The Still Room

None of us have one anymore, that is, unless we are serious throwbacks or Martha Stewart wannabes.  I don’t either, but will still go out and harvest lavender in June.  I was hard at it this morning with the secateurs, cutting down this season’s worth of flowers.  It turned out to be an impressive amount.

I called my daughter in and she watched and helped with the whole process of sorting by length of stem (the longest will make lavender wands), stripping leaves and binding stems tightly with ribbon (blue and green of course) and making loops so the whole affair can be turned upside down to dry in a closet and used afterwards for the linen closet or the chests of drawers.

The whole thing sounds as purposefully anachronistic as Tasha Tudor, but I do like to have this sort of experience printed on my daughter’s brain.  It is nice to see just a small bit of self sufficiency in the age of the I-pad.  Mind you, I’m guessing most people don’t count scenting their husband’s gym socks among the necessities of life but then I am fastidious and they’ve never smelt his socks.

By the way, that business about lavender being a soporific is actually true.  I had spread out newspapers with the flowers heaped on top and my daughter started to yawn.  I started to yawn, and it is simply not worth describing the effect upon the cat, who customarily naps in the sewing room where the lavender was drying.  I was considering shooing the pair of them out before we all re-enacted that scene from The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy and Co. nearly succumb to the poppy field.  No fooling.  So watch yourselves around those sachets.  They might be habit forming.

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