In case you thought my promises of completing that insane project were sounding more hollow with each passing week
year, I decided to show you some progress on the garden portion… which happens to be the final section. For those of you who haven’t been reading The Yarn since it was hand-copied on parchment by medieval serfs, this project is large, bonkers, furniture-related, mostly crochet, and I’m very excited about showing you what it’s eventually going to be. Not long now, my fine fibrous friends… And I mean it this time.
(‘I mean it this time,’ is a phrase so over-used in this house-full-of-children that it may yet be etched on my gravestone. Actually that’d be quite a cool thing to have on a gravestone. And I sincerely hope that someone will yarn-bomb my gravestone, too. May as well have some fun whilst you’re dead.)
Woah, two paragraphs in and already we’re wildly off-topic. Let’s get back to the crochet. Would you like a just-out-of-the-oven cookie and some green tea?
It was necessary to do some weeding to make room for all the new growth. Yes, that’s the depressing truth: even a crochet garden sometimes needs weeding. In the yarn garden as well as in the real garden, the precious seedlings you nurture from germination with love and bedtime stories end up misshapen and withered, whereas the weeds resist your every murderous attempt with a will to survive that is awe-inspiring.
Witness the slime-mould-like abomination that got out of hand. I swear that despite it being made of yarn, it was actually growing when my back was turned. I’ve ripped it out, but there are still a few hairy roots lying semi-dormant. I predict trouble. You think I’m joking? I’m not joking.
And planting my little fibrous plants is a lot like planting real plants. With needle and yarn, I try to settle them deeply into the yarny earth. The simplest plants to make are the fancy grasses. After planting, I separate the eight plies in every strand and cut them each to a slightly different length.
Leafy bushes and flowers take more work. This is valerian. (Yes I had to look up what it was called, too. But you didn’t come here for horticultural advice, did you? Oh, you did? Sorry, you’ve come to the wrong place. Try the third blog along on the left…)
And hostas. I know nowt about hostas, except that they have big showy leaves, so they’re fun to hook. (Leaf pattern is based on my pattern.) Yes, that’s a bit of twin in the background of the photo.
Oh, and d’you see this?
This is to be a squat little conifer-like bush. 101 frondy bits. (I aimed for 100, but got distracted and overshot.) Pattern (if you can call it that) for frondy bits at the bottom of this blog post, just in case you should ever find yourself in need of such a ridiculous thing. And here it is, all sewn into place:-
If you leave such things lying around here, some small portion of twinnage is bound to come along and spot opportunities for imaginative play. Apparently, the grass needs mowing:-
And as life imitates art (I use the word art very loosely here, don’t worry. I use the word life pretty loosely, too), I spotted some borders of annuals at the village pub that bear more than a passing resemblance to the ring of begonias in the crochet garden:-
Right, ’tis time to put the camera down and carry on hooking. Thank you for visiting, and happy knitting/hooking.
Oh, and don’t try this at home, folks. (Really, don’t.)
Pattern for frondy coniferous thingy:-
US crochet terms. I know this will bother some people – sorry.
Chain 3. Work 5 sc into middle chain – these will form the actual leaf. Then work a pair of slip stitches around the neck of the leaf to pinch and hold its stem to make a neat round leaf. Then chain 4. Work 5sc into the penultimate of those chains as the beginning of your next leaf. And so on… and on…