To do...

Forget the back of an old envelope. This year, the lovely pre-christmas chaos in my kitchen is festooned with these cute little stickies that I was asked to illustrate, for the fabulous store Anthropologie.

After spending a day in sparkly London last week I have now banished all thoughts of spring (apart from taking seed catalogues to bed with me, but that’s another blog).  The urban mix of chats over coffee, favourite shops and my agent’s christmas party has whipped me into a suitably festive frame of mind. 

There was even a whisper of Christmas next morning back home in Suffolk, as a passing angel paused on top of the christmas tree.... 

...and by Monday, like shepherds to Bethlehem, the entire starling population was a-chatter.

Spring is in the Air

I’m so excited to finally see the Blossom range of stationery, that I worked on with the lovely, New York based Galison back in the spring. Perfectly on cue, outside our front door, the pale pink petals of Prunus Okame are blinking in the crisp, sunlit morning. Under the weeping ash there are flashes of white snowdrops, and a lone primrose has been flowering for weeks unable to contain itself until spring.... so I’m not the only one feeling unseasonably giddy!

Gorgeous commute to the studio this morning. The sun was up early and had already pencilled in these lovely sketches along the way. Not bad for sixty-eight paces.

Postcard from my studio

The Ghost Of Major Johns

Last week we said a fond Goodbye to Major Johns. The poor gent had become very wobbly on his pins and was struggling to keep up with his harem. We tried the “He’ll either get better.... or worse” theory, and he got worse.

When wringing a cockerel’s neck it’s important to get it right first time, so we sought the help of a friend, Rob, who has a wide repertoire of techniques to deal with all types of fowl.  Some involve broom handles and fan belts.  In this case it was a straightforward snap.

The Major is succeeded by his son Johns Junior; a glossy green and russet teenager with custard yellow legs. His voice is just breaking into a crow and he is clumsy and impetuous with the girls... no doubt maturity will refine him.

Unexpectedly the Major re-visits us every morning as the dew dries on the flagstones, a shadow of his former self, but he still makes me smile.

An early start...

 in the veg patch, with the rising sun, my favourite fork, and mystified looks from next-door..

Jobs for the weekend...

The Dash at Dusk

Having met up with friends from Helsinki at the weekend I’m feeling even more grateful for every ounce of daylight we get, despite the shortening days.  However, this doesn’t mean that I’m not caught out when I look up from my desk at 5 pm, light fading, and realise I haven’t picked any sprouts for dinner.  I should really take my cue from the chickens. They are already strutting back to their coop, looking mockingly over their shoulders at me as I scamper in their wake, trug and torch in hand, to the veg patch.... in the half-light again. 

Imagine...

“Half the interest of a garden is the constant exercise of the imagination.  I believe that people entirely devoid of imagination can never be really good gardeners.” Mrs C. W. Earle 1897

There’s nothing like the arrival of a big box of tulip bulbs to get the imagination running riot: all that promise of colour and flounce hidden away under papery brown skins.  Planting them is less compelling, but theraputic. Unearthing chips of pretty china in the process turns the whole exercise into a glorious treasure hunt.

Mulling over the limitless possibilities for mosaic, I came across the amazing Rock Garden created by Nek Chand in India, now there’s an imagination really running riot!

photographs © Iain Jackson

Ten hens.... one egg!