I first encountered willow in 2012, joining a group of conservation volunteers to wade through marshy pools coppicing willows on a day of blue-skied frost. I felt like I’d been doing it for thousands of years, like it was in my bones.
From then on, willow has been a constant. As a community gardener in Glasgow, I planted and tended living willow domes, tunnels and fence-hedges (fedges), losing myself in the weaving process until even my thoughts seemed to be made of woven sticks.
I started weaving wreaths from the yearly pruned offcuts of these structures, and was entranced by the hypnotic, meditative process of this. When the Covid-19 pandemic hit, I knew weaving would help me get through it. I took to foraging for sticks along the banks of the River Clyde in Glasgow, and taught myself to weave baskets from studying books.
While I sometimes question the wisdom of trying to earn a living from weaving sticks into things, I don't really have much choice - I'm completely addicted to the satisfaction and timeless beauty of basketry, and can't really conceive of a life without it.