Hearth Aflame

"Peasant Woman By A Hearth" by Jozev Israels

As I was flipping through the carol section of the hymnbook the other day, humming merrily along, I stopped to sing through the words of "There's a Song in the Air." This verse in particular struck me:

"In the light of that star

lie the ages impearled;

and that song from afar

has swept over the world.

Every hearth is aflame,

and the beautiful sing

in the homes of the nations

that Jesus is King!"

I love the hearth imagery, which is why I chose the name "Little Hearth" for this blog way back when. Back then I was living in a tiny apartment over a shop on an old main street in Ontario. We were newly married, and I was just getting the hang of setting up and keeping up my own little home. I had no fireplace, no literal hearth, but I wanted our home to be a place that was lit from within. I wanted to create a place of coziness and cheer. I wanted our home life to glow with a spiritual flame. 

Now, we live in a sprawling old farmhouse on PEI, which I can hardly describe as "little!" Instead of an apartment, we have what we like to think of as our own little homestead. We have a couple of acres, a flock of chickens, and a few children. Our lives have expanded. But in many ways the vision is the same. 

Warmth. Cheer. Gathering. Sustenance. Light. A welcome refuge in the darkness. 

This vision is still my desire and prayer. That the hearth of our home would be aflame with the light of Jesus. If I were to choose the name of my blog today, I think I might just have called it "Hearth Aflame." 

~lg

Confessions of a Homesteading Imposter

Confession time. I’m a total fake when it comes to any form of “homesteading.” I’m a wanderer at heart. A forager by trade. Crocuses, strawberries, wild roses, mushrooms, cranberries, pinecones. I grew up wandering and gathering, taking what the forest and riverbank had to offer. I grew up wondering, listening to the water and the earth. I was never one for cultivating. 

The only garden I ever tried to grow, a tiny triangle in a friend’s half-acre of bounty, was a dismal failure. I don’t remember harvesting a single plant or fruit thereof. I weeded out the seedlings. I neglected to water. I proved that my “Little House on the Prairie” dreams were not all they were cracked up to be. I remember declaring my interest in farming to my friend’s mother, and her subtle condescension as she responded that farmers have to get up really early and work hard, you know. 

Now, with a little more knowledge and a little more discipline, I have reaped the rewards of what I’ve planted in our humble veggie patch. But I believe that has been more so in spite of me than because of me. This year alone the green arrow peas dried in their pods before I got out to pick them. The lettuce bolted. The spinach wilted. I watched in fascination as a horde of hungry bugs descended on the kale for a week or so, steadily devouring each leaf, and I did nothing about it. A real farmer asked me at church one Sunday what my plan was for dealing with pests. I said something along the lines of, well, I just throw things in the ground and hope for the best! He thought I was joking. The green tomatoes I dutifully harvested before the frost (I do well with hard deadlines, I must admit) are now slowly rotting in bowls on the counter.

My husband accuses me of being an idealist, and he is right. The books make it look so pretty! I don’t think I’ll be winning an award from the PEI Rural Beautification Society anytime soon. 

And I see it all as some kind of character flaw. Gardening is not actually all that difficult, and I do love to eat local. It’s the responsible thing to do, given we have a bit of land. It fits with so much of what I want for our lives here. Regardless, I lack the discipline. I lack the inner bent. Things go a bit wild, and I am prone to wander off in the only clump of trees and bushes around to measure the growth of the saplings and hunt for old man’s beard. 

While others dig in, I prefer to discover. To go out and see what Mother Nature has to offer on a given day. To linger, finger, and ponder. To be surprised. 

Perhaps it’s outright laziness. Sure, we all have preferences. Like sleeping in and more chocolate. But Laura and Mary would not have shirked their duties! They would have starved otherwise. The stakes are not as high for me, but when I look out on the dishevelled mess that is not yet ready for winter, the sad swiss chard that nobody wants to eat just now is giving me that wilted, disappointed look. 

So why do I persist, I wonder? I could just let it go, cut my losses, and buy my produce at the farmers’ market. But then I think of my childhood heroes, and if I don’t at least try, I will feel unworthy of the legacy of so many hardworking people who scraped their suppers out of the ground and stocked up for the cold months ahead. I will feel unworthy of my fertile red soil. I will feel unproductive, and somehow less than the others with their tidy rows picked and pickled in season. 

I don’t dislike gardening. I actually love getting my fingers in the dirt. I love standing with the hose in hand on a summer’s eve, just thinking about things and listening to the birds. I love eating our own carrots out of the cellar in February, and putting together a whole meal with the work of our hands and the land. There are many things I love about having a garden, but that does not mean I find it easy. It goes against my nature, somehow. But isn’t that what being a grown-up is all about? Learning to do the things you aren’t good at? Persisting in the face of the difficult? Resisting the urge to only do what comes naturally? Becoming self-disciplined enough to (one day) put the tools away before it rains and just keep weeding?

I feel I must prove myself. To whom? My family? My friends and neighbours? The whole Almanzo Wilder household? Myself? I’m not sure.

I just know that I must keep on going, like I keep on living, throwing specks of nothing into black holes and hoping whole worlds will grow. Funny thing is, they often do. 

It’s like Mother Nature is saying, I know you’d rather be napping in a mossy hollow, or dancing with the dryads, or searching for cranberries on the boreal forest floor, but if you will just kneel down here for awhile, I have something to show you. There are still surprises, even for imposters like you. There’s wonder, even in this rectangle. And you can always buy a new hoe next spring. 

~lg

{p, h, f, r,} Hooked Rugs and Home Life

~ Capturing the context of contentment in everyday life ~

Joining in with Like Mother, Like Daughter

{pretty, happy, funny, real} 

at the Museum of the Hooked Rug and Home Life 

in the Acadian village of Cheticamp, Nova Scotia, Canada

It may not sound like a thrilling place to be, but on our recent 10th anniversary trip to Cape Breton Island, my husband and I stopped here on the recommendation of a friend. This museum shows a glimpse of life for the Acadians in the area about a hundred years ago. It also showcases many antique hooked rugs, an art made famous by the women of the Cheticamp area. The museum also houses the hooked rug gallery of Elizabeth Lefort, a famous rug hooker, whose work has been given to royalty, presidents, prime ministers, and even popes. 

What follows are some of the photos from this museum, and my reflections on this not-so-very-far-removed lifestyle. 

First off, Cape Breton Island is a beautiful place, and I would highly recommend the journey! We kept to the Cabot Trail for our short getaway, and explored only a fraction of the spectacular natural wonders, fascinating history, and rich Acadian/Celtic culture.

Fall colours

Breathtaking blues

At the top of the 9.2 km Skyline Trail!

The Cabot Trail at sunset

.
.
The Museum

I have a strange relationship to the lifestyle of the families of the past - part admiration, part envy, part . . .  shame?

I admire their ability to carve lives and homes out of practically nothing - farming, fishing, mining, and doing whatever it took to survive and eventually become prosperous. I admire how hard they must have worked, how resourceful they were, and how they still made time and space for beauty in their homelife and crafts.

This is the same type and size of churn we have in our house as an antique "decoration"

I envy the "simplicity" of the times, even though it brought its own limitations. I envy the community,  the tightly-woven networks that held people together for better or worse. I envy the lack of "stuff." I envy the skills that were passed down from woman to woman, the "collective memory" as it were. I even envy their lack of choice, though I'm sure many a feminist or modernist would berate such a notion. Their circles were small. In many ways, life was set for them. There wasn't an endless parade of "you can be whatever you want to be," which I have often found counterproductive to simply getting on with the task at hand, or choosing a path and being content with it. There really was no possible way to live outside of one's means, and though I'm sure the catalogues of the day must have provoked some wishing for more, a lifestyle just beyond their reach was not bombasting them at every turn.

 And I can't help but feel somewhat ashamed. At what, compared to them, seems like my own laziness, selfishness, or complete incompetence. Much as I have always been nostalgic for these simpler times, could I have survived them? I can barely survive my own world of modern conveniences some days. But then I wonder, is there something wrong with me, or is it a symptom of something gone wrong with our modern world?

Note the antique hooked rugs in two styles - one floral pattern, carefully planned, and the other a more random pattern which utilized any scraps of wool, whatever colour or length was left over. 

I do leave these glimpses of an earlier life feeling inspired though. Inspired to bring something of this beauty, simplicity, and pride of home into my own life. Inspired to work hard, to devote myself to the life we're building as a family, and to find contentment and joy in common things.

Rug Making

The variety of hooked rugs on display, both antique and more recently crafted, were truly beautiful and fascinating.

We were given a demonstration of how the rugs are made. Canvas is stretched on a frame to open the holes of the fabric. A pattern is then drawn on by hand. The hooked needle (still made locally from a nail hammered into a wooden base, then bent into shape) pulls the wool up from underneath, in little loops of equal height. There is no knotting or tying of the wool; it is simply cut off when a new colour is needed. The loops are hooked so close together, that when the canvas is taken off the frame, they shrink into a tightly woven material. The pattern is cut out of the canvas, with enough of a border to fold and sew under. The rug is then ironed on both sides to further shrink the wool and keep it all together.

Still made with a plain old nail

In this area, the hooks are still handmade, the wool dyed locally, and the rugs made by hand by the women of the community.

"La Sagouine"

A variation on the "Tree on Life" design

A portrait of Queen Elizabeth II by Elizabeth LaFort

Elizabeth LeFort also created a collection of stunning religious rugs. I was amazed at the size of some of them!

A young Jesus

The resurrection

The crucifixion 

"Our Lady of Perpetual Help"

"The Nativity"

I love this detail of The Nativity

A tribute to Canada for the Canadian Centennial in 1967.
416 colours. 8 months in the making. 7 miles of yarn were used and 1,750,000 stitches were hooked. 

To commemorate our tenth anniversary, we brought home this humble hooked rug. It is a "Tree of Life" design, made with leftover scraps of wool so that no two designs are the same. I think it is a beautiful symbol of the life of marriage. (I didn't think to take a picture of it till evening, in not-so-great lighting.)

A beautiful way to bring the traditions of the past to life in our home.


~lg

Ongoing rhythm

We are still working out our rhythm over here. Seasons of the earth and seasons of the children's lives change, and we find different ways to make our family music together. Some days we get carried away by a delightful descant, or a bit lost in improv, and that's ok. Other days we forget our notes altogether and everything seems out of sync and out of tune. But we aim for some kind of steady rhythm to keep us moving on the ancient paths while singing our own new song.

This is the beat that keeps us moving well:

- Being "ready for the day" while the day is still young
- Cleaning up after meals as close as possible to the meal itself
- Having dinners planned in advance
- Lots of time outside (hours, ideally) - gardening, yardwork, biking, playing, walking
   * Kids get tired out, house stays tidier! We all win!
- Story time and book rests in the afternoon
- A clean dining room and kitchen before bed

Repeating patterns:

- Bible reading and prayer time (sometimes with singing) around 10:00 am
- Memory verse at lunch time (new idea!)
- Family Bible reading at supper

Notes to hit every day:

- Music (singing, playing piano or drums, dancing in the kitchen)
- Books
- The Great Outdoors

Variations:

- Art/crafts (I need to get more organized with ideas, as this does not come naturally to me)
- Games or activities (Again, more organization needed!)
- Playdates and outings


I see how a daily rhythm helps Arden (first we put away the cutlery, then we read the Bible in the living room...), and how it helps me (clear the table first...) to stay on track without having to think about things too much - ah, the power of habit! I want to make sure we are wearing paths in the right direction.

~lg

Positions Available: The School of Young Women

The School of Young Women: INSTRUCTORS WANTED IMMEDIATELY

Position: Older Woman

Number of positions available: Infinite

Tenure is permanent, full-time

Positions needed immediately; class enrollment is high

Qualified applicants will have the following qualities:

Reverent behavior

Ability to teach what is good

Personal experience with the course subjects

Applicants will be disqualified for:

Malicious gossip

Too much wine

See course description below:

The School of Young Women

Instructors:         Older Women of the Church

Timetable:          Ongoing

Location:              Various homes

Course Objectives:

·         To promote and sustain the formation of the godly wife, mother and homeworker.

·         To uphold the honour of the word of God

Course text:

·         Titus 2:3-5

·         The word of God

Subjects:

·         The love of one’s husband

·         The love of one’s children

·         The work of the home

·         Character cultivation:

o   Sensibility

o   Purity

o   Kindness

·         Christian marital submission

Specialists currently wanted in the following areas:

Whiny children, time management, sleep deprivation, curbing cabin fever, prayer

Applications many be submitted to your local church.
Alternatively, private tutoring may be offered at any time to the nearest frazzled mother.

Queen of the Realm

I come downstairs after both kids are tucked snugly into bed, one-and-a-half out of two asleep. The house has that disheveled look of a day well lived.

Peepo, one of our favourite books, pulled off the shelf. The table strewn with after-supper artwork and bowls of homemade paint. Pickwick, our new kitten, chasing cheerios and peas across the dining room floor. More socks than the number of children’s feet in this house dropped in diverse places. (They multiply on the floor and disappear in the dryer – oh the strange magic of socks.) One last pile of laundry waiting for a bath. A stray, sticky pot. Bits and pieces of our little life, the evidence of moments spent and shared and sewn together, stitching us together.

For today I’ve held little hands and whole squirming bodies of babies and what seems like a dozen things at once, yet somehow it’s all holding me, and it’s all here.

A sense of accomplishment sneaks up on me, as that of a sovereign surveying her domain with the satisfaction of a realm at rest. The cat looks at me as if I’m being ridiculous.

Yes, I am still going to have to finish the dishes, do that laundry, pick up those socks, sweep the floor, put the hedgehog family (and all their miniature friends and relations) back in the play barn, and otherwise tidy up.

But by some special grace, I am able to see this to-do list tonight as a to-thank list. To take joy in this quiet moment of messy contentment.

To feel somehow like a queen in the midst of a maidservant’s work.

~lg

{pretty, happy, funny, real} Master Bedroom Challenge Edition!

~ Capturing the context of contentment in everyday life ~

Brought to you by Like Mother, Like Daughter

Today I am joining in Leila's master bedroom challenge!

This little cross stitch was a wedding gift. I love its simplicity. 

But, oh, what a week it's been! It has been utter chaos around the house, all because of something, or rather some things, I can barely see - fleas. We discovered them in our house last week, and since then it's been a whirl of vacuuming and hot water laundering and pest control and more laundering. And I had just started to implement Auntie Leila's laundry sorting system too! Then suddenly I was faced with the prospect of washing everything, all at once, as soon as possible. There are still piles of clean laundry on the dining room table, but now I feel I'm at least on the winning side of things.

The silver lining in all this cloudiness was that I had to empty practically everything out of our bedroom anyway, which meant I had a fresh slate to start with. Auntie Leila's challenge came just at the right time - a glimmer of hope and a bit of focus.

Here is the before, taken a few days ago, mid-chaos, gross lighting:

Floor cleared, rugs temporarily removed, random stuff piled on surfaces. 

Not a pretty sight. Not our usual bedding either. 

{pretty}

And now when I walk in, it's a little haven of calm in the storm. :)

(I wish I had a sunny day to take pictures, but it's all rain and grey and gloom outside today.)

A clean, made bed. I also brought in that chair to put next to my little bookcase. 

The room is still missing a few elements due to cleaning in progress - a large area rug, the bedskirt, some pretty extra pillows. But I took the opportunity to hang a few things on the walls! I've wanted to get that little cross stitch up for quite some time, and this was just the motivation to do it. I also hung one of my small moosehair tuftings from up north.

The curtains are washed - but I can't decide whether to hem them up to the windowsill level (like in the before picture) or hem them to the floor. All I've got to work with right now is that tension rod to hold them up. 

By the way, I painted the bedroom floor this summer! It was a deep pink before, and latex. Now it's oil. I don't even remember what this colour is called; it's one of the historic colours from Benjamin Moore. (It looks different in real life. So do the walls, I think.) It was a bit of a fiasco because I didn't know what I was doing, but it turned out ok in the end!

Dresser cleared off! The dressers, which match, were got in two different provinces! This one we bought when we moved to PEI because it matched the one we already had, picked off a curb in Ontario! 

Micah's dresser, but my things on top of it. (Good thing he doesn't have too many things.) Micah's night table has his Grundig radio and a picture of us taken the day we were engaged, along with various electronic cords. 

I think the overall effect is quite pretty now, and I can tell you, it's also pretty clean!

{happy}

This week of clearing out and cleaning up gave me a good opportunity to decide what little touches I wanted to have in our room. I focused on the things which tell part of the story of "us," and also decided to bring in some of my treasures from the Northwest Territories, where I grew up and where my family still lives. I know they are only things, but they bring happiness because of what they represent.

This bird is actually a jewelry box! Lace from one of my sisters, I think from Italy? 

Wine bottle from our engagement picnic, picture of wild roses from up north, and a shell with dried lavender from along Hadrian's Wall and a beaded hair elastic also from up north.

My birchbark containers - one with porcupine quill detail and the other with
moosehair tufting, both from Fort Smith. 

Why did I take this blurry picture?? Oh yes, I was trying to focus on the picture in the mirror! 

Now when I look around I am reminded of who we are and where we've come from. Hopefully this room can be a sanctuary, a place of peace from which to go on together where God leads.

{funny}

Someone wanted to be in the pictures! This little one loves jumping on our bed.

{real}

I had a small stroke of genius which falls into the beautiful and useful category. One of the things living on the dresser before was a box of nursing pads. I had the great idea to put them into one of my birchbark baskets! So simple, so nice, so useful.

So, there you have it. Life is not quite back to normal yet, but our room feels lovely, and that makes a big difference! Thanks for the challenge!



~lg