That Sisley jumper again

I took it out of the winter clothes bag yesterday. It lives folded up from April to October but in autumn, winter and early spring it's a comfort I can't give up. How much easier to have a uniform for the allotment - charity shop walking trousers I bought for house-sitting in Mallorca, and my Sisley mohair jumper. 
It is a tribute to the allotment, itself patched, luxurious, experimental, vivid and which I've sorely missed this year because of rain and the demands of caring. 
It holds evenings sewing in snagged threads, darning holes under arms and at the elbows because I've never learned to take it off to cut back brambles. How mohair's drawn to thorns...

One very cold winter I found an M&S lambswool jumper in a charity shop and put the two together, the Sisley mohair on top for its gorgeous patterns, the M&S wool as a lining, doubling its warmth. I source mohair remnants in charity shops, darning to match and contrast. When spring arrives, I sweat, wash it and put it away. Julie, a neighbour and friend I was swimming with yesterday found it years ago in the street. 

I like to think it'll be with me for life, my version of a kimono I once saw in a photo - the gown preserved in a museum and so repaired the original fabric was a ghost of an idea. 
And so to the deep link between sewing and sowing. The jumper manifesting both. Mending and growing make time out - meditative, calming hours away from paying bills, shopping, all the extra (doubled) life admin that comes with caring. And so my mended or amended clothes are diaries, reminders to keep going. There are so many reasons to mend. So many reasons to grow your own food. To keep those scraps....