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Although our yard is still packed with several feet of snow, the temperatures are all above zero this week; a sign that spring is around the corner. The driveway, already melted of all the white stuff, is actually a mud pit as the ground thawed; I got out my rubber boots, a positive sign of spring and better weather coming. Saturday the clocks went ahead an hour so the days are longer, good times are on their way.
Spring, my favourite season, always takes me back to my childhood. All my best memories evolved from springtime, a simpler age when my family was young and blissful. It was a season of newness and discovery and freedom from the heavy clothing and harsh winters that we suffered through. One of my favourite memories is of the classic pussy willow. I remember tickling the soft buds under my nose, teasing our cat with them, and we always had a vase full on the kitchen counter.
I think my generation was so fortunate to be nature walkers, taking strolls on Sunday with mom and dad to explore the wooded area behind our house. The smell of outdoors was intoxicating. Pine scented, it would tattoo itself on my nose and my clothes so I would carry it with me throughout the day.
There were so many treasures to be found and mysteries to unfold to intrigue an inquisitive kid like me. Spider webs spanning the paths glistened with morning dew. Beads of water shimmering like diamonds on the web, intoxicatingly beautiful; my five year old brain was mesmerized. I was a constant question back then, one leading directly into another like a string of pearls. I needed to know the why and the how of all things, what bird was singing, what is the name of that mushroom, does a fairy live under it? My questions probably disturbed my parent’s ears as well as the flora and fauna of the quiet woods. The wind in the swaying trees sounded like whispers overhead while the soft pine needle carpet felt like walking on clouds.
How I remember the May flowers with their delicate pink petals and their exquisite scent. If I close my eyes I can easily relive this delicate sweet perfume. Lady slippers, a dainty pink, so abundant and elegant, like ballerina shoes peppering the forest floor, so very many of them back then, so few of them now. So much beauty in nature, one only has to look to see her bounty
There are many versions of how the Pussy Willows got their name. One such story is this old Polish legend.
The story began many springtime’s ago with a mother cat crying at the bank of a river in which her kittens were drowning. The willows at the river's edge longed to help her, so they swept their long graceful branches into the waters to rescue the tiny kittens who had fallen into the river while chasing butterflies. The kittens gripped on tightly to their branches and were safely brought to shore. Each springtime since, goes the legend, the willow branches sprout tiny fur-like buds at their tips where the tiny kittens once clung.
There are other versions of the tale, although not as sweet and without a happy ending, so I chose this explanation as the one that best represents our darling pattern. The design was inspired by my mother-in-law who showed me an old drawing she’d found on a vintage post card. I embellished it more by adding the fun border to frame these sweet little kittens.
A kitten is the poster child for all things soft, fluffy and adorable and this pattern offers the option to make it all three as well. I have seen several versions of it hooked, each one telling the story perfectly. Sometimes the pussy willows are sculpted for extra texture and interest. I smile every time I see it and recently caught a glimpse of another version of this rug on Facebook, hooked and hanging at the show at Ross Farm.
Spring, my favourite season, always takes me back to my childhood. All my best memories evolved from springtime, a simpler age when my family was young and blissful. It was a season of newness and discovery and freedom from the heavy clothing and harsh winters that we suffered through. One of my favourite memories is of the classic pussy willow. I remember tickling the soft buds under my nose, teasing our cat with them, and we always had a vase full on the kitchen counter.
I think my generation was so fortunate to be nature walkers, taking strolls on Sunday with mom and dad to explore the wooded area behind our house. The smell of outdoors was intoxicating. Pine scented, it would tattoo itself on my nose and my clothes so I would carry it with me throughout the day.
There were so many treasures to be found and mysteries to unfold to intrigue an inquisitive kid like me. Spider webs spanning the paths glistened with morning dew. Beads of water shimmering like diamonds on the web, intoxicatingly beautiful; my five year old brain was mesmerized. I was a constant question back then, one leading directly into another like a string of pearls. I needed to know the why and the how of all things, what bird was singing, what is the name of that mushroom, does a fairy live under it? My questions probably disturbed my parent’s ears as well as the flora and fauna of the quiet woods. The wind in the swaying trees sounded like whispers overhead while the soft pine needle carpet felt like walking on clouds.
How I remember the May flowers with their delicate pink petals and their exquisite scent. If I close my eyes I can easily relive this delicate sweet perfume. Lady slippers, a dainty pink, so abundant and elegant, like ballerina shoes peppering the forest floor, so very many of them back then, so few of them now. So much beauty in nature, one only has to look to see her bounty
There are many versions of how the Pussy Willows got their name. One such story is this old Polish legend.
The story began many springtime’s ago with a mother cat crying at the bank of a river in which her kittens were drowning. The willows at the river's edge longed to help her, so they swept their long graceful branches into the waters to rescue the tiny kittens who had fallen into the river while chasing butterflies. The kittens gripped on tightly to their branches and were safely brought to shore. Each springtime since, goes the legend, the willow branches sprout tiny fur-like buds at their tips where the tiny kittens once clung.
There are other versions of the tale, although not as sweet and without a happy ending, so I chose this explanation as the one that best represents our darling pattern. The design was inspired by my mother-in-law who showed me an old drawing she’d found on a vintage post card. I embellished it more by adding the fun border to frame these sweet little kittens.
A kitten is the poster child for all things soft, fluffy and adorable and this pattern offers the option to make it all three as well. I have seen several versions of it hooked, each one telling the story perfectly. Sometimes the pussy willows are sculpted for extra texture and interest. I smile every time I see it and recently caught a glimpse of another version of this rug on Facebook, hooked and hanging at the show at Ross Farm.
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