Mulled Apple Cider

The Keeper's Journal Entry (text in bold represents a truth or factual event):

I did not go out this evening. Something told me that if I went out, I might return safely enough, but with no memory of where I had been. Instead, I brewed a batch of mulled apple cider which I sipped by the fireplace.

Mulled Apple Cider

1 apple, thinly sliced

1 orange, thinly sliced

2 litres cloudy apple juice

1/4 cup brown sugar

4 cinnamon sticks

1 teaspoon whole cloves

1 teaspoon whole allspice

Put all of the ingredients in a large pot and stir to combine and simmer over a low heat for 30-60 minutes.

The Truth In The Text

There are two mechanics in this solo RPG that need explaining, the first is 'Holding' and the second is 'Forgetting'. 

Holding: Before you draw each new card you look at the past two entries and choose one to protect, this is what you are holding. 

Forgetting: When you draw an Ace: you do not go out. Instead, you are meant to go back through everything you have written and find the best page in the book that you are not holding. 

There are instructions that tell you what to do with the page determined by the suit of the card, but if you draw an Ace before your eighth entry, then you get a 'free pass' because the Forest has not yet learned your writing. This is my sixth entry, so I didn't have to 'forget' any of my previous pages. 

Originally I was going to do something with blackberries to tie in the last entry and so I spent that evening looking for images while sipping a warm mug of spiced apple cider. That triggered some lovely memories and so that is what ended up on the page. 

My first introduction to this delicious drink was in 2019 when I spent Christmas in Michigan. My partner had booked an exclusive tour of Runyan's Christmas Tree Farm as a surprise for me. This was December 14th and the farm was closed for the season to ensure they didn't overly deplete their stock. However when my partner explained I was from Australia and had never been to Michigan let alone a Christmas Tree Farm, they opened their arms and their doors and welcomed us both.

Their hospitality and generosity amazed me. We went for a hayride (another first) to the far end of the farm where we were invited to choose a tree... although apparently the tree chooses you! 

When we got back to base, the crew needed to 'clean' the tree which involves spinning it to remove any critters (this one had a chipmunk), and then wrapping it in twine to make it easier to transport.

While the crew were preparing the tree, we popped into the gift shop for a cup of something warm, that was when I spied the caramel apple cider.

In Australia the closest thing we have to 'apple cider' is cloudy apple juice, and we would never think to drink it warm. We also don't have the love affair with the caramel + apple combo, although that is certainly our loss!

This was one of the most magical and memorable days of my life, filled with experiences that just aren't available here in Australia. 

The other worthy mention is the fireplace. I have always been an enormous fan of Jim Henson, and so when 'The Storyteller' was created, I fell in love. My children were raised on it, and today it is still our go to when we want something wholesome and comforting. We have seen it so many times we know the words by heart.

"When people told themselves their past with stories, explained their present with stories, foretold the future with stories, the best place by the fire was kept for... The Storyteller."

The Make

The make was simple enough, and after the complexity of the past two entries, it was a welcome change! The background was a piece of toned paper layered with stained teabags. The image was inspired by several of the recipes that I found online for mulled cider printed onto watercolour paper. Some inking, some handwritten elements and done!

The Door In The Bank

The Keeper's Journal Entry (text in bold represents a truth or factual event):

Tonight I ventured into The Deep Woods, a part of the forest I had not yet explored.

There is something strange about that place. Not hostile, exactly. Hostility I think I could understand. Rather, the woods there seem indifferent to my presence, and somehow I find that worse.

I had not gone far when I found the door. It was set directly into a bank of earth beneath a giant oak tree, and was at once completely ordinary and utterly remarkable. It was an old wooden door, painted green. Once, I imagine, the colour had been bright and cheerful, but the years had not been kind. The paint had cracked and peeled, and weather had aged the timber where the green had fallen away.

There were no windows. No glass through which I might glimpse a candle burning or a shadow passing within. And, more strangely still, there was nowhere for within to be. A door is a curious thing, it is a boundary between without and within, and by its very existence it promises a within.

 

I stood before it for some time. I confess I raised my hand to knock, then lowered it again. There are stories enough about people who knock upon doors in strange woods, and very few of them end with the visitor home in time for supper. 

Besides, there is wisdom in waiting.

The forest and I are still strangers to one another. I have not been the Keeper for long, and I have much to learn before I go knocking upon doors that have no business being there. So I decided that, for tonight at least, I would ask nothing of whoever, or whatever, lived beyond it. Instead, I offered hospitality.

I had found a bramble of blackberries along the path and had picked as many as my handkerchief could hold. I unfolded the cloth and spread it carefully upon the earth before the door like a tiny tablecloth. A meagre feast, perhaps, but freely given. 

After some time, I whispered a blessing and left.

The Truth In The Text

I cannot tell a story about a door in a bank of earth that goes nowhere without weaving in my trips (yes plural) to the Hobbiton Movie Set in Matamata, New Zealand. If you ever get the opportunity to visit, take it. You won't regret it. It is one of the most magical places on earth, it moves me to tears every time I go. I think it is seeing my imagination brought to life that does it for me.

Barrel of Frogmorton Ginger Beer

My first trip was in November 2024, I had gone to NZ to see Coldplay in concert and no trip to the land of the long white cloud is complete without visiting the Hobbiton Movie Set. From memory, the set was built for the Lord of the Rings trilogy, then completely torn down before being rebuilt for the set of The Hobbit. 

Door in a Bank

Just like the prompt in this journal entry, most of the Hobbit doors are set in banks of earth with nothing behind them. There are, however, two fully furnished Hobbit holes that you can explore. One of these has a yellow door and is the home of Samwise Gamgee.

The home of Samwise Gamgee

Unfortunately you can only tour one of the two Hobbit homes per visit, which gave me the excuse I needed to revisit in February 2026.

Hobbit home interior

I am visiting again in January 2027 and for a fourth time in February 2028. The trip in 2028 is incredibly special to me as I am taking my three children to visit. For that reason, I haven't said too much more in this truth-telling, because they will get to experience it with me.

Hobbit home interior

Behind the door is an oak leaf, in the stories there is a huge oak tree that grows on top of Bag End. For the movies this was an artificial tree with thousands of silk leaves individually hand painted to lend authenticity.

The other truth in this tale is my love for blackberry picking. Here in Australia, they are in season during the months that have an ‘a’ in their names: January, February, March, April and May. The best picking is in late March and early May, when the berries a large and plump.

I remember one beautiful day when my husband and I spotted a large bramble, so we stopped by the side of the road. I had no handkerchief, but I was wearing a dress and, much like you see in the movies, I gathered its skirt into a makeshift apron. Within half an hour, my hands and arms were scratched by the brambles, my fingers (and mouth) were stained purple, and my dress would never be the same.

The Make

I knew I didn't want a circular door because that was too much of an obvious cross-over into Tolkien lore, so I used an arched door instead. I used junk journal images from Creative Fabrica to create the tree bi-fold and also the door, both of which were fussy cut. Fun fact, I used to own an arts and crafts store in the 90s when decoupage was having its renaissance. 

We didn't call it fussy cutting back then! I still have my favourite scissors, many used cuticle scissors due to the curved blades, my preference is curved iris scissors.

The cluster on the supporting page is made from frayed burlap, a stained teabag, some gold flourishes, old string and a lovely image of a handkerchief full of berries.

I must admit that I am struggling with perfectionism, there are several elements I did more than once because I couldn't quite get it 'right'. 

The Jackdaw's Account

 

My journal entry (text in bold represents a truth or factual event):

Tonight my travels took me beneath the oaks once more. I told myself I wished to explore farther north, though I suspect some part of me simply wanted to see the standing stones again, and to discover whether any more of them had taken it upon themselves to move.

 

As I drew near, I could see a small gathering of jackdaws amongst the stones. They seemed entirely unconcerned by my presence, and for several minutes I watched them strut from one stone to the next, occasionally stopping to examine the dark, disturbed earth where the seventh stone ought to have stood. Looking for worms in the freshly turned soil, no doubt.

 

I smiled at their antics and continued north, intending to venture deeper into the forest. I had gone only a few steps when I realised that one of the birds was following me. Jackdaws do not hop about as many smaller birds do. They walk with a purposeful, if somewhat comical, strut, and this particular fellow appeared to be marching directly towards me. I stopped and turned to watch him, that was when I noticed a glint of something bright held between his beak.

"Well, hello there," I said. "What have you got?"

Still he came. I lowered myself onto one knee, hoping perhaps I might seem a little less threatening from closer to the ground. Either the gesture worked, or the creature possessed no fear of me whatsoever, for he walked straight up and dropped his treasure onto the earth between us.

 

Neither of us moved. For a moment we simply regarded one another, each apparently waiting for the other to decide what should happen next. At last I reached down and picked up the little shining thing. It was a length of silver thread, finer than any I had seen before. It caught the fading light with an almost impossible brilliance, seeming to shimmer even when held perfectly still. I knew, in that strange way only a Keeper can know, that this was no trinket accidentally found by a curious bird. It was a gift from the forest. Something to be treasured. Then I remembered what I had read in the journals of the Keeper who came before me. Nothing is freely given in the forest. A prize received requires a prize surrendered.

 

My pockets, unfortunately, were bare. I had left the cottage carrying nothing of value, and for a moment I wondered what I could offer in return. Then my eye fell upon the cuff of my shirt. Each sleeve was fastened with a small bronze button with a circular laurel embossed upon it. It was no great treasure, perhaps, but it was mine, and I had always been rather fond of them. That, I decided, would have to be enough.

I caught the thread holding one of the buttons between my teeth and worried at it until it snapped. Then I placed the button carefully upon the ground between us. The jackdaw considered my offering. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, before giving a small, solemn bob that I chose to take as approval. Stepping forward, he plucked the button neatly from the earth. For one last moment those strange pale eyes regarded me. Then he spread his wings and was gone, carrying his prize back towards the standing stones and the waiting flock. 

I watched until I could no longer tell him from the others. Then I turned for home, the silver thread tucked safely away and one less button on my shirt than when I had left the cottage. 

The Truth In the Text

Sometimes, when I am thinking about the prompt and what to write, weaving in a thread of truth can be challenging. I've never seen a jackdaw, it belongs to the crow family and we don't have that species here in Australia. We do have a similar looking species, the Australian magpie, but it is not belong to the family of crows. 

I think every Australian has a love/hate relationship with our magpies, especially during August and September when the males are very territorial and will swoop passers-by.  One of the quirky traditions here in Australia is to wear a magpie hat during swooping season, which is nothing more than an upturned plastic ice-cream containers. 

I appreciate that if you are not Australian you probably think I am telling a tall tale, but any Australian from my era can verify this, indeed the image below is of children attending a NSW primary school in 1984. There have been many reports of injuries resulting in blindness as a result of aggressive magpies, I personally have had close encounters with a particularly aggressive male who followed me for over a kilometre swooping repeatedly at my eyes.

I digress, this wasn't intended to be a history lesson about magpies, it was meant to be about the buttons. The very first entry on this blog was called Grandma's Buttons in which I describe "I have a huge jar of buttons that was started by my Grandma, and then passed along to my Mother, who in turn passed them along to me. A glorious collection of colours and textures, most taken from old clothes before they were turned into rags."

The exchange with the jackdaw became my inlet to weave in the truth, and allowed me to bring Grandma's buttons into the narrative. Naturally, I searched through the jar of buttons to find one that fit the narrative and this made its way into the journal also.

Front Cover

The Make

This was a fun but frustrating make. I knew I wanted to make a field guide and had planned on using Microsoft Publisher for the layout. Sadly, this is being discontinued, I suppose the rise of tools like Canva make this obselete. I don't like Canva all that much, certainly not as a replacement for a program like Publisher. 

Page 1

It took me about a day of fiddling with Microsoft Word to come up with a layout that worked. The problem was that I wanted to make a smaller than A5 booklet because it had to slide into the A5 sleeve I had created, it took a while to fiddle with the margins and get it right.

Page 2

The A5 pocket was cut on my Silhouette using a design I purchased from Silhouette Design Studio. I wanted to incorporate the silver thread so I used a free feather design from Kreative Kiwi which I embroidered onto black organza with my Brother VE2300 Embroidery Machine. 

This was adhered to the pocket using spray adhesive which I felt was the best way to prevent glue seeping through the fabric or warping the cardboard.

Page 4

The field journal was printed on standard copy paper. The images within the field guide were mostly copyright free images from vintage field journals and story books. 

Page 10

I found some great resources at the Biodiversity Library, which also led me to the discovery that websites like iStock and Alamy are putting their own watermark on these free images and reselling. 

Page 11

The field guide was 12 pages in total, no wonder it took me over a week! I have only captured the pages with images as the remaining text is told above.

Back Cover

Bonus content

I spent the week researching jackdaws and stumbled across an Aesop's Fable called 'The Vain Jackdaw and his Borrowed Feathers', which tells of a plain bird who dresses himself up in peacock's feathers. You can read the various versions of this fable here. What we learn from this fable is to live contentedly in our own condition, whatever it be, without affecting to look bigger than we are, by a false or borrowed light. 

Winter's Nap Ornament

 

This sweet little ornament is called Winter's Nap, part of the Betz White 2020 Ornament Collection. I am not affiliated, I get no kickback for the recommendation, this is just a class that I took and enjoyed.

The bed is made from felt, with cardboard to reinforce the base. In the lesson they recommend pure wool felt, but I have used synthetic for this project and it was fine. 

This ornament is not intended to hang, instead there is a peg underneath that can be used to clip it to the branches of your tree.

This is the original ornament by Betz White, which I am sharing so that you can see what she teaches in the class. I chose not to make the patchwork quilt, it felt too fussy and I had some quilting fabric with the perfect motif.

If this looks like something you would enjoy I recommend getting the ornament all access pass, for less than the cost of one ornament tutorial you get 23!

Retro TV Ornament

 

It is never a bad time to make Christmas ornaments! Some exceptions may apply, including natural disasters, active volcanoes, and unexpected dragon encounters.

I recently scored the Bigz Retro TV Die, which has been discontinued, so it was quite the fortuitous find. I was late to the party and so I missed out and have been hunting for one for over a year. A huge shout out to Michelle's Cards and Stamps who must have had some old stock!

The TV frame was cut from 1.5mm box board, I gave every surface a coat of aqua and then for the TV frame a top coat of red that I distressed with sanding paper to show the underneath layer. The knobs and feet were painted black with silver leaf applied and then distressed.

The image is a retro Christmas card, the gorgeous aqua and red on the image became the inspiration for the colour palette. The image is mounted behind a plastic rectangular shaker bubble to create the television dome. The back is cut identically to the front and the two layers are sandwiched together with a handmade wooden 'frame' cut from balsa. To finish I drilled a hole through the middle of the frame and inserted a foam ornament hanger, which could also double as the antenna with a few embellishments.

Every Christmas our family does a crafting project. Last year we made Grinch ornaments, the year before Muppet Christmas Carol. This year we are choosing our favourite Christmas movie and immortalising them in this cute little frame.

The Boundary Stones

 

My journal entry (text in bold represents a truth or factual event):

Tonight I followed the northern path beneath the oaks, the gentlest and most polite quarter of the forest. The trees are ancient here, their roots deep in forgotten ages, their branches witnesses to generations long vanished.

 

I had almost reached the end of my wanderings when I came upon a row of standing stones. I counted six of them, weathered and silent, set roughly in a line. The stones varied in height, the smallest rose no higher than my knee, while the tallest stood a hand above my own head. They appeared to mark the boundary of something that could no longer be seen, some ancient division whose meaning had drifted away like mist.

 

It seemed there had once been a seventh, for at the end of the row lay a hollow in the earth, some three feet across. The soil there was dark and damp as though the wound in the ground had not long been made. Whatever had happened, the earth had not yet forgotten it.

 

I was born on the seventh day of the fifth month, and so the number seven has always carried a quiet importance for me. The old stories speak of it as a number of hidden power, appearing wherever the ordinary world brushes against the realm of wonder. In the land of my forebears, seven wanders often through the old tales. Seven sisters shine in the heavens, seven years pass beneath an enchantment, seven trials await the traveller who strays from the path. 

Looking upon these weathered sentinels, I found myself wondering what story belonged to them, and whether the missing seventh stone had once marked a threshold now forgotten.

The Truth In the Text

I was born on the seventh day of the fifth month and the number seven has always been my 'lucky' number. The land of my forebears that I am referring to here is Wales, the country where my father was born. I didn't really know him, I was conceived when my mother was quite young and their lives were not meant to be entwined. I did meet him when I was a teenager, along with his wife and my two half brothers, but the last time we spoke was over 40 years ago.

There is a group of standing stones in Wales called Cwm Irfon Standing Stones (Seven Sisters). They are situated on the moorland/hills near the village of Seven Sisters (Map Ref: SN834085) in the county of Glamorgan (I know, right). The site is explicitly recorded with the alternate name "Seven Sisters" on the Megalithic Portal.

Another interesting connection to my heritage is the legend of the Pleiades, the legendary star cluster known as "Y Saith Chwaer," or "The Seven Sisters".

The website Mid Wales My Way says: In ancient lore, these seven brilliant stars are said to be the daughters of the mighty Titan Atlas. With Atlas bound to his eternal task of holding up the sky, his daughters were transformed into stars to escape the relentless pursuit of the fearsome hunter Orion. Even now, they dance gracefully across the heavens, a glowing tribute to sisterly love and unity. Yet, whispers of an ancient tale suggest that one sister fell in love with a mortal and slipped into hiding, which is why  we only see only six stars now gleam in the night, leaving the seventh cloaked in mystery.

What a remarkable process this is becoming, the weaving of stories and truths together so tightly that the edges between them blur. 

The Make

For this one I wanted to use my Prismacolor pencils, I quite enjoy using coloured pencils on kraft paper so I sketched directly on the back of the preceding entry. I used  Google to find a few reference photos for inspiration but I have not been able to locate an image of the Seven Sisters stones in Wales, the land is now afforested and no stones are visible. More mystery I suppose, are they still there? Perhaps the entity that removed my seventh stone has also been at play? 

The journal text was done on my typewriter, torn edges inked with Pumice Stone distress ink by Tim Holtz. This was layered onto a marble pattern scrapbook paper by Kaisercraft.

The second page of journaling sits beside a pocket ready for the next entry which will feature a curious Jackdaw.

The Lantern Ahead

 

My journal entry (text in bold represents a truth or factual event):

On this night I walked the Shadowed Path, the part of the forest with which I am most familiar. The path can feel dangerous; its twists and turns are often veiled in darkness, obscuring what lies ahead. I rounded one such bend and found a light waiting on the path before me.

 

I stopped and remained perfectly still, observing what appeared to be a floating ball of light. It was not truly a lantern as one might imagine, for it lacked any fixtures or fittings. The sphere glowed yellow at its core, as though a tiny flame were trapped within. Yet I could not tell what it was made of - or whether it was made of anything at all.

 

I approached to take a closer look, but as I stepped forward, it moved forward too. I paused before taking another step; again, it mirrored me. I tried to quicken my pace, but it matched me, and every attempt to alter my cadence was answered by the lantern. At last, I stopped, somewhat perplexed. As expected -  it stopped too.

 

The light did not seek to lead me, for it halted whenever I did. Yet it never ventured ahead or drifted away. It seemed content to match my pace, as though its purpose was not to direct my journey but simply to share it. I was in no hurry, so I continued along the path. The light remained a little ahead of me, always keeping pace. 

 

When we rounded another corner, a small glade opened in the distance, lit by many more orbs. I was reminded of a minstrel I once met at a fayre, who sang a ballad about the lights in our hearts: how they burn brightly for moments of love, and dim as we experience loss. I thought of my family - many now lost to me, or far away - and the light before me seemed to pulse a little brighter.

 

We walked together, the light and I, until we reached the glade. In the centre stood a crescent-shaped stone balanced upon a roughly hewn base carved with runic symbols. The light found its home there, forming the heart of the crescent: supported by neither stone nor sky, simply hovering, and defying all that I knew of such things.

The Truth In the Text

The minstrel in the tale is Michael Rosenberg, better known as Passenger, an English indie-folk singer, songwriter, and musician. Like many people, I first encountered his music through his widely known song Let Her Go, which seemed to be everywhere for a time on advertisements and throughout mainstream media.

I have seen him perform twice: in November 2018 and again in October 2022. The photograph below was taken at the 2018 concert at The Gov, one of Adelaide’s more intimate venues. Being able to attend small performances like this brings me great joy; there is something special about being close enough to feel that the music is being shared rather than simply performed.

Taken at The Gov, November 20, 2018

His song, All the Little Lights, is the ballad I describe in the journal. It came to mind after I read the prompt because I am currently arranging my aunt’s burial. She died on 27 August 2026, under unclear circumstances, and we are still awaiting the coroner’s report.

Though she was technically my aunt, she was only eighteen months older than me. For a brief period in my childhood, we lived with my grandparents, and the small difference in our ages made her feel more like an older sister. We drifted apart in our teenage years, separated by distance and desire. My stepfather had no love for my grandmother, so we visited infrequently, and eventually not at all. Over time, I think my mother began making the trip alone, to avoid upsetting him.

We reconnected last year, when she moved back to South Australia to escape a man who treated her badly. She smoked heavily and had been diagnosed with COPD - another reason the song came back to me.

Two days ago, I had the sombre task of going through her belongings. The unit smelled awful; a half-eaten meal had begun to turn. I do not know why that surprised me. It was not the police’s job to deal with those things. Still, it felt surreal, as though she had merely stepped out the back for a smoke, leaving her glass of whisky and cola waiting for her return.

I cleared the fridge, folded and bagged her clothes, and opened every envelope and folder, looking for keepsakes for her sons. I found three boxes of photographs as well as a collection of poems and letters she had written for her boys. I hope they become little lights for them to remember her by.

The Make

The journal feature page was inspired by an art class with Ruth Wilshaw, who specialises in gouache painting. This one is called 'The Everflame' because it is the source of light for all lanterns. That seemed fitting.

This was done on A5 100% cotton watercolour paper by Paul Reubens. This particular one has glitter in the paper, although I think that is wasted somewhat with the opacity of gouache, but a few are peeking through the paint to add a very subtle shimmer. I am also trying out some new Fuumuu watercolour brushes, which are performing very well so far.

I have decided not to mount it or attach it to the journal pages, instead I am going to keep it stored in a plastic sleeve. That way, when I am gone, the kids can do what they like with it.

The journaling was done on a Royal 120 manual typewriter on Mont Marte A5 Sketch Paper. Once the text was done I tore one edge and inked with Tim Holtz Distress Ink (Tea Dye) and spritzed with a strong solution of cold tea to age the paper. Each piece of text was then glued to a piece of Monte Mart A5 Recycled Toned Drawing Paper. 

The raccoon holding a lantern was sourced from Creative Fabrica, the image covers a pocket made from an envelope, inside the pocket is a copy of the set list from the 2018 Passenger concert. Sadly, he did not play All The Little Lights that night.

Similarly the image on the final page with the lanterns hanging from trees was also a junk journal printable sourced from Creative Fabrica.