IF YOU WAIT LONG ENOUGH....

In the mid 1970's I became interested in weaving, and as I was teaching at the University of South Dakota at Vermillion, and they offered a weaving class, I signed up for a year long course. I was lucky, as the instructor was a consummate weaver, well-known locally, throughout the state, and nationally as well. I will always recall our first assignment as a small class. We had to measure out the warp, on a warping board, for our first project. Grete, our instructor, had chosen a white (perhaps cream) cotton warp for us to use. After we had wound the first section on the warping board, I was struck by the dense beauty of that yarn. When Greta came by, I mentioned to her how beautiful it was, and she kind of laughed, thinking, I'm sure, it is only white. But I have always loved the beauty of white and cream...

...as evidenced by the beauty of this Queen Anne's Lace...

...and this cotton warp on the loom...

...and the beauty of this cream-colored yarn waiting to be knit...

Several years ago, far more then I want to precisely count, I took some lovely very fine, cream-colored wool warp yarn obtained from Fairbault Woolen Mill, and measured 10 yards on a warping board, at 24 strands per section, eighteen sections. A friend was going to help me warp my loom in the traditional manner. When she arrived to help me, she looked for the 'cross section' necessary to warp the loom, and much to my deep regret, I had forgotten to do it...on every single one of the 18 sections. At the time, I was of course, devastated, thinking among other things, what a waste. I was never able to throw that yarn away, and it has sat all these years in a basket with all of my weaving yarns....waiting. I would look at it over the years, exclaim at its beauty, and think, one day I would find something to do with it.

For some strange, unplanned reason, last week, without forethought, upon entering my workshop I went directly to that basket, picked up some of the chained hanks, and with rapid thinking, took them all into the house. Now, as much as I loved the cream color, I did not have a warped loom on which that would look good. I did have, however, some Jacquard Acid dye, dark blue and burgundy, which I also went and dug out, and proceeded to dye this already lovely yarn.

...chained hanks before dying, after washing...

...in the dye pot...the third use of the water, as I wanted graduated colors...

On the line, drying after dying.

Assembled on the loom, ready for......whatever happens...

Here you can see the eighteen strands that make up one pass through of the boat shuttle.

The rug in progress.

The completed rug. As I have always wanted to hem a rug rather then leaving fringe, I thought this a good time to try that.

The colors go superbly well with my thrift-store-find blue vase and my zinnias.


I used up 9 of the 18 chained 'hanks' and am anxious to discover what the other 9 will reveal. The loom is ready and so am I.

FROM REAPING TO EATING

I am beginning to think I need to add a few extra words to my blog title...like food, cook, eat, etc. It seems like I spend more time blogging about food in general then on kneading and weaving.

Given that it is high summer, and the garden is spilling over into my kitchen two and three times per day, it is difficult not to be thinking about food...picking, preparing, eating, preserving, savoring, sharing, and then thinking about it again. Right now, cucumbers and tomatoes are the most fruitful, with basil coming in close behind. I have made and frozen lots and lots of pesto, and will do a few more batches before I let the basil go to seed.

As the tomatoes are coming in a bucketful or more each day, I bring them in, line windowsills, and benches on the porch and let them ripen a bit more.

Tomatoes washed and ready, along with the basil, for roasting.

Even on the hottest and most humid days, I fire up the oven to roast tomatoes.

Two pans of cut up tomatoes, onions, basil, fresh garlic, and olive oil, and a tiny bit of sugar. (The pan on the left also has oregano, as this will be pizza sauce. Sicilians NEVER put oregano in pasta sauce, at least no Sicilian I ever knew. If it has tomatoes and oregano, is cooked and it's not a salad, it is pizza sauce.)

Looks good enough to eat right here!

(When I walk into the house and the sauce is roasting, I wish I could take a picture of the aroma, it is almost enough in itself!)

Just out of the oven, ready to cool, put into containers and freeze. In the winter, after defrosting and heating, it is simply delicious just like this over pasta.

And speaking of pasta...I once saw a photo of Pappardelle Pasta (a very wide fettuccine) and longed to try some. So I decided to make it, and it turned out not to be difficult at all. I actually made it and froze half of the dough, which I took out to have with this meal yesterday. I kneaded it through the large rollers of my pasta machine until...

it is thin enough to see the light through. The I cut it into wide strips, and just as my father did when I was a child,

hang it over broomsticks suspended between chairs to dry.

I'm inclined to say, and then comes the rewards, but there is so much reward in the making that

despite the beauty and utterly indescribable flavors of this finished plate, I can't. However, this pasta melted in your mouth, and the fresh garden vegetables that came almost directly from the garden to our plates were truly a reward. Add a great glass of red wine, who could ask for anything more??

SHERIDAN AND BACK

It seems that we just do not have uneventful trips west anymore!! We left last Wednesday, August 4th for the Big Horn Mountains and fly fishing. We drove all day Wednesday and all day Thursday to arrive in Sheridan, WY around 4:00. We drove directly to Albertson's Grocery Store where we generally do our pre-mountain climb shopping to stock up. Once in the mountains there is little to buy. As Freddie shut the truck down, he sensed something amiss, tried to restart it, and wouldn't you know....no go! Luckily (?) we were across the street from several car shops of one kind or another and it wasn't yet closing time. So, with only a little depression, we walked across the street and explained our situation. As the mechanic had already gone home, and there was no tow truck on the premises at that time, a youngish fellow said he'd be over to take a look. He drove up in a monster truck with a monster 4-wheeler loaded on the back, and said, referring to Freddie's 1993 GMC, I brought my 'little' GMC. Ha, ha. Anyway, he said he thought it was the starter and recommended an outfit across town who did 'house calls'. After a short wait, Allen showed up. Nice, nice kid. He also looked it over, and said he needed to get parts, etc, and would be back in the morning as soon as possible. A bleak beginning to our vacation...the first night spent in Albertson's parking lot, just a stones through from Wal-Mart. Nice that bathrooms were within walking distance. I must say I became quite intimate with Wal-Mart, and probably walked its aisles more in those two days then in my entire life.

So, on the early side, Friday morning, a truck pulls up and this guy gets out. Of course I think he is from the shop Allen worked for, but no, he was curious and just wanted to help. Did he have any mechanical skills, well no, but he was a guy and commiseration was always good. Believe it or not, before the REAL guys showed up, this man was on the ground, squished underneath the truck, and almost unable to stand after he pulled and tugged himself out.

At 10:00 Allen and Buck show up and at one point, heads beneath the open hood, were, Freddie, this guy and Allen/Buck...did I feel 'out in left field', you betcha!! The testosterone was pretty heavy, and I just backed off. Allen and Buck proceeded to work the entire day, running back and forth to various parts shops and to their own shop across town, more times then I can remember.

Being privy to their conversation was an experience, especially when a woman and young boy (I'd say about 12) showed up and spent an hour or more hanging out with them.

At one point Freddie got beneath the truck, hammer in hand, to knock on the starter. Well, he knocked on the starter AND the clutch line as well, knocking a small hole in the clutch line which blew out fluid! So, now we need the starter replaced, but only after replacing the clutch line.

This is how we spent much time, sitting in the camper in the parking lot, reading.

I spent time lying down and reading, and looking out the window at this view!

While Freddie was off on a walk Friday morning, this gentleman parked nearby. I saw him get out of his car, walk around the camper, peer in (at me??) squat down, etc. Lying in the camper with someone peering around it was odd, I asked through the window if he wanted something? He said, no, he was just looking. Mmmmm. It turns out he was interested in buying the camper...hallelujah, I thought as I got out. We walked around it and talked about it, but I told him he'd have to come back when my husband returned. He did, and they looked it over carefully.

In the end, he decided he should probably buy a new one.

We spent another night in the parking lot. Saturday morning we visited friends in Sheridan, returned to Albertson's to buy groceries before the trip up the mountains and then, somehow, given that Freddie did not feel the clutch line was 'quite right', headed straight back to Wisconsin! Our vacation....two days drive to Sheridan, a day in the parking lot, and two days drive home. Another trip to remember...along with *hooking a fly in my lip; *shattering my knee cap; *being locked inside the car; *arriving at the cabin to find no heat or electricity. Always an adventure!