29 Apr 2014
From my kitchen window I've been watching a new house being built. In a matter of a few days a rectangle of dirt in a suburban street has been transformed into a collection of concrete, timber frames and plasterboard. A sizable dwelling, someone's new home. I envisage a plethora of light fitting catalogues and great debates over the merits of Hog's Bristle versus Clotted Cream and I hear, "White is white!" and see rolled eyes and huffy walking.
But after all the plaster dust has settled and removalists have trundled away what will make this house a home? Once the gloss of newness has faded a little it will be the small things brought to the space by those who reside there. The small squiggle of red crayon on those Hog's Bristle walls, the worn dining table bearing marks of afternoon craft sessions, too hot pots and time. Little wisps of the natural world plucked with abandon on fossicking adventures and sprinkled about the place; they'll re-invigorate gentle memories on days when it all seems a bit too much. Abandoned shoes and socks that whisper of school monkey bar triumphs and pasta sauce splattered cookbooks and mismatched cutlery.
All the little things that have been touched by familiar hands. The laughter, the scraped knees, the bits and bobs that resonate with play, connectedness and love. The handmade, the hand me downs, the created. A quiet and unique space that can't be bought or styled. A space filled with heart.
We made some clothing sachets using two small squares of muslin filled with some dried lavender from the garden, dried cinnamon bark, dried mint, dried thyme, dried rosemary and cloves. Tied up with twine and popped in amongst the smalls and hung from the clothes rails these little hand made lovelies will ward off the pesky moths and mould and remind us of a quiet afternoon creating together.