Every day brings a new story…grab a cuppa and let me tell you about our Persian rug.

30 years ago, when we were young and stupid, we bought a deceased estate federation house. It was in a seriously dilapidated condition – no inside toilet, no hot water, no laundry, no shower. The tiny kitchen had just half a metre of bench space, divided into three sections. It was partitioned into pokey rooms for use as a boarding house and in such a state of disrepair that it had lingered on the property market for 14 months before we bought it. Even so, we could barely afford it – if it hadn’t been for my parents’ legendary generosity, we wouldn’t be here today.

We were coming from a little unit, so of course, we needed furniture. We borrowed an extra $3.5K to cover this, which in hindsight was a small fortune.

Anyway, we walked into a cool shop in Ultimo called Nomadic Rug Traders and…we both fell in love with this Meshkin Kilim runner from Northern Persia (Iran). See, it really IS a Persian rug. An antique, tribal, handwoven runner from circa 1900. At five metres long and over a metre wide, it fit our hallway perfectly…but it cost $2,500. Yup. Madness, I know. We had to furnish the rest of the house, including appliances, wardrobes and lounges, with the remaining $1,000. We sat on beanbags for a year!

But oh, how we LOVED our rug. It lived in the hallway for ten years and made us happy every time we walked on it. When the kids were little, they rode bikes on it and dropped crumbs all over it. Then Small Man developed severe eczema – at its worst, his skin was peeling off in sheets – so we had to roll it up and put it away. No fabric furnishings allowed, the dermatologist said. I sewed a cotton bag to store it in, then we packed it carefully in mothballs and crossed our fingers, hoping it would survive.

Today, more than 30 years after we bought it, we pulled it out of storage. I nearly wept when I saw that it was still in the same condition as when we’d rolled it up all those years ago. We washed the underlay and vacuumed the rug before returning it to its rightful spot in the hallway.

It’s amazing how much more I appreciate it now than I did back in the 90s! Over the intervening two decades, I’ve become increasingly fascinated with tribal and handmade textiles, but this is where it all began. And it speaks to the adage to buy once and buy well – it was an impetuous and mad purchase, but 30 years on, it still brings us so much joy! ♥

Photo from the fabulous Fashion Revolution Fanzine LOVED CLOTHES LAST,poem by Hollie McNish. (click for links)

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My young friends have a current slang term – they talk about being “woke”.

Loosely translated, it means “aware”. And once we start looking into waste and sustainability and our impact on the environment, it’s very hard to stay asleep. Whether we like it or not, we end up woke.

We started down this rabbit hole (a metaphor used by my old friends) 18 months ago, when we tried to reduce the amount of waste we produced as a household. If you’d like to read about our journey, I’ve collated all the posts here. But once I started researching, it became obvious that there were other aspects of our lives that needed changing too. It wasn’t just about finding ways to recycle our foodscraps or switching out paper napkins for cloth ones, we also needed to start questioning the clothes we bought, the food we ate, the way we voted, and so much more.

In particular, we needed to start assessing the true cost behind how we chose to live our lives, taking into account the price being paid by the environment, other living creatures and our fellow humans, rather than making decisions based on assigned dollar values. Being even a little bit woke about the current state of our planet is discomfiting, but without some awareness, there can be no impetus to do anything differently.

I know that it can sometimes feel pointless to keep trying. I drove past a bridal wear store recently and saw someone filling an entire red wheely bin with plastic wrapping, even as I was heading to Coles to drop my soft plastics into the RedCycle bin. I wondered if the efforts of our small family of four really made any difference at all in the face of fifty years of thoughtless global plastic consumption. Mind you, I’m in no position to lecture, as we have used, and continue to use, more plastic than I’m comfortable owning up to.

But…there’s no turning back now. Thankfully the zeitgeist is shifting, and folks no longer consider us deranged greenies for refusing to use cling film. And it’s a mistake to think that our small changes aren’t having an impact, because we humans are social creatures (some of us more than others) and as we talk and share our ideas, they start to spread. Now that we’ve stocked up our own green kit, I’ve started sharing the things I make with friends and neighbours. The crocheted dishcloths and mesh vegetable bags are always in high demand, and I know that the six veggie bags I sew for a friend could result in their family avoiding hundreds of single use plastic bags this year. My darling neighbour Jane arrived to pick up bread yesterday with a furoshiki, which saved a paper bag. I was sooo chuffed, because I knew she’d take that loaf home and wrap it in the beeswax wrap that I made her six months ago.

Bit by bit, we’re becoming more aware of the need to conserve resources. After months of reading and watching and trying to understand, the conclusion I’ve come to is that the biggest impact I can personally make towards reducing my environmental footprint is to simply consume less. As a raging extrovert, I find that hard to do, because I like new things. But I’ve discovered that approaching my purchases with curiosity – asking questions about where, how and why something was made – has turned me into a discerning shopper. I bring home far less than I’ve ever done before, and appreciate my carefully selected items much more. We eat less meat, purchase misshapen vegetables with glee, and recycle all our food waste via four different backyard methods (chickens, worm farm, bokashi bucket and soldier fly farm). Even if our impact is miniscule in global terms, I’d like to think that we’re making an effort to reduce our personal family footprint.

Which leads me to the purpose of this blogpost.

I’ve realised that the way we can make a difference beyond our efforts at home and within our community is to share our story with you. I know we all make decisions based on our personal circumstances, but I would like to encourage you to be woke. Ask endless annoying questions. Were the folks who made my jeans paid living wages? What was the environmental impact of growing the cotton? Was this chicken allowed to free range or locked in a crowded shed? How long does this head of lettuce take to decompose in landfill? (Believe it or not, the answer is 25 years.) Do I really need to buy water in a plastic bottle?

Try to do as many of the “re”s as possible – reduce, reuse, restore, refurbish, rewear, recondition, reclaim, reimagine, recycle – you get the picture. I guarantee you’ll save money in the process. And please, please share your ideas with the rest of us in the comments below. Through discussion and conversation, we can learn from and encourage each other to keep the momentum going. And I know from personal experience that even small changes can lead to huge results. ♥

A long time ago, I worked at Reverse Garbage with the irrepressible Belinda M. She was sassy, totally adorable and had her own unique view of the world. I remember the morning she came in and declared that she was no longer a vegetarian – she’d watched David Attenborough’s “Life of Plants” and decided that they were living things with feelings too. So, true to her Italian roots, she went back to eating bolognese and lasagne.

Belinda also taught me my most valuable “fashion” lesson and over the past twenty years, I’ve rarely wavered from it. She always wore stripes (and only stripes) until one day, when she came in furious because stripes were the hot look for that season. “Dammit, now I’ll have to stop wearing them until they go out again!” she said.

She was right too. Why on earth would we want to dress like everyone else?

However, it wasn’t until I discovered thrift shopping (driven by a new found awareness of sustainability) that I found my “style”. I know I’m using a lot of quotation marks in this post, but if you ever met me and saw what I actually wear, you’d understand.

This year, we made a concerted effort to source as much of our winter wardrobe as possible secondhand. Pete, bless him, is always supportive, so he’s allowed himself to be dragged to numerous Salvos Stores and opshops. We’ve found some wonderful treasures, but they all needed tinkering with to make them our own.

Let me show you what we’ve been playing with! But first, please allow me to introduce you to Blue Rhonda, my latest eBay find and named after her original owner…

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Pete fell in love with the cut and heavy duty fabric of this old US Air Force shirt. The entire garment is contoured for movement – the sleeves are shaped rather than a single piece, and the body is slightly tapered in at the waist. It fits him like a glove, but we needed to demilitarise it so that he wouldn’t have people asking him where he’d served.

I started by taking off all the patches…

We then soaked it in a half-strength black dye (which cost more than the shirt) to remove the khaki greens and browns, while keeping the pattern. Pete’s worn it almost constantly since, as it’s the perfect layering weight for early winter. He posed somewhat reluctantly for these photos…

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I needed a new winter coat that wasn’t black, so I was pretty chuffed to find this vintage Edward Kazas Italian wool/cashmere swing coat at Anglicare for just $25. Apart from a bit of cat hair, it was in almost perfect condition. I paid our fabulous local dry cleaners $20 to make it like new again…

Many vintage lovers insist that you shouldn’t mess with original features, but the shiny gold buttons really weren’t me, so I switched them out for funky purple ones that I found at Reverse Garbage for ten cents each. A couple of friends have commented that they look like lollies, which makes me love them even more!

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A second jacket, this time an old denim chore coat which I bought at Uturn in Marrickville for $6.70 (they were selling three items for $20, so I picked this up with Pete’s air force shirt and the jeans below). The chore coat is an American classic, but I’m bad at leaving things alone…

…so I added a panel of the Japanese print that my young friend Luca gave me when he went off to Paris to study fashion…

…and a tiny bird patch on the collar…

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The third piece in our three for $20 purchase were these too short Diesel jeans. I let the hems down and celebrated the fade line as part of the ongoing story of the jeans, then darned the holes with purple 4ply cotton (picked up for $2 from the Salvos) and added octopus patches (as one does)…

The patches were a gift from my lovely friend Moo, who bought them at WOMAD earlier this year. They were hand stitched in Indonesia on old Singer sewing machines…

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I turned a pair of too big linen pants and Pete’s old linen shirt into a couple of lightweight shawls…

…and a scrap of kantha quilting into a reversible poncho…

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No winter wardrobe is complete without accessories! I was pretty happy with this one carrot ring that I picked up at the Salvos for a dollar…

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Finally, let me leave you with some wise words from the always stylish Emma Watson and the folks at Fashion Revolution…

I suspect my clothes say I’m a bit of a nutter, but you know what? I’m ok with that.

Are you a sustainable fashion shopper? We’re quite new at this, so I’d love any tips you have to share. And for more information and inspiration, check out the fabulous Fashion Revolution resources page. You can also read all their fanzines online for free at Issuu – here’s the link.

The True Cost is an incredibly moving documentary, and one which is relevant to all of us. I strongly urge you to watch it – it’s available on Netflix, or you can purchase it directly from the movie  website.

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You might never look at clothing in the same way again – I know I certainly won’t. For too long, we’ve simply bought, worn and discarded clothes without really understanding the price being paid for it by both the planet and the one in six people worldwide who work in the industry. Fast fashion is, quite literally, killing the people who make it.

The documentary is confronting and challenging, but also enlightening and extremely important. I didn’t know that clothing consumption had increased by 400% over the past twenty years, or that 250,000 Indian farmers growing cotton had been driven to suicide over the same period. I didn’t know that most cheaply made garments donated to charity were ending up in countries like Haiti and destroying their local industry as a consequence. I didn’t know children were being born with severe mental retardation as a suspected result of pesticide use.

But I do now. Knowledge is the power that informs choices, and our individual informed choices can create change for the greater good.

I hope you have an opportunity to watch this, and that it gives you as much reason to pause and reassess as it gave me. ♥

My hands and wrists don’t do well in cold weather.

I try to look after them, but as my mum pointed out recently, they do quite a lot of work. Lately I’ve had some RSI in my wrists, my knuckles are a bit swollen, and because it’s winter, my skin has started to dry and crack. I guess it’s just part of getting older.

Bread baking, however, must continue! Lately I’ve been making my friend Emilie’s twisty baguettes because I can prep the dough with a spatula, which means I don’t have to keep washing my hands in cold water. The only tricky part is shaping the baguettes – the high hydration dough can be sticky to handle. The secret is lots of fine semolina, a gentle touch and…learning to appreciate the wonkiness.

Here’s my spin on the formula, which substitutes a mix of plain and bakers flour for the American all-purpose that Em recommends (our local plain flour is lower in protein than the US equivalent).

  • 100g ripe sourdough starter
  • 720g cool water
  • 440g plain flour
  • 440g baker/bread flour
  • 18g fine sea salt
  • fine semolina for dusting

1. The night before: combine all the ingredients except the semolina in a large wide mixing bowl. Stir them together with a silicon spatula until all the dry ingredients are incorporated and you’re left with a shaggy dough. Cover and leave to rest for an hour.

2. Uncover and using your spatula, scrape down the side of the bowl, lift up some of the dough and fold it into the centre. Turn the bowl a little and repeat until you’ve formed a smooth ball. Cover and allow to prove overnight. Coat your hands with barrier cream, pop on some cotton gloves, and go to bed. (Ok, that bit is optional.)

3. When the dough has doubled in size (it can take 12 – 18 hours, depending on how warm your kitchen is), dust a clean bench with a generous amount of fine semolina. Line two oven trays with teflon sheets or parchment paper, and dust them with semolina. Preheat your oven to 220C with fan.

4. Scrape the dough on to the bench and using a scraper and a gentle touch, fold it in half so that both the top and bottom are coated in semolina (“like a book”, Em says). Using your scraper, cut the dough in half, and then into three short logs.

5. Now this bit can be a little tricky – roll each log over in fine semolina, stretching and extending it as you go. Gentle gentle – you just want to get it well coated and roughly baguette shaped. Transfer the log, stretching a bit more as you go, to the dusted oven tray and repeat with the remaining five logs.

6. Starting in the middle of each log, gently twist the dough – first to one end, then to the other. Cover the shaped dough with clean tea towels and let them prove briefly while the oven heats up.

7. Spritz the top of the baguettes with water (no need to slash), then bake them in the preheated oven for a total of 25 – 30 minutes, rotating halfway through. Allow to cool on a wire rack before eating.

Em’s clever twisting technique produces the lovely holey crumb of a traditional baguette, without the detailed shaping and slashing. I’ve found that these keep well for up to three days if tightly wrapped in a large beeswax wrap – any leftovers make wonderful croutons and garlic bread.

This recipe comes from Emilie’s fabulous book, Artisan Sourdough Made Simple. If you haven’t already bought a copy, you’re missing out on some amazing bakes!

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