A great-great-great grandfather of mine was a tailor, and lived on the Isle of Skye. When I visited Skye, and was touring a museum, I learned that a tailor was often a community’s storyteller. Due to travelling distance or inclement weather, a tailor would often complete a job all in one sitting.
My imagination was sparked. I could easily picture my ancestor, sitting by the fire, work in hand. On the floor before him sit the children, their faces aglow in the firelight. Perhaps mother sets her darning aside when she looks up to see that father has picked up his fiddle, eager to tie his own thread of magic into the tailor’s story.
For several months now, I’ve spent a lot of time crocheting, a bit of time knitting, and feel as though I’m carrying on a meaningful tradition (especially when I sit in the comfy rocker next to the fireplace). My interest in these crafts, one that I’ve explored, on and off, since childhood, has been kindled so strongly that I’ve been taken by surprise. Or have I? My relationship with Brigid has long inspired a focus on healing, and it’s clear that the crafting energies of the forge have now been stoked. What a potent combination.
I’ve donated a number of crochet projects to fundraisers for a women’s shelter, and had the pleasure of gifting my sister with a shawl for her birthday. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to re-discover skills as I embrace the crone. I will continue to create shawls, largely made from recycled or second-hand yarn, working with the cycles of the moon and, I trust, Brigid’s blessings.
Brigid's Creel 