, you can pretty much have perennial shallots and leeks. The leeks do get skinnier with each successive re-growth, so won't go on indefinitely, but we have a few shallots in a pot out the front that have been going for well over a year. So next time you get shallots or leeks from the shop, market or your local food swap (if you don't have one - start one!), take the root bits out into the garden, make them a little hole, and bury them, roots down, with the soil level just above the cut top. They're great, because they don't take up much space, so you can just tuck them 'round the place as the root-ends avail themselves to you. Within a week, they will have sprouted, and you shall have shallots forever. 

Olive the mulching queen

RedPeg rocks my world

As you may well know, I'm rather partial to a spot of bartering. Getting goods and services from someone in exchange for goods and services you yourself have made just feels kinda good. It's hard for people to be greedy, or unfair, when it comes to bartering. Getting rid of the whole money hoo-ha also means that you can take charge of your time more easily: The less money you need, the more opportunity you have for doing things that are fulfilling and that make you happy. Obviously, there are things in the world you just need money for. I'm not saying that I'm heading for some kind of cash-less living situation (as attractive as that sounds). But trading a bunch of kale or 3 for a fresh rabbit or loaf of bloody gorgeous home-made German rye sourdough is happy-making, and it means that you get the things you need/want, but can't make yourself, with your own 2 hands. This increases self-reliance, and cuts out that (often unpleasant) middle-person who, in a normal money economy, you just sell your time to, so you can get money to buy the things you need/want. Who needs that guy?? Bartering also strengthens community (and I reckon this is my favourite bit) - getting to know the person you're getting your gear from helps you to appreciate their craft and the work that goes into creating whatever it is you're getting from them. You have a conversation with them, you thank them and pay them a compliment, you make friends with them.

Happily for us, we've met quite a few people of late who are more than happy to trade their knowledge, expertise and wares for our knowledge, expertise and wares. Sweet!

Of exceptional note are our new friends Gab and Mick, who are totes up for bartering all kinds of stuff, most notably, Gab's bloody gorgeous RedPeg Eco Studio jewellery. 

Being as I am a lover of the bauble, yet chronically dismayed by the ethically dubious nature of most jewellery, it was pretty delightful to discover that Gab is, amongst other things, a most talented creator of ethically and environmentally sound jewellery. Moreover, she has been happy to trade her wares for a few P&E bits, and it looks like this relationship could continue into the future. ACE BALLS!

Yes folks: these earrings say "grow more food". Outrageously cool.

I find Gab's jewellery pretty much irresistable. For example: I got my first pair of RedPeg earrings a couple of months ago. I HAVE NOT WORN ANY OTHER EARRINGS SINCE. Yes folks, she's that good. 

For swaps, I made her a little wool bolero, with red rick-rack trim (the rick rack is kind of hiding in the photo on account of all the red in Gab's gorgeous and exciting studio),

and a brown spotty wrap n go with Australian flora pockets. 

I feel like I totally got the good end of the stick with this situation. But then again, that's the other awesome thing about  bartering: often-times both people think they've gotten the best deal.

Learning to cook with fire

A couple of weeks ago, our friend Brett shot a rabbit for us. Around his parts, rabbits are a major pest, so he often shoots them and either eats them or 'plants' them in his garden. Having never eaten rabbit before, and recognising feral bunny as an excellent protein source, we asked Brett to bag us a bunny next time he was out shooting. He happily obliged, and delivered a neatly dressed, fresh Brogo rabbit in exchange for a bundle of greens from the garden. Awesome!

When it came to cooking the rabbit, we knew that a slow braise was on the cards, just because that's usually the way we like to go with meat. Matthew Evans helped us out, once again, and we went for his rabbit ragu with papardelle, from Winter on the Farm. 

The problem with a slow braise for us is that our cooking options are kind of limited on account of the no kitchen factor. We have, in the past, slow-cooked things in the BBQ, with the hood down, but have found this uses a LOT of gas. Next option is a fire, which is our ideal cooking method, especially once we have some better timber options on our land. For now we make do with fallen branches (there are heaps around!) and generous deliveries of firewood from friends (like Brett!) who have more trees on their properties, and the odd bit of hardwood picked up from the tip. For fire-baths and a bit of fire-cooking, this is working fine for now.

Fire-cooking, though, has proved to be a little tricky to master. Things like gozleme, which we cook on a hot-plate over the fire, have worked well for us, and were what got us excited about the possibilities of cooking on the fire. We've also made flat breads cooked in the ashes (inspired by Moro), which were outrageously delicious, enjoyed as they were, sitting by the fire, snuggled on blankets, with a lentil soup, watching the sunlight fade. 

Flat breads in the ashes (you can see one cooking at the bottom right of the fire, and the blurry tongs have just brought one out to rest on the big rock)

For Christmas Pearl got a camp oven, and a camp oven cook-book, and we were wowed by the possibilities of what we could do with the camp oven. Chocolate cake! Scones! Bread and butter pudding! The realities of the camp oven, however, have proved to be a little tricky, and we've faced more than a couple of failures. But we keep trying and finally, with the bunny, the camp oven ca,me through for us. 

Brett's Brogo Bunny ragu in the camp oven on the fire

The ragu ended up simmering away on the fire for almost 4 hours. We kept topping it up with red wine and tomatoes, and in the end, the meat had fallen from the bones into a delicious, perfect sauce. The sauce, with some egg pasta and our first broccoli harvest, was amazing. And rewarding. And happy-making.

And now we have a little more confidence to try some more things in that camp oven. having learnt some more lessons in the arts of the fire-cook.

The kids test the first round of ash-cooked flat-bread. Success!

A Sunday in winter

When we woke up yesterday it was dull and overcast. The valley, which we can see from the window above the bed, was shrouded in thick fog. We were snug in our loft, but I ventured down the ladder to find out the time, the temperature, if we'd had any rain overnight, and to check on the chickens and ducks. 

What's for breakfast? we all asked. 

What's in the garden? Rhubarb! 

A quick flick through Winter on the Farm (our culinary bible of the season) settled it: yoghurt pancakes with honey-poached rhubarb. 

Rhubarb in honey: the colours (and smells!) were divine

While Pearl and the kids lounged amidst cups of tea and reading in bed, I pottered around in the garden and 'kitchen', picking rhubarb and preparing breakfast for them all. It's my sunday morning ritual: Given that Pearl spends her saturday cooking breakfast and lunch for hundreds of people at a cafe in town (and doing a damn-fine job of it, too!), I figure she deserves a lie-in and a break from cooking on her sundays wouldn't you say? 

After the pancakes, eaten at our makeshift 'table' (a suitcase) in the 'loungeroom' (the place we eat when it's too cold and damp for outside) we started gathering produce for our neighbourhood food swap. 

Just some of the produce our neighbours brought to share: herbs and cabbage and chokos and homemade gouda and parmesan and lettuce and leeks and pumpkin and red Russian kale and cauliflower...

and lemons and rocket and home-grown, home-cured bacon and greens, greens and more greens

What a treat! To be able to gather with friends and neighbours and people we've never met before, sipping tea and eating cake, looking through the host's veggie garden and chicken run, seeing and talking about how other people run their gardens and little farms, talking about the weather, the animals, what it's like when it floods, swapping notes on preserving and bacon-making while the kids played amongst fallen leaves, all rugged up in colourful woollens. 

Social bartering, you could say. 

We left with smiles on our faces and a basket full of broad beans and home-made cheese and home-made bacon and jam and cabbages and bulbs and garlic and other goodies for planting. We felt oh so lucky to be living here in this beautiful community, amongst people so willing to share in the bounty of the land. 

And then the rain came down.

We've had a bit of rain of late, but the bottom dam's still low, and the tank's not yet full, so we're always grateful for more. We spent the rest of our sunday planting and digging and reading and playing and cooking and baking and watching The Sound of Music under blankets when it got too dark and cold and rainy to stay outside. 

What a way to spend a day.

bartering = joy

I've recently had a few super-positive and fun bartering experiences. Come to think of it, all of my experiences with bartering have, in fact, been super-positive and fun. I guess that's just the way bartering is. 

Amazing orange giant-rose-print teatowel skirt makes for a jealous Pearl

Maybe it's because money, while (unfortunately) necessary, isn't actually as fun as some of the things I've recently been bartering for, like handmade recycled silver earrings and boxes of completely ace-balls haberdashery. Don't get me wrong: I love sewing and being paid for it. But when I'm sewing, I'm not usually thinking about the money - I'm thinking about what that money will be used for. Take Yolanda's dresses: While I was sewing them, I wasn't thinking about the cash, I was thinking about an electric fence. And if Yolanda was up for it (and was in that line of business) I would have happily traded some frocks for an electric fence. So I guess in instances like that one, money is kind of handy. But in other cases - like the case of these here skirts - direct trade is completely ace.

Zip it right on down!

A few months ago, I found out that my supremely talented friend Nicole was having a garage sale. Nicole's garage sales are... well... they're unbelievable, on account of Nicole being an incredible hunter-gatherer of all things beautiful. She's so good at collecting beautiful things, she doesn't have time to use them all, so occasionally has garage sales.

Being as we are now located in Bega, attending Nicole's sale (in Sydney) wasn't really an option. Luckily for me, Nicole is lovely, and she was happy to make a personalised selection of wares, which she sent down to me. Her 'price'? A P&E skirt. I. Feel. Lucky.

Printed velvet + bright floral teatowel = fun times

Shamefully, Nicole's box of goodies arrived some months ago and I've only just gotten to the skirt. Extra-shamefully, Nicole was the recipient of a custom P&E skirt for Christmas, which has also only just been done. I don't want to list excuses - let's just say I'm sorry.

And I hope that the skirts are satisfactory!

"Is that a Leona Edmiston?"

Recently, I made my little sister Meggy a frock-&-bolero set for a wedding, which she went to last weekend. As you can see, she looked freakin' gorgeous. The wedding was in the mountains, and celebrated the love between her 2 good friends, Hev and Nibs. Yay love! Yay handmade-and-nature-inspired weddings!

Yay love!

As you may know, if you know me or you've been reading this blog for a while, I'm pretty into weddings. I love the party, I love the fact that they get people feeling all out and proud about love, and I love the opportunity to get hands-on with any and all varieties of wedding-related craft activities including (but not limited to) wedding dresses, bridesmaids dresses, and wedding bunting.

Even though I've never actually met Hev and Nibs, I was more than happy to make a frock for Meg (in exchange, she's going to lend us her superb tree-plating skills this Easter holidays) for their wedding, and help out with the little statues that adorned their wedding cake. And what a cake it was! 

Well, unfortunately I didn't actually taste the cake, but it sure looks good, right?? And I reckon it looks even better when you hear that it was made in the mountains, using organic and fair trade chocolate. Niiice...

Now. The dress. The green fabric came from a shop in Cabramatta (an excellent location if you're in the market for new fabric for wedding and/or other fancy kinds of frocks ('twas where we purchased materials for Pearl's and my wedding frocks, and Meg's year 12 formal frock). The bolero fabric - which is nothing short of STUNNING - came out of the nurse's quarters at Temorah hospital, where Meg's super-spunky and uber-lovely boyfriend, Jerry, works as a nurse. It's vintage, giant yellow-and-pink-rose-print barkcloth. Yum. Meg also used it to cover the giant button on the front of her dress, so it's all nice and matchy-match.

Jerry the nurse-cum-fabric-supplier on the left, Meg and matchy curtain adornments on the right

In all, the outfit was a success! Meg looked - and more importantly felt - "pretty much amazing" in the outfit. Someone even asked her if it was a Leona Edmiston! I'm taking this as a compliment, though I don't go in for designer threads much myself. But I suppose as far as designer threads go, Leona does design some pretty wares. Though I doubt she'd do a trade for some help with planting out a shelter belt, and I can guaran-damn-tee her stuff isn't made at an outside table, under beautiful late-summer blue skies, on a machine powered wholly by the sun.

welcome to our inaugural local food swap

Our contribution

Last Sunday we had the pleasure of participating in the inaugural Springvale food swap. It was a blast. The lovely Kim has also posted about it over here. 

Our wonderful neighbours Paul and Linda, after frequenting food swaps in another locality of the valley, decided that our locality needed one of its very own. So they offered up their (gorgeous) house and garden for the morning and together we all came, baskets of produce in hand.  I spent a very lovely fifteen minutes alone in our garden snipping and picking and plucking the kale, chard, silverbeet, tomatoes and basil that we would contribute to the share table. It was a joyous start to a very humid early Autumn morning. So many different people, so much late Summer bounty to share.

Table laden with more to come

fruits of the season

oh how much I love a quince

Local as...pasture raised, handmade bacon

Of course, the produce sharing is central to the event. However there's so much more going on. There's the opportunity to meet and connect to people who live near, to forge a real connection around the thing that sustains us all. I feel like so much was shared and gained in those few short hours last Sunday morning. There was the sharing of gardening tips and experiences, the gossip, the sharing of owner building stories, the chat about poultry, pigs, lambs and cows, the conversations about Landcare grants, Diggers Club, Seedsavers, what to plant in your wildlife corridor/windbreak, the opportunity to congratulate the recently crowned champion jam maker of the Bega show and the opportunity to discuss worm farms, composting, water harvesting, irrigation, solar panels, passata making and on and on it went. All of it existing outside of any kind of money-based economy. Hurrah. And all the while, the kids gorged themselves on homemade cakes and cups of tea and ran and hid and explored and climbed... I filled our basket with other people's produce and I felt glad and lucky and eager for more of this sharing kind of life. Thanks friends and neighbours!

Our loot

peach preserves and the last of the pump sale

One of the awesome things about living in a rural area is the community's willingness to share the abundance from their gardens. Often at work emails come round offering "free raspberry canes at the back door", "lemons and limes in the kitchen" or, most recently, "peaches in customer service". The peaches came from a lovely young chap who recently purchased a property containing several very old and very laden peach trees. He doesn't know what to do with them all, so we scored 3 bags full, in exchange for a selection of our preserves. Yeah!

Pearlie happily pitting and packing peaches

They're super sweet and delicious white and yellow peaches, which are surprisingly juicy given the dry season we're having. The squishy ones we made into peach and vanilla jam, using our awesome new half-pint milk dipper (Christmas present from my Nana and Parps) for ladling into the jars - perfect! 

The firmer ones we preserved in a light sugar syrup in Vacola jars, using the boiling water bath to seal them. This is a really easy method, which gives a stunning-looking, delicious store of peaches for use in trifles and desserts over the cooler months. Peaches were pitted and sliced, then packed into the jars, and a light sugar syrup (we got t he recipe from Stephanie Alexander: 2 parts water to 1 part sugar) is poured in over the top, the jars are sealed with rings and clips, then the whole shebang boiled in the vacola unit for around 25 minutes.

The peach jam is making its way into christmas presents (yes I know... we're late) and the last of the package 4's (for the Pump up the Dam Sale), which is due to be sent out on monday. I'm also chucking in a bottle of our newly bottled kasundi. We made this using the recipe from the Whole Larder Love cookbook, which was one of my christmas gifts. I'm pretty into it, despite Rohan's kind of sexist and slightly homophobic undertones, and his total obsession with 'gear' and all the stuff you need to have in order to live a 'simple' life. Weird. But I love the tips on foraging and hunting, and I especially love many of the recipes, and I did read it cover to cover, which is very unusual for me, seeing as I'm not really a cook. But I digress...

The kasundi is delicious. I want to eat it with every meal, and I very frequently do. But I also like to share it with people, so was very happy to include it, along with some jam and a skirt and some hand-made cards and a cute little t-shirt for my very old friend Meg, who happily ordered a package 4 in support of our pump-buying endeavours. 

A skirt for Meg, made from original 70s curtains that came out of the nurses quarters at Temorah hospital

I have known Meg for many many years. We used to hang out when I was 'Annie the tattooed nanny' for a couple of super-sweet little girls. Her girls were the same age, so we'd spend our days going to the park, hanging out at play groups, and eating sushi in the shopping centre. She supported some of my earliest commercial sewing ventures, and she cooked for our wedding and, even though I haven't seen her in years, and her kids are now teenagers (!), she reads our blog. 

A set of 10 cards, plus 5 little gift tags made from recycled cereal boxes and vintage kids' books

I was really touched when she got in contact asking for some clothes, and had fun sewing for her again, after all these years. Meg decided to swap her package 4 bolero for a tshirt, which was fine by me because it gave me an excuse to use some of this gorgeous babushka fabric, sent to me by another gorgeous old friend who also supported our pump sale. 

Meg's babushka-sleeved tshirt

Rochelle was the happy recipient of this wrap-n-go.

 I was a bit keen on it myself... but I know she'll love it, and wear  it with style, coz she's a stylish kinda lady.

The pump itself is now happily installed on our lower dam's wall, and after a number of false starts and some consultation with Brett, and a visit from Baz, local purveyor of pumps, is moving the water where we need it. It's a pretty ace bit of infrastructure, and has definitely been reassuring and helpful during these exceedingly dry, fire-prone times we're having around these parts.

Craigie wading out into our dam, installing the foot valve for sucking water into our brand spankin' new pump

When we bought our land - hey, well before we bought our land - we knew that we would build our house from straw. Building my own house has been a steadfast bee in my bonnet since the age of about 15 when I visited the mud brick home of a friend of my dad's. She'd built it herself, and it was small, imperfect and, in my mind, absolutely beautiful. Mud brick, however, with all its attendant labour, waiting, labour and more waiting, was most definitely not the medium for me. Strawbale, on the other hand, is for me, and for many many other people, the most perfect building material imaginable. Strawbale building is quick, easy for the novice owner-builder, super Earth friendly (local, waste material with fab, off-the-scale insulation qualities) and kinda cheap, amongst many many other outrageously endearing qualities. In other words, I'm in love.

While working at the Watershed, I was lucky enough to meet Tracy, a building designer with the awesome double-whammy skills of strawbale and working-with-council experience. Tracy, you see, designed the award-winning Nalawala hall for Fairfield council. Yep - awesome.

We knew that it would be incredibly beneficial for us to have some input and feedback on our humble house plans, so approached Tracy to be our plan-drawer-upperer and general sounding board, though the scale of our project was positively minute in comparison to the Nalawala phenomenon. Over the last 5 or so months, though, our relationship has evolved into something more. Tracy has absolutely gone above and beyond our expectations, and she has done a brilliant job, not just of drawing up our plans, but also talking us down from crazy, rash decisions, helping us through the not-super-fun DA process (actually, she pretty much did it) and, most specially, totally accepting our budgetary limitations and general low-fi approach to home planning and building. Early on we negotiated a bit of a half-barter for the work. Tracy needed some sewing and gardening done, and we needed some house designing. Cool. What ended up happening though, was that Tracy got so into our project we ended up doing the whole thing as a labour exchange - LETS style, and crikeys were we grateful! Being as we were in the midst of relocating our entire life to a little town over 300km away, our families pitched in too, my Nana and mum taking their share of the sewing and mending work, and Pearlie's little sister Meg helping me with garden makeovers and chook-shed building. And you know what? I think we all got something out of it, though I have to admit that the stunning drawings Tracy did for us are, ultimately, the awesomest.

So, after all that rambling back-story-creating, I finally get to the crux of this post, which is the felt leaf collar that, in addition to the mending and sewing and planting and weeding and building, formed part of Tracy's trade.

The collar is going to a wedding this weekend, teamed with a black dress and some flash shoes, I believe. And suitably so, too, because it was, let me tell you, a labour of love. So many felt leaves!!! But I actually kind of liked the process. It was like building. You layer, and stitch and layer and stitch, and all the while the collar gets bigger and stronger and more able to hold itself together and then finally, one night, it's done. It's strong and, I reckon most excitingly, it's totally dimensional! I utilised Florence's neck, and actually kind of moulded the leaves into the shape of a neck as I stitched them together. Not as easy as it sounds! But all OK, because the end result is pretty great, I think, not least of all because it looks like something out of Wildwood, Olive's and my current fave to end all faves. If you haven't seen and/or read it, do yourself a flavour. It's simply stunning.

So, here's to trading skills, keeping it real, getting the Fams involved in your bartering shenanigans, felt and the mighty strawbale.