sue orton

Sailing, sorrow and joy.

Ten tumbling days. “Have you heard the news, the Queen has died.” Tears. Shock but not unexpected. Her lifetime remembered. A long life. Sadness. Sorrow. Silence. My lifetime remembered. A Coronation baby.

Now embarking on a sailing trip with The Ocean Youth Trust. A hopeful return woven into a life time of sailing. Could I hold myself together? Sadness and tears close. Reconnecting joy and freedom from years past. Nervous. Small bunks. Big winches. Big boat. New crew. Nervous.

Flowers at every gate. Silent passing. The Queen travels south from Balmoral. Tears. Black. Long steady progress. Transfixed. Smiles, laughter remembered. Tears. “The Royal Parks have requested no more marmalade sandwiches to be left for the Queen.”

Warm clothes, waterproofs, t-shirts, shorts. sleeping bag, pillow. All set. Nearly. Hesitation. Sadness and tears. Friendly gathering. On board. Names remembered, just. “We’ll leave Ocean Village today and anchor in the Solent for supper tonight. Weather permitting we hope to sail to Poole tomorrow.” Soothing Solent sleep. Tucked into my bunk with a shelf.

Our routine. Breakfast, cleaning before sailing. A big boat. Thorough. Sailing now. Instructions on main lifting. Two stages. Many ropes. Try to remember….Life jacket, checked, “Do we need full waterproofs” “Yes”
Boom lift first…”Take in on the Topping lift!” “Ease the Halyard.””No.. your hands are the wrong way round!” “Has someone remembered the Kicker?” “What are these ropes for?” “Two, six heave!” “What point of sailing are we on?” “Backwards downstairs please!” “Anyone want a hot drink? Tea? Coffee? Oat or Cows?”

A pause. Care needed. No wind, raining. Engine on. Long channel, long wait, wet, cold, anxious. Poole at last. Shower. Rest. HSB with warm group forming.

Still they queue to pay respects to The Queen in Westminster Hall. Over 12hrs waiting. Silent stream. I watch. Bunk reverie. Small screen. Sadness seeps in.

Long night. Slow restful start. Confidence settling. Steady sailing. Round the Isle of Wight. Sunset anchorage. Shooting stars. By morning we are in routine, dancing as we clean. At last the weather favours us with breezy, easy, sailing. St Catherine’s, Foreland, Ryde. As a crew we are working together now, watching, willing, teamwork “Ease that sheet now, perfect.”

Back to base in Ocean Village. Packing and farewells. Warm embraces friends made. An invitation to return next year. I wonder.

And still they queue in London a flowing stream of steady steps, thousands, thousands, thousands come, paying their respects.

Autumn reading

Sunbathing in the Rain
A cheerful book about depression
Gwyneth Lewis
‘Undoubtedly the best book I have every read about one person’s experience of depression’
Dorothy Rowe

Autumn. A month for scuffing leaves, apples and plums in profusion, clearing the veg patch of old woody tangled runner beans. Those last few large ones are only fit for the compost however hard I try to cut and slice them. Autumn. Britain steps out of summer time and the evenings draw in. First at 4.oopm then at 3.30pm. It’s hardly worth drawing the blinds, except the winter sun low and bright can lift my spirits in the morning. And there is my dilemma. Joyfully inviting the winter or falling into patches of personal darkness. This is when I reach for and re-read Gwyneth Lewis’s cheerful book about depression. Sunbathing in the Rain. If you live with depression or you live with someone who lives with depression it might just lift your spirits and illuminate things.

‘Depression is internal snow. Black snow. The flakes whirl around like motes in the water around your personal shipwreck. The quicker you dive down to see your sorry state, the better for you in life. For above you, if only you can reach it without getting the bends, are sunshine, laughter on a yacht, the clink of plates as a lunch of steaming fish is handed round.’

© sue orton 2021

Early morning swim

I’ve tried two pairs of reading glasses already. They all seem smudged, even if I’ve just cleaned them with a small confidently named ‘Lens Cleaner’. I pick them up, and still can’t see clearly. Is it my eyes? I’m 67 so it might be the beginnings of some debilitating eye condition like Judi Dench. She’s at Specsavers all day, on the recorded message answerphone, she won’t talk to you though. I expect someone employed her after seeing the film scene in Marigold Hotel when she was telling the call centre staff about digestive biscuits in an attempt to get them to be interested in their clients. I still I can’t be sure I can see the screen clearly. Shall I zoom in, change the font or move the computer? I don’t know, never mind, I’m sitting writing which is a start. Only 132 words though, it’s like morning pages looking inside my head to see what’s there. Nothing much today.

I’ve had a really excellent beginning to the day though. It started with a swim in the sea. If I swim in the morning it sets me up and puts me into a good mood for the rest of the day. I don’t know a swim is on, until I wake up. I have a routine.

Wake up about 6.30am. Pull up the blind, look out of the window to check the trees for wind and sky for weather, sunny, no wind, good. Check the tide on Imray Tidal App, it shows the curve of the tide with depth and times. I like two hours before or after high and high if it’s neaps. This morning it’s high at 8.30am so perfect to go. I have a bag of swimming kit ready. Towel, towelling robe, goggles, hat, neoprene shoes and gloves. I get into my costume – nicknamed Captain Webb because it’s long with shorts onto my thighs – gorgeous. Baggy tracksuit bottoms, blue soft inside with drawstring and pockets. T-shirt and sweatshirt. Today my dark blue Octopus one, it’s thick soft and warm with a joined-hand pouch type pocket at the front, then blue non itchy woolly hat, my ears are the first to feel cold. Pull on neoprene feet, they are tight so I sit down to get them on. It’s getting into spring so the sea is still cold. No wind becomes crucial. ..Don’t hesitate, just go. Out of the back door, down the garden, out of the gate, down the lane, cross the main road, up the bank, over the shingle; the sea. It’s empty not even a dog walker. Pause. No don’t pause, go. Choose a groyne, hang bag, towel out ready, robe out ready, clothes off, today neoprene gloves and hat on. Pause. No don’t pause, go. Walk to the edge, first sense of the cold sea, pause, deep breath, walk, deeper, go on, deeper, plunge in. Shout, smile, laugh, scream… it is COLD. Keep moving, keep breathing, keep going as the shock eases. Swim, shout, smile, laugh, scream. It’s fantastic, it’s SO cold and it’s wonderful.

© susy orton 2021

Sea

I can see the sea from my studio. I walk by the beach in all weathers. I swim in it most of the year round. It’s very cold just now but no less invigorating for that. It is a constant in my life and seeps into all much of the inspiration for my weaving.

In October a new commission had the sea at its heart too. To my delight a sea swimming friend asked my to weave her a large scarf. As we pondered inspiration the sea was central, its colour, form, in the morning and at sunset, calm and stormy. We exchanged pictures and images.

I chose a simple Twill pattern and created a mixed warp with merino wool and bamboo for a soft, warm and light drap and feel. The warp winding proceeded well and by November and had the weave on the loom, threaded and ready to weave. I began weaving in early December, finishing in February.

Each piece comes from my connection, my conversations and the sense I hold of the individual commission. I allow a spirit of spontaneity to flow into my weaving recalling conversations of the idea.
“I love the sea, could you weave me the essence of the sea? The light, the sunsets, the different colours in all weathers?”

Renewal and exploration

After nearly a year away from my loom I am pleased to be back. I have a new commission and decided to re-energise myself with double weave. I used it for my South Down’s Tweed but realise that the learning then was done in the white heat of final assignment. Now I want a more reflective and gentle revisiting.

So it’s been interesting.

I have used yarns in my stash, particularly bamboo because the itch of wool on pashminas and scarves is not helpful for some folk. I wove a mixed colour warp to allow for differing colour blocks and then just wove. Finding rhythm and the easy tension has taken time, patience and gentleness of spirit. The warp is off now and new ideas will, I hope spring from it.

Braiding Sweetgrass

I’m reading the beautiful and inspiring book: Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. by Robin Wall Kimmerer.
“In her Onondaga Nation neighbours call the maple the leader of the trees. Trees constitute the environmental quality committee – running air and water purification service 24-7.” I offer you her notion of guidelines for the Honourable Harvest.

Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may take care of them.
Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life.
Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer.
Never take the first. Never take the last.
Take only what you need. Take only what is given.
Never take more than half. Leave some for others.
Harvest in a way that minimises harm.
Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.
Share.
Give thanks for what you have been given.
Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken.
Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever.

Buy the book at The Book Depository here