It's not my favourite. I dread the months of cold, of driving on messy roads, or finding mittens and hats every morning and making sure all the wet snow clothes get into the dryer each night. Everything takes more work: heating the house requires loads of wood to be stacked, carried in, loaded into the furnace. Then the ashes need cleaning out for it all to begin again. The animals need water; we fill the buckets in the basement, then haul them through the snow. Everything freezes solid.
But there is nothing as elemental, earthy, and ancient as drawing close to a wood fire, to read, knit or spin. The heat of a wood fire is like no other. It fills all the drafty cracks of our old house and just comforts with its steady warmth. There is nothing that makes time disappear for me, knowing that much as I sit and pass the long winter evenings, a woman long ago spent her evenings the same way; a cat nearby listening for mice, the whir of the wheel, and the crackle of the fire.
I've been busy with various projects, wrapping my kids and other loved ones in the gorgeous warmth of wool. I finished Jude's sweater just in time for the cold weather and he never takes it off. A pair of mitts meant for me turned out a bit small, and are a perfect fit for Violet. Finally, I crafted some hand-spun into this scarf/shawl for my husband's grandmother in England. The wooden shawl pin sets off its rustic beauty perfectly, I think.
Still on the needles is a Loki pullover for Margot. I'm busily spinning some Shetland for a sweater I plan to knit for myself this year.
Wool and wood, keeping us warm until Spring arrives.
(I think my kids have mastered the broody model face).
