Prim and Old-Fashioned

My 'Prim swap 'effort is almost complete; all it needs are a few embellishing buttons to add to the authenticity. As this swap has some weeks yet to run I won't post a photo ... no sense in spoiling the surprise should my swap partner visit this site!

In the beginning I knew little about 'Prim' [Primitive], but after tentative enquiries and ready information through replies, I decided that I could do this. The use of Parisiene essence caused a few anxious moments. Once I discovered this product was simply gravy browning, in disguise, my enthusiasm for its application dimmed. The option of coffee I discarded. I drink too much coffee to warrant using it as a dye! Oh yes, there are some of us who are descended from that noble race, The Scots, and we have standards to uphold.

When a kind soul suggested using tea-bags, my problem was solved. After choosing a pattern [I decided upon a cushion, and that information my swap partner already is aware off, so I am letting out no secrets with that admission] I stitched, and I sewed. The finished article looked not too bad!

Yesterday I brewed some tea, strong tea in a bowl. After allowing it to cool I dipped a piece of fabric to check for colour. Mmmm ... I guess that is the shade I am seeking.

Dip the cushion cover ... dunk it again to make sure. Ah ... the colour is the correct shade, though I have no idea what that correct shade should be. Remember, I have never 'done Prim' before. Quickly I pegged the cover on the clothes line, squeezing a little excess moisture that threatened to drip, drip, drip onto my shoes. Two hours later the cushion cover was dry enough to iron. While ironing the thought did pass through my mind if a 'prim' item should be ironed. I like ironing, within reason.

I am not sure if I truly have fallen in love with Prim ... it may take some getting used to.

Last week the Mingenew Expo was held. Expo is a fairly pretentious word for what could more correctly be described as a Country Show. However, an Expo it is. And, in the true form of an Expo, many for-sale items were on display.

Rows of farm machinery; pens of sheep; tents housing displays for kit homes; a Police recruitment centre; displays of handbags and leather belts; all these and more covered a large area of the Mingenew Sports ground. There were food stalls; a caravan selling baked potatoes with a huge variety of toppings was especially busy [their product was scrummy!]

One enclosure held what could only be called a farmyard. Most of the animals were white ... sheep, dog, cat and rabbits, a guinea pig that had a brown splotch on its back, a duck, a white goose, a cocky little bantam rooster who, at 11.00am perisisted in crowing his 'good morning world' welcome, and two tiny black and white piglets. It wasn't only the children who were enthralled with this enclosure!

Inside a huge tent more displays enticed Expo visitors to spend. Massages; honey; several stalls selling wine; others inviting a taste of chocolate, or a sip of wine; the CWA held a corner spot selling aprons [$16 each!], cakes and biscuits, and home-made sweets; while further along contractors involved in the mining industry that encompasses this state toted their wares.

Outside a travelling sideshow, giving free displays [once upon a time this would have been held in a tent and a fee charged at the flap] of bare-back horse-riding, whip cracking, and shearing by blades. Blade shearing is old-fashioned, but this was part of the show. That the shearer-come poet-come raconteur from way back, only shore part of the fleece each session is beside the point.

One of his main skills was shearing a sheep blindfolded. In the beginning we marvelled as he related this skill. He was handed a black blindfold by his partner, made a great show of folding it into complete darkness, only to tie it around the eyes of the sheep.

Wonderland

This blog is a non-craft blog; instead I intend taking you on a small journey around this area. Nature presents us with a wonderful kaleidoscope of colour and texture that soothes the senses and increases creativity.

Yesterday we went for a drive, what once could have been classed as a Sunday Drive. You remember the Sunday Drive? After a huge roast lunch [a roast of beef, perhaps served with Yorkshire Pudding, roast potatoes all brown and crunchy, roast parsnip, roast onions, carrots and green peas, followed by jelly and fruit, and sometimes icecream. Does your waistline expand with the thought?

While winter has not completely left us, spring is knocking on the door. The weather is supposed to turn cold later in the week, and it was this promise of a few more days of winter, that sent us in the search for fire wood.

Recently the roadside trees were lopped mainly to improve visibility for motor vehicles, and the increasing number of trucks carting iron ore from a mine to ships. These trucks rumble past our place night and day, but as is the case with any noise that is repetitious, the mind learns to close them out.

Our main purpose was to locate suitable fallen trees that can be collected later. At the moment the verges are wet, small lakes have formed in depressions, their muddy waters providing a swimming pool for birds and a bath for creatures. Many trees had fallen; there is an abundance of wood suitable for firewood once sawn into sizes that will fit easily into the pot-belly stove.

We drove along the tar-sealed road turning onto a gravel road that would take us back in a loop to home.

Hardly had we hit the gravel than a wonderful 'picture postcard' presented itself. For once I had taken the camera! We stopped and I clicked. High on the top of the rise grain silos stood, like sentrys on guard; the brilliant yellow of the canola flowers making a golden carpet in the foreground. Australia is yellow and green ... I always thought these colours represent the wattle flowers, which are coming into bloom at this time of year, and the green, perhaps the green of the countryside in winter and spring. After capturing this photo I now wonder if perhaps the yellow is not canola!? I know it isn't, but sometimes it should be.

Half a kilometre along this gravel road another view caught the eye. Once again we stopped; once again I clicked the camera.

Having experienced a little rain over the recent weeks, with more expected this week, the wild flowers of Western Australia are beginning to make their appearance. According to those in the know the best of their blooms won't be visible until next month, that is if the promised rain does arrive. However at the moment there is a wonderful shrubby bush out in full flower. It is unremarkable for much of the year, but at the moment this bush, whose name I do not know [maybe you do?] frames a delightful view, make more delightful by the frame; a flummery of candy floss.

Stippling and other Things

Two weeks without a posting! I do have an excuse; correction ~ a reason, because a reason is more acceptable than an excuse.

Visitors, rain, the need to chase firewood; the reasons are endless.

The most important one is I have been busy. After consigning the Attic windows quilt to the plastic box that holds so much of my crafty items, and after watching a video that made free-motion quilting look like child's play, I bit the bullet. Not without some trepidation I must add!

The stippling is not perfect, but the more I do, the better I should become. Well that is what those who know these things say ... the old adage; practice makes perfect. I aim for perfection, but will be content with pretty good.

I have taken part in an apron swap, and while this particular item is now complete and ready for mailing, I won't post a picture here as these swaps are not supposed to be opened until 1st September, which is a whole season away! However, I will try to hold onto the suspense.

Last week the winter arrived, with a vengeance. Hearing the weather forecast over the weekend I made a decision ... do some washing on Sunday, which is not part of my normal routine. Monday promised rain and wind. While My Man laughed at me on Monday morning as I filled the washing machine almost before the sun had risen, that choice proved a wise one. By late morning the first drops of rain fell from a leaden sky; my washing was dry enough to rescue, and indeed it was only the heavier items that needed a little airing.

Thankfully we had 'chased' enough firewood to see us through, and although heavy showers descended upon us for much of the next day, and the rain gauge level continued to rise, reaching 74ml over three or four days, at least it was warm and dry indoors ... just the weather for a little concentrated sewing.

I must remember to tell the maid that she must make a bigger effort to keep the floor tidy during one of my sewing sessions ... little threads of cotton are not a pretty sight!

Today the bees are busy in the gum flowers, the two tawny frog-mouths are sleeping the day away in the shelter of a bent branch on the gum tree outside the back door, and the sun is shining.

And Another, Plus Creepy Crawlies

Yesterday we visited My Man in hospital. He is making progress, and with an additional 'procedure' it is hoped he will be able to come home. That he is beginning to champ at the bit shows, I am sure, that he is feeling better.

We, [eldest son and his lady, who were my 'taxi service'] sat talking into the night, reminiscing and looking at old photos when their little dog, who was bedded down in her cosy bed, started to act up. I thought she noticed an ant, but no. Instead a rather long centipede, at least 10cms long, with a multitude of hairy legs and a flatish body in a creamy yellow wended its way across the floor. Never had I seen such a creature, and I don't particularly wish to see another, especially inside! Eldest son acted promptly, trodding on it; it was then tossed out the door into the damp night air, as rain had fallen, gently, for a few hours. No doubt it was the damp soil that drove the creature inside. This morning I picked it up [on a shovel] and placed it in the bin. Now I wish I had taken a photo!

To make up for the lack of a photo of Mr Centi Pede I decided to take one of the second pin cushion I constructed. It is larger and at the moment has no pins stuck into it ... nor has it taken on the appearance of a voodoo doll! I may deposit this in the 'Christmas box', as two pin cushions is probably one too many. I love the fabric! But as I only had one fat quarter a pin cushion seemed the obvious way of using some of it ... ideas may spring to mind about the use of the rest of it ... in the meantime it stays in the box of stash.

P's and Q's

As My Man is in hospital with an infected diabetic toe, but thankfully is making good progress with IV antibiotics, I have chores that normally would be shared, to tackle. The chores included surveying the block, checking and disposing of weeds that persist in sharing our environment. Not that I blame them ... this is a rather nice place, especially now that the winter rains have arrived and the 'pasture' is green and ever so easy on the eye.

While raking leaves screamed for attention I diverted my exploration for a while and went weed hunting. Only three melons! Dug out and deposited in the bin! One 3-corner jack ... dug out with his feet exposed to the weather.

And several puffballs; the P's. Puffballs are the less attractive relation of mushrooms, puffballs are goblin rings; mushrooms, fairy rings. I am sure there were fewer puffballs last year. Perhaps that was because I didn't bother to remove them from their bed? This year I changed my tactics ... dig the out, and throw them in the bin, making it impossible [I hope] for them to reproduce. They are rather amazing to view though. Rather like, what I imagine, Martian homes resemble! As far as that goes, perhaps Martians are simply spores?

Now onto the Q's. I have caught a very addictive virus, the quilting bug. Though I do recollect way back in the annals of time that I did construct a 'grandmother's garden' quilt; had no idea what I was doing, but carried on regardless. I do remember, vividly, that I couldn't find my thimble and had a volcanic hole in my finger. It did heal, but the memory remains.

I drooled over quilts that I had seen photos of; work of a group of dedicated crafty ladies [crafty in the nicest sense ever], and wondered if I ever would have the nerve to make one myself. With the house empty and no-one to witness a display of temper [just in case it went all wrong] I purchased fabric; standing in the shop for ages trying to find fabrics that would work in with what was in my mind.

I read the pattern, read it again and again, and cautiously cut. I sewed, and amazingly the whole thing came together. Now I need to think on what colour backing I will use, though the foremost thought is pink.

There is a sad ending to this tale ... my mind is already racing ahead to what I might do next ... while my conscience is reminding me I do have U.F.O's ... [perhaps they come from Mars, exploding upon my little space on earth in a giant gust of wind?]

Pastels and other things

The weekend came up trumps weather-wise; 16mls of rain fell, the winds blew strong, the grass is green, and the air smells clear and sweet. As is normal with all of life, while rain helped the growth of much, it was excessive for some of the older gum trees. This morning, as I wandered down The Avenue to switch on the water pump, fallen branches captured my attention. I pulled some to the wood-pile, others will need the extra strength of the tractor.

Last week I shopped [again], this time bringing home several Fat Quarters in shades of yellow, and a soft blue/green. Plus I managed to find a fabric with a white background and covered with the tiniest of spots in yellow, pale pink, and a deep pink; this provide the main piece on which to place the Dresden plates sitting awaiting a home.

But, first things first. Three or more months ago I began a throw for the couch, using a pattern that featured gum leaves. I chose a background in shades of brown with gum leaves in varying shades of green appliqued onto the browns. The first twenty squares went well! Then other projects captured my interest ... projects needing immediate attention! Against all my better judgements I left the gum leaves to wallow in a basket waiting for the time I would return.

Yesterday, the Dresden plate cushion complete, and only knitting staring me in the face, there was no option but to pick up the gum leaves and stitch some more onto their background. [I could have started another set of hearts, after all I do have all those Flat Quarters.] Amazingly the gum leaves are going well; perhaps it is wise to leave a project if interest wanes?

Winter

It has been a strange day. We had a quick trip into town for the usual weekend necessities ... newspaper, magazine and some meat. While in the supermarket the sky darkened, opened, and the rain poured down like all the buckets in heaven were being emptied at the same moment; the wind whirled the rain, the gutters overflowed; winter arrived in an instant. The greasy road and the buffeting winds made for a slower journey home.

A few kilometres from home we had to scoot to the other side of the highway as a huge gum-tree branch had fallen, blocking one lane rendering the road dangerous. For the final leg of our morning trip to town we had to avoid numerous small branches lying on the roadway. I wondered how many trees, or branches, had broken at home as it was obvious the wind was as violent there and the rain as torrential as in town.

The corner of our road was slippery, a common predicament for this country road. No trees appeared broken. We were lucky!

Hurriedly grabbing our shopping we hurried indoors, entering via the front door as the path was under water to the back door, our normal entry. The house was in darkness. No microwave clock showing its yellow time. The electricity was off. I walked down The Avenue checking that a branch hadn't fallen over our power line, but all was well. We telephoned the electricity company to be informed that electricity was off in our wider area; the estimation time of reconnection 2.30pm. Not a problem; we are used to electricity outages in the country. We have gas for cooking, and the lovely stove that burns wood for heating on these cooler days always has two kettles simmering; hot water for coffees. All is well.

There is one major downfall to power outages. We forget how much we rely on electricity. Thankfully there was no accumulation of clothes awaiting washing; the ironing was done. The activities one can undertake without electricity, on a wet and windy showering day diminish. Sewing on the machine was out; doing some hand appliqué was out, as I hadn't ironed the pellon onto the fabric. I couldn't vacuum, not that I needed to as that chore was undertaken yesterday, but the thought was there, mainly because I knew it was out. I couldn't listen to the radio for the football as I had planned.

I started a Dresden plate cushion last week but put it aside to concentrate on some more hearts. Ah well, nothing would be lost with the inclement weather ... I completed that cushion, pushed its inner in ... and took a photo. The Suffolk Puffs add that little extra touch to the corners. I am keeping this cushion! It goes well on the plastic outdoor chair, but ... I won't be leaving it outside in this weather with wind-blown rain dampening everything on the patio.

The electricity came on around 4.00pm.

Sunday Excursion into the Past

Today, Sunday, is National Motoring Heritage Day. An exhibition of cars of yester-year was held in brilliant sunshine on the Spalding Cricket Oval in Geraldton. We attended.

Row upon row of wonderfully aged motors stood side by side on the grounds where in summer cricket balls hit the bat resoundingly. Today Holdens, Fords, Buicks, Chryslers, Rovers, an Austin 7 sports, and Tractors, Trucks, and Motor bikes held the attention of those assembled. I took photos ... to keep the memories of the day, and the cars of my youth, alive.

After wandering around the area of parked vehicles, and after peering at the paintwork, the fluffy pair of dice dangling from the rear-view mirror of a chrome trimmed black Cadillac, 1958 Fleetwood Special, left-hand drive, and admiring the beautifully restored upholstery we ventured further afield ... there were eldery motor-bikes, one similar to what my Uncle owned more years ago than I care to recall; trucks small in comparision with the road trains of that make frequent pilgrimages up the Brand Highway; tractors that bear little resemblance to the machines that are this day spraying wheat paddocks ... and further afield to where a tent housed a display of eldery items that we have almost forgotten about.

There were kerosene refrigerators, washing machines that while saving the housewife a few hours and hard work on wash day are a far cry to the pristine white models that grace our laundries today.

Two steps inside this particular tent stood a circular display of sewing machines; vintage sewing machines. Not a treadle machine in sight! All were hand wheeled models, some almost 150 years old. They would have been innovative for the housewife towards the end of the 19th century when a needle and thread was the norm. I can imagine the enthusiasm these machines were greeted with by those charged with the task of sewing for the family.

I look at my modern Janome and marvel ... the difference between those elderly sewing machines painted black, with gold embossing, a shuttle in the place of our modern-day bobbins, is as striking as is the difference between an early model Massey Ferguson and a modern bright green and yellow John Deere of today guiding the giant sprayers that look like a praying mantis with arms outstretched.

Beyond the sewing machine display a collection of household items were protected from curious poking hands in a large wooden open-topped box sealed across the top with chicken wiring. Heirloom china and Grandma's doilies had pride of place. I tried to take a photo of just one of the doilies; it proved difficult as the closer I tried to reach the more precarious the box was, moving [it seemed] with me. I contented myself with the above photo. I pictured the maker sitting by a kerosene lamp stitching after the household chores were completed.

Sunday Morning

On a beautiful, cool, calm Sunday morning, with no pressing chores waiting to be tackled, what better way to fill in an idle moment that take a walk? Walking for pleasure in summer is impossible; flies and the sap destroying heat combine, making a walk the last thought on the mind.

Not to waste time completely I set out, hoe under one arm as the never-ending fight against melons is a daily task, and now Three Corner Jacks, a menace of a plant that sticks to tyres and rubber soled shoes as they hitch a lift to a new area to put down root and reproduce in their hundreds. I circled the western boundary, cut across The Park, which is in reality a large paddock but with intermittent stands of gum trees does resemble a park, especially as the numerous bare branches provide a resting place for the myriad of birds that flock to this area, digging out several melons and one three corner jack. However this was not my main reason for taking a walk. Chores are for weekdays. Sundays should be relaxing, and as I fully intend sitting on my posterior, knitting so as not to be completely lazy, to listen to the football this afternoon, a walk is one way of compensating with a clear conscience.

I left the hoe near the back door, and set off once again down The Avenue where my eyes were drawn to the varying types of bark on the different species of gum trees. Such colour and texture! If one stops to give nature a second thought surely amazement is the forefront thought. All over Australia gum trees take root, send up saplings that sometimes grow into huge trees. That there are so many species is incredible. They are easily identified, so I have been told, and have scientific names that I do not know. I simply call them by what I observe.
Hence there is the rough barked gum tree in which 'my' tawny frog-mouths perch, and there are the white barked gum trees that have a wonderful silver/white bark. Once I made a wall hanging and not having a 'proper' hanger on which to attach it, and not having the patience to wait until we went to the city where I could purchase one, I wandered down The Avenue, found a suitable white branch, and attached the wall hanging, which incidentally was my first foray into this type of work.

This morning the sun was shining on the tall ancient overhanging rough barked tree at a corner of The Avenue ... what a superb picture just waiting to be captured! Barely three metres further on the silver/white bark of a different species called to me, 'Take my photo too!" I obliged.

I walked reasonably quickly as this little excursion was to regain fitness lost during the summer, and once out onto the lane beyond our boundary I couldn't resist taking a photo to the west, and to the east.

If it wasn't for the gum trees and wattles one could almost imagine wandering down an English country lane ... except of course this is Western Australia, where the skies are nearly always blue.

The Country Hall

The mid-west was once home to numerous small settlements, but with progress [?] what were thriving townships, today leave a barely visible footprint on the landscape. Here and there a tiny, elderly, stone church shelters under a tree; a lonely cemetery sits behind a country fence guarded by a dilapidated wooden gate; or ruins of what was once the local school, hint to a past existence.

The hall, sitting near a railway siding with two or three houses nearby ... the only remnants of a small settlement ... is still the scene of a lively country dance. Once, before insurance placed strict prohibitions, or raised premiums on particular events, this hall welcomed the spinsters and bachelors of the community to dance, mix, and perhaps match. By all accounts the ambience of a Ball, which sounds exceptionally grand ... one has visions of country lasses floating around the dance-floor in floor-length ball gowns, elbow-length white gloves, new but necessarily comfortable dancing sandals, and wafting in a cloud of the latest perfume, while the bachelors clothed in suits, shirts with the top collar button fastened, ties, their feet encased in fine woollen socks rather than the thick work socks worn on the farm, and shoes polished until it was almost possible to see the reflection of their shiny faces ... not only succeeded in bringing the unattached together, but was an important social event for the district.

I have never attended one of these affairs; the above is my interpretation of a B and S Ball. Even the title B and S somehow lends an air of graciousness to a ball designed to encourage friendship and perhaps marriage amongst the local farming community ... notwithstanding the fact they probably had already met at the local store, or pub, or football match.

It seems a shame that such an honest ball had to be abandoned, for an insignificant reason ... the insurance companies deemed it too much of a risk. Admittedly there was the chance that some exuberant behaviour might occur towards the end of the ball, when perspiration lost on the dance floor was replaced by liquid refreshments. It could be assumed that some athletic dancer could fall in a graceful execution of the Twist [do they still do the Twist?] or swung his partner too vigorously in the Supper Waltz, thus making a claim against an insurance company. Or perhaps a car, or ute which is the most common form of transportation in this area, may assume a life of its own and back into a tree that was not there ten minutes earlier.

However, the local population ingeniously found a way around this dilemma. Substitute the words B & S for Harvest. The insurance companies, with their main offices in the depths of the city, high on the seventh floor of a concrete and glass building overlooking the river, the ferries, and the swans swimming ungracefully against the swirling eddies sweeping across the waterway from fast boats, were evidently in accordance with this new event. After all don't the churches have a Harvest Festival where the congregation sings with gusto such a wonderful hymn as 'Bringing in the Sheaves", and where harvest suppers are served in the Sunday-School hall attached? Perhaps it was this connection that decided the insurance company to take a chance on the Harvest Ball? While the title of the event of the year may have changed, little else has.

A small corrugated iron hall, sitting in what appears to be the middle of nowhere, takes on a social life of its own, once a year.

Of course this once a year extravaganza is not the only use such a building could be put too. Perhaps badminton, or meetings of local farmers, are still held behind ancient walls? No matter what, these halls are a link to the past, and as such help keep the community together.

There is a P.S. to this blog. Whilst typing it I suddenly became aware of a small dugite snake wriggling from under the kitchen cupboard, very close to where I was sitting. I screamed, MM came in, I saved the blog, and waited until we were certain it returned to the great outdoors, where it belongs ... not in my kitchen!