It is my Dad’s fault that I have, what my friends call, a ‘macabre’ side - which is really just a love of animals and nature.
Our family pets were Dalmatians, one of which won awards at Crufts and the like. We spent many a weekend of my childhood touring the UK showing William and Henry (yes, they were named after the Princes). If the dogs were not being shown my Dad would often judge the classes. My sister and I, wearing matching puffa bodywarmers (it was the 80s), would trawl the show kennels in those huge, freezing buildings to stroke and say hello to every single breed of dog you could possibly imagine.
William and Henry were big dogs and needed long walks. We regularly walked as family through the countryside close to our house, but the dawn and dusk dog walks with just my Dad were my absolute favourites. Dad is a nature buff. On those early morning dewy walks in the Spring he would point out the tracks of wildlife in the earth and show me how to spot where a bird’s nest might have been built in the hedgerow.
He would lift me carefully (slightly painfully) by the armpits and let me peep into the nests to see the palest speckled blue eggs, or clusters of baby blackbirds with their mouths agape, waiting for their mama. We never disturbed those nests, just watched from a safe distance. I was enchanted. On dark Summer evenings we spotted bats, hedgehogs and foxes, Dad sharing facts and pointing things out as we walked quietly together.
In those days it was deemed perfectly safe to play out in the fields with your friends, only returning for meals and bedtime. In high summer I would lay in the long grass, listening out for crickets and grasshoppers, catching them to observe in my jam jar (before tipping them back out into the grass at teatime). I fished in the little babbling brook with my friends, hunting out the frogs, newts and water insects.
I love nature and wildlife, still, and if I hadn’t desperately wanted to write books for a living I am fairly certain I would have ended up working with animals or insects somehow in some way. (As it happened I received terrible careers advice at school and ended up in an ordinary office job, but that’s another story.)
Prior to my trip to Paris this year, I had gathered my travel books and worked out the places I wanted to visit in between haberdasheries and ateliers. A new addition to my book collection had a beautiful write-up for Deyrolle, a place which I had never heard of, and I immediately knew I had to get there if I could. As soon as the opportunity arose I flagged down a taxi and headed there tout de suite, eager to make the most of a couple of stolen hours.
Of course I popped by the historic Sennelier art shop en route, grabbed a bit of lunch and had the most lovely solo afternoon in grey, cold beautiful Paris.
Known as a Cabinet of Curiosities, Deyrolle was created in the early 19th Century when Natural History endeavours were all the rage amongst the rich. A fire in 2008 destroyed almost all of the specimens but it has been restored to its former glory and is an incredible place to visit.
A museum-come-shop, everything in Deyrolle is for sale! Sadly the polar bear wouldn’t have got through customs even if I did manage to fit him in my suitcase.
Every single surface or cupboard is packed with interesting artefacts. Cabinets and drawers stuffed full of exotic butterflies and insects alongside bat skeletons (hanging upside-down in glass cloches, natch), monkey skulls and actual tiger’s eyeballs preserved in jars. Importantly, all specimens have died of natural causes and have mostly been donated by zoos and other similar institutions.
It is not so much the exhibits themselves that fascinate me (the kitten and calf foetuses were not particularly palatable) but the work behind it all. It’s the thought of the interested (and interesting!) individuals who have collated, studied and prepare those exhibits for others to see. The rows of jars, neatly labelled in immaculate copperplate, feel magical and other-worldly to me (as well as appealing to the - currently very well hidden - neat freak inside of me).
How incredible that we are able to learn about new species, endangered species and extinct animals, simply because of the painstaking work that a relatively small group of individuals has undertaken. It literally blows my mind.
This is a long and self-indulgent post with no relation to embroidery whatsoever, I know. If you’ve made it this far through the post then I applaud you - it’s probably time for a cup of tea!
I wanted to document some of my time in Paris and share an insight into the things that really light me up, things I have been passionate about and interested in for a very long time. Things that were put on a back burner and forgotten about whilst I navigated depression, anxiety and a corporate career to which I didn’t feel suited.
I still would love to write books. I still would love to spend my summer afternoons laying in the long grass, observing insects near my home.
It is getting to that time of year where we all start thinking about what we want to do more of, less of and not at all. People we want to see and places we want to visit.
As I tie up the loose ends of 2022, I am feeling reflective and very much looking forward to a quiet Winter and a variety of gentle pursuits: walking, noticing, recording, stitching and creating. A slower pace of life, perhaps.
I hope that you will continue this journey with me, and I hope that you will feel cheered on by me to do the things that you love. To pick up hobbies and interests that have fallen by the wayside.
Thank you for being there and for cheering me on.
Love
Nicki xx