NOT QUITE A SUNDAY AFTERNOON HIKE

Another Sunday afternoon hike, this time a rather short one just behind the house and into the nearby woods. Iris stayed with us and wanted to go for a hike on the 'trail'. We had gotten across a couple of fields when I realized I'd forgotten my camera. I decided it wasn't that far to go back and get it, while Iris and Grandpa and the dog waited for me.

Just standing in the sun waiting for nonna to return with the camera.

Grandpa took a picture of us on this glorious day.


It's a big field, but this little girl loved standing, running and picking dried flowers in it.

Iris did hike some of the way, but she also hitched a ride. Grandpa had told her about carrying Kari (his daughter) on his shoulders when she was a little girl, and Iris, pretending to be Morgan (Kari's eldest daughter) all of this trip, decided she wanted to ride, too.

She asked to get off in order to pick the little 'umbrellas', otherwise known as May Apples.

Then it was back up for a ride.

Here she stands just before we reached home at the end of our 'hike'.

Being outdoors is wonderful, being outdoors and hiking with good friends as we did last Sunday is almost at the top of the chart, and 'hiking' with Iris today, was truly a blessing.

A MIGHTY FINE FOUR HOURS

A glorious spring Sunday afternoon spent with good friends hiking for four hours (well, three hours with one hour basking in the sun atop a knoll picnicking) on the Kickapoo Reserve. The forest floor was awash in Spring Beauties, and so many other flowers. We came upon a patch of skunk cabbage on the start of our hike, that was astounding. We were astounded to find when we passed this same patch on the return to the car, that they had literally grown what seemed inches.

A skunk cabbage.



We were unable to determine what this flower was, though we had some ideas. There were many of these spotted leafed flowers along our hike.

The blue of this flower was electric!

The picnic...very good friends, good food, great wine, and wonderful conversation!!

We hiked in what seemed a primordial forest and came to a confluence of 'streams' and were at a loss for words to describe the beauty.

Another unidentified 'flower'.

I am standing there amidst the trees and actually it was easy to get lost in the beauty of the woods and the day.

An unusual burled tree....burled and burled and burled.

Much time was spent in identifying trees and bushes.

AND on this day, April 11th, I found two morels.

(I have never found morels this early before, so I am thinking that I can't wait until the end of the month, I bet they'll be around in the next week or so!!)


One could simply not ask for a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

A LESSON LEARNED

After warping my Herald loom with the Rosepath pattern, I wove several rugs, and was really happy with them. They await a spring housecleaning and then will be placed on my own floors. After completing those rugs, I thought I'd experiment with weaving a 'table cover' with wool yarns that I have collected over the years. Believe me, I have tons. I wasn't sure about using the yarn instead of strips of wool blankets, but I wanted to try.

This is the finished product on the table. And it actually looks nicer in this picture then it ever did on my table. I actually HATED it, and it was difficult for me to look at. It seemed 'jagged' color-wise, and quite disparate. I wondered what to do, after all the work, could I simply discard it?? Was I brave enough to dye over it? This I was unsure of, and it was quite a dilemma as to what color I should use were I to dye over it. I had used yarns of several colors, but it was the lime green and the white I believe that made this piece so 'ugly' to me. After much deliberation, and with not a little uncertainty, I bought some black acid dye and mixed it 'lightly' hoping to get a gray tone.

And I really do like the finished product, perhaps not as much as I might have if I had successfully chosen more pleasing colors to begin with, but I sure like it better then before I overdyed it. The gray toned down the lime green, and made the white a slate color, which seemed to gather the piece together in a way it hadn't been before.

I don't think I had ever woven a piece I disliked as much, and am glad that I had the courage, and it took courage, to try this. It was a humbling experience, and exhilarating as well. Next time I'll be unafraid....I think.

They Are Back....

Don't we all just love warm sunny days?? Today it was in the upper 60's and about as beautiful a day as one could ask for. I spent much of my time pruning grapes in the vineyard, four rows down and eighteen to go. This early spring has us concerned that bud-break will come much sooner then ever. I love being outdoors, and to be truthful, it was better then the indoor alternative that presented itself to me today. With the sun and the heat out come the Asian Beetles. For those of you who do not live in this area, and for my family out East, I took the following pictures so you could see for yourself what it is like. I know for certain that this is going to gross out my siblings...but for those of us who live here, it is now simply a part of our lives. I recall when the first of these arrived maybe 6-8 years ago, I thought them Lady Bugs, and the first several I found in my house, I gently picked up and placed in my potted plants. Well, now I'm not so gentle, and it's the vacuum that picks them up.

Looking south out the front enclosed porch window. The porch is entirely windowed on the upper half, and each window, I think twelve not counting the windowed door, looks like this. And, this happens to be a mild day.

A little closer look, and you can see how bunched up they are. We believe that they live in the walls through the winter. And what seems unbelievable to me, but is entirely true, is that each of these little Asian Beetles lives for THREE years!!

This is perhaps two square feet of our lovely red oak floor. There are four Asian beetles visible, and pretty much you can find these little ladies by the twos, the fours, and the sixes anywhere on any floor, dead or alive.


And on another note..I am having a basement put in underneath my workshop (cabin) and the work will begin as soon as the road bans are lifted for heavy trucks. When I had the cabin moved in and 'redone' I bought about $300 worth of landscaping plants to put in front of it. Well, now I am spending my day when not in the vineyard, digging up the 30-40 plants/bushes and moving them temporarily to a plot nearby while the work is being done. (This is no easy feat, but I'd rather be doing that then vacuuming up Asian beetles.)

Anyway, I have flower containers that hang over the railing of my cabin deck which I generally fill with pansies. I spend a little time during the flowering season deadheading them daily. I throw the dead flower heads over into the plants below. Every year, new ones come up from them. As I was digging up an iris clump, I spied a pansy tucked in the leaves. I saved it.

I always wondered why 'pansy' is a derogatory term for a wimpy man, when these are about the hardiest of the flowers I plant. If I plant them directly in the ground, I often have them blooming still in November, and even into December. It makes no sense to me to call a wimp a 'pansy'.

Are We Not Sisters?

I am probably the most apolitical person that I know. By that I do not necessarily mean I am uninterested in politics, but rather that I can not bare politicians, almost none of them. I can not bear the studied sound of their political voices, the yearning and preaching that is so evident in their histrionics. I do, however, stand staunchly behind just causes and always have. Still, I am stepping forth in an unusual manner today, haunted by a film I viewed the other night.

The Stoning of Soraya M.

For me it had been a day filled with blessings and joy. As I walked to my workshop Tuesday morning a bluebird streaked its blue just before my eyes, trilled its song, and lifted me high. That afternoon, I took a bike ride through the Reserve along the old road and the river; birds, butterflies, smells, sights, sounds of spring abounded so forcefully that on my return home, after hanging my bike, I felt larger than my body, so filled with joy was I.

That night we watched The Stoning of Soraya M. It is difficult to find the words to talk about this. It was a graphic movie based upon a true story. I was riveted by it, and am haunted still.

I felt compelled to do some research on the internet only to find what I feared would be true, that this practice continues to this day in countries around the world.

This movie "was the story relayed to Freidoune Sahebjam by Soraya's brave aunt, Zahra Khanum. His riveting and spare account became an international best-seller. Critics compared "The Stoning of Soraya M." to Kafka, but actually nothing in the western cannon of literature is comparable to the inadvertent self-parody--the simply lunacy-- of a system of law that maintains that if a man is accused of infidelity by his wife, she must prove his guilt, but if a woman is accused, she must prove her innocence. Thus, in a single sentence, is a belief system codified. It is a system that rejects modernity, justice, equality and rationality--and treats female sexuality as a vice. Apparently, you can get away with this kind of madness in much of the world by simply inciting crowds to chant, "God is Great," while you throw stones."

(And Soraya was innocent...framed by her forced-marriage husband who wanted to wed a 14-year -old.)

"Soraya M's brutal execution occurred more than two decades ago, but it was only last October that a girl barely into her teens was stoned to death in a stadium in the Somalian port city of Kismayo. Initially, her "crime" was said to be adultery, and her age given as 23. Actually, according to Amnesty International, she was 13 years old, and she came into the custody of an Islamic militia when she had the temerity to report to authorities that she had been gang-raped. Her three attackers were not charged. The girl was publicly murdered before 1,000 cheering spectators. Her name was Aisha Ibrahim Duhulow." (Quotes from Carl M. Cannon, 5/09)

Her name was Soraya Manutchehre, she was 35 years old when she died. She had two young sons who took part in the stoning, as did her father.

I cannot understand my blessings nor bare my joy these days...

THE SECOND DAY OF SPRING

A beautiful Sunday afternoon, mid 50's, lots of sun, and the second day of Spring. Where to hike today? Should we go to the Reserve and hike along the river, or start at our own place and hike through the woods, on some neighbor's land, on some reserve land, and back on home? I opted for the second choice because our dog, Sapala could hike close to home and I needn't worry about her. Plus, it was her birthday on Wednesday, and this was a great birthday treat for her.

We started up our hill out back and came to the top where this magnificent oak, dated at over 200 years old, stands. It is truly an incredible tree, limbs outflung in some ballerina-like dance, and seemingly wise, so wise.

Some of the branches nearly touch the ground, and no matter the season, this tree is beautiful.

Standing beneath her and looking up. What stories she must have. We wonder what the land around here looked like 200 years ago when this tree was just a sapling?

This limb is so close to the ground, and appears to offer a hug.

I come to this tree quite often in the spring and summer, sometimes bring a book and a pad, lean my back against her trunk and read and write. It is quietly peaceful, the silence is soft and gentle.

We moved on from this tree and hiked several miles. In another part of the woods, on the Reserve land we came upon this phenomenon. We wondered if this was the result of a lightening strike, though it is something we had never seen the likes of before.

It almost looked as though 'someone' extremely heavy sat upon its top and squashed it.

Poor Sapala, nine years old last Wednesday, and she was showing a bit of exhaustion at the top of this crest. We sat down just below a corn field, overlooking Rockton in the distance, and took a brief rest.

Nearly home. Hiking though what we call the Middle Valley, there stands another old oak tree, not quite as spectacular as the one at the top of the hill, but still stunning in its beauty. I feel blessed to have these wise, old ones standing sentry over our land, and over us as well. And I feel blessed to have days like today.

...in my EASTER BONNET....

I have been inundated with Chicks...
admittedly of my own making!

...not exactly on parade...
but gathering to look over each other's finery.

Just another view..."Do I look O.K. from behind?"
(The lone male in the skewed burgundy cap simply does not care how he looks from behind.)


"Do I look as good as I feel?"

Ladies you are "lookin' good tonight!"

Reclaimed fabric, some of it vintage (the chicks in vintage happen to be my favorite), wool stuffing and vintage buttons adorn the 'bonnets'.

"...with all the frills upon it..."

A few more Easter projects and then back to weaving!