In the small gaps between busy full-time jobs, we make time to design and hand weave textiles on our mixed family farm in Northamptonshire, where fields of wheat, beans, barley and oats grow alongside our flock of mule, Hebridean and Romney sheep.

 

A few years ago, my husband and I visited the Weald & Downland Museum and watched flax being transformed into yarn. We came home looking at ordinary things differently - even eyeing the nettles that take over the scrub around our house each summer, wondering if we had the patience to make them into something more useful than the occasional soup (which, however virtuous, mostly just tastes of "green"). We imagined spinning them into most lustrous, silky fibres.

 

A couple of pre-loved weaving looms later, we haven't yet made enough nettle yarn even for a handkerchief. Instead, for now, wool has taken over our imagination.

 

There is something special about turning a natural fibre into something practical and lasting. Through weaving, I explore texture, weight and structure, slowly creating blankets, throws and scarves which can light up and be enjoyed every day.

 

For me, weaving is about connecting the farmed landscape with our homes - taking what begins in the field, whether it chews a hedge or grows under it, into something that can be wrapped around shoulders, folded over the end of a bed or given as a thoughtful gift.

 

It is careful and considered work, turning apparent chaos slowly into order. And it is something that I hope more of us can come to care deeply about, especially in today's tricky world.