The Song Beneath the Stitch

An Echo of the Hebrides

An ode to the women who have gone before.

Sometimes when I sew, I feel surrounded by every woman who has ever done the same — a thousand ancestors, their presence woven quietly into the moment. It feels sacred, that act of taking something raw and unformed and turning it into something intentional and full of life. I often think that’s what God does with us too — shaping us gently, piece by piece, with care and design. When I create, I want my work to echo that — a reflection of the Creator through my own small acts of making.

This photoshoot came from that place. It’s a celebration of womanhood, and an ode to the women who came before — the Hebridean women who waulked the tweed, cut peats, and endured harsh winters with strength and grace. And also the women from my first home, in Cumbria — spinners, knitters, and farmers’ wives. Together they remind me what resilience looks like. When I walk across the machair or feel the wind catch my hair, I often think of them, and it brings comfort. They survived. They thrived. So will I.

The Hebrides feels alive to me — not so much a place as a presence. It sings in the sound of the sea, the cry of the birds, the whistle of the wind through the marram grass. It feels like something to be cared for, a gift to tend to with my community.

When I sew, time slows right down. The world quiets, and I lose myself in the rhythm — the sound of the needle, the feel of the fabric, the scent of warm steam from my iron. In those moments, everything feels simple and whole. It’s peaceful, but also full of energy — as if I’m caught between two heartbeats of the earth.

What I hope most is that when someone wears or holds something I’ve made, they can feel the care that went into it. That they sense the story — of heritage, of faith, of love for this land. I hope they remember that there’s value in slowing down, in making things that last, in choosing gentleness and stillness in a noisy world.

To me, An Echo of the Hebrides is about that balance — between the old and the new, between making and being made. It’s a reminder that we are part of something far bigger than ourselves — a song that started long before us, and will keep on playing long after.