Cascade Golden-Mantled Ground Squirrel, Callospermophilus Saturatus

Day 322: Scientific name or common name, you've said a mouthful by the time you've pronounced "Callospermophilus saturatus" or "Cascade Golden-Mantled Ground Squirrel," and that's the truth! At this time of year, you'll see these critters scurrying through the subalpine meadows, their cheeks bulging with food as they "bulk up" for winter hibernation. A distinct species from other golden-mantled ground squirrels, the Cascade Golden-Mantled Squirrel is endemic to Washington and British Columbia and is the largest member of the sub-genus. Although their primary diet consists of fungi and vegetation, they also consume seeds, fruit and occasionally carrion. As their name implies, they live in underground burrows.

MeadoWatchers

Day 321: I wasn't the only one out yesterday inventorying plants. These two were conducting a survey of blue huckleberries, taking representative samples from each bush, and from what I'd taste-tested on my way up the hill, I'd imagine that the crop got a five-star rating for both flavour and abundance. I'd actually gone past the bears without noticing them. They were quite a ways down-slope and possibly had been out of sight over the roll as I went by. I stopped to answer a visitor's questions, and another pair of hikers coming up from below spotted the pair and beckoned us down to see them. Even though I see at least one every year, I still enjoy watching the cubs as they learn how to be bears, tagging along behind mom, imitating her berry-picking techniques. Berry season is the best time for sightings, for obvious reasons! Something must have startled these two, though. After a few minutes of providing photo ops for visitors and rangers alike, they loped off downhill and disappeared over the rise.

Natural Habitat

Day 320: This is a Crow in its natural habitat. For all of how much I love wildflowers and the critters of the forest, it is the high, bleak and desolate places which truly command my heart. I am too old, beat-up and decrepit to get to the ones which are dearest to me, but there are others almost equally beautiful still within the reach of my strength and stamina. Today, I went up the Lakes Trail on a MeadoWatch hike, recording the phenological stages of specific plants at plots with precise geographic coordinates. At the top of the transect, the sub-alpine plants thin out until only a few of the hardiest species remain. Continuing up, the environment becomes a moonscape of ankle-wrenching rocks, layer upon layer laid down by the stratovolcano which is Mount Rainier. It was this landscape which drew me higher today, my soul craving the open space of the Mountain's rocky alpine zone. Here is where perspective rises up and shows you that your human presence is no more than a speck of grit in the cosmos. It is a metaphysical journey which, oddly, I find eminently consoling, comforted in the knowledge that whatever happens in this world is of very little significance indeed.

Alki Danceout

Day 319: Wildfire smoke kept Sound & Fury from having a practice last week, and as of yesterday morning, it looked like our annual Alki Beach danceout might be cancelled as well. Our Squire sent out a poll to see how many of us would be available if we went forward, and at 1 PM, air quality had improved sufficiently to go ahead. Our side was represented by over a dozen dancers and half a dozen musicians, performing in rotation with dancers from Misty City and North by Northwest to a small crowd of onlookers. Even so, some smoke haze veiled the Seattle skyline and Olympic mountains, and I bet I'm not the only one of us who woke this morning with a scratchy throat and irritated eyes. Smoke levels should be improving this week.

Better Late Than Never

Day 318: The Great Bambi War of 2018 has begun. I failed to take preventative steps as soon as I noticed cropped sunflowers and consequently, when I got up this morning, I discovered that the proverbial "low-hanging fruit" on the raspberry vines had been munched by the two culprits I've seen in the yard recently. They recognize me as a threat, so as soon as I step outside with my slingshot, they bound out of range, returning to raid under cover of darkness. A short fence has kept them off the tomatoes, but the raspberries grew tall this year, well beyond the chickenwire cap over the row. I may need to put in taller posts next year, but for now, I've laid window screens up against the vines, propped in place by tomato cages. If nothing else, Bambi is going to get his legs tangled if he tries to pull down the berries.

Rain At Last

Day 317: It is raining in earnest now after a few drops last night which failed to register a single hundredth in the pluviometer and a piddling drizzle earlier this morning, raining with the gusto of Ma Nature turned washerwoman, discontent with smoke-soiled air. It's not pouring, but neither is it a mere sprinkle; it knits liquid beads into the leafy lacery of the garden, dangles them from bough and branch, swags of silver along each thread of fence wire and electric line. The pavement shines, the gravel of the driveway turns dark with damp, and the scent of summer's dotage calls back memories of sidewalks past, their dust dying beneath a wash of wet. It is a sign of the season's turning, the beginning curve of a spiral which will grow increasingly narrow, carrying us into a swirl of autumn and winter. The days of smoke and haze and heat are coming apart at the seams, and although in ways I lament the briefness of good hiking weather, this dried-out Pacific Northwesterner is still inclined to shout, "Hurrah! It's raining at last!"

Fuchsia Fantasy

Day 316: These are just a few of my hardy fuchsias. Yes, you heard that right: hardy. These are not the delicate annuals which die down at the first hint of winter. In fact, I selected these particular varieties because they are capable of withstanding temperatures of 0° F. or lower. The stems are woody and tough, and even though the first signs of growth in spring usually emerge at ground level, leaves will emerge on the hardened wood later in the season, followed by a dazzling display of flowers. Although to many people, the phrase "hardy fuchsia" brings to mind smaller flowers, many varieties bear blooms equally as large and showy as those of the annuals and are available in a wide range of colour combinations. Most varieties tend toward shrubbiness, but pruning will keep them from getting out of hand. Shown here are Erecta with its unusual upward-facing corolla, Army Nurse brilliant in rich purple and red, the plump two-toned pink Garden News, and the familiar traditional Genii.

More Than One!

Day 315: There is cause for great jubilation here today. The Black-Capped Chickadee has found himself a friend! I can't tell if there are more than two, but I have positively observed a second one which stayed sitting in the Japanese maple as the first one flew across my line of vision and perched on Harry Lauder. This year marked the first in thirty that they have come across the road to my yard. One appeared at the feeders for the first time in January of this year, and over the intervening months, he (or she) has become more confident around me, allowing me to walk within 6-10 feet before flying away. He's not much inclined to hold still long enough for me to focus the camera, but I managed to get a few passable snaps this morning. I suspect that their 50-yard migration is a direct reflection of the maturity of the shrubbery; they've finally decided there's enough habitat to set up housekeeping. A landmark day indeed! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!

Never Pass Up Free Food

Day 314: After my dad died, my mother and I were plunged into abject poverty, and there were many days when I was grateful to have a bowl of oatmeal at dinnertime, the only food I'd seen all day. Special occasions might have seen a grilled-cheese sandwich made with process cheese on my plate, a real treat for an 11-year old who was so thin she'd have to stand twice to cast a shadow. That said, our acreage had fruit trees and berry vines, and although sugar was too costly to expend in canning, my mom often froze the harvest. I can hear her voice even now, offering words which still guide me today: "Never pass up free food."

Kevin showed up on my doorstep last night with a bag of plums, presenting me with an internal debate. Did I want to make plum butter or jam? Did I want to freeze them? Or did I want to can them as an alternate to the figs I'd missed out on? I already have a cupboard full of various jams, jellies and preserves and don't need more, so that option was rejected. They'd need to be treated with an anti-browning agent for freezing, and a check of my canning supplies told me I was out of FruitFresh (lemon juice is not recommended for plums because it alters the flavour). That left me with canning. Okay, I'm good with that.

I let Kevin know that I'd put up three pints, and he asked, "Do you want more?" Yes! This morning, he dropped off another bag which yielded up two more pints. It seems like a lot of work for only five pints of fruit, but this winter, I know I will relish every last bite.

Sunflower Buzz

Day 313: Every year, I allow the birds to plant a few sunflowers for their personal use, but of course seeds are not the only crop which arises from their efforts. The bees and butterflies take gainful employment as pollinators, harvesting both pollen and nectar in season. In fact, I have been pleasantly surprised at the number of bee species attending to the work and although I can't identify them specifically, there are a number of different plump, tractable bumblebees labouring side-by-side with the smaller Apidae. The buzz of their industry is an enjoyable background noise in the garden, and sometimes when a fast-moving commuter passes near my ear, I mistake it for one of the competing hummingbirds until it alights in the center of a flower. Busy with their work, they have no time for the human in the garden. There's much to do before the rains and wind return.

One Little Petunia

Day 312: "I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch,
An onion patch, an onion patch,
And all I do is cry all day.
Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!
The air is so strong, it takes my breath away.
I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch,
An onion patch, an onion patch,
Oh, won't you come and play with me?"

Modern music seems to have lost the plot somewhere along the line. For the most part, today's lyrics are just variations on a theme, told in different ways depending on the genre. There's even a song about it, the "Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song," a topic which I find eminently uninspiring. Give me the good old tunes like "Purple People Eater," "The Biggest Aspidistra in the World," "I've Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts," and yes, "Lonely Little Petunia in an Onion Patch." Nonsense is good for the spirit, uplifting when the chips are down.  Does anything on today's radio make you laugh? I thought not. I've said it before, but it bears repeating: the world needs more silly. We are lonely little petunias, each of us, choking on the fumes of the world's onion patches. Let's stop crying and play.

Backstrap Weaving

Day 311: You've heard me mention backstrap weaving in a few recent posts and may have wondered what I meant. This is weaving at a very elementary level, i.e., a way to stretch warp and hold it secure (a clamp on one end, an anchor on the other), and a means of opening the sheds through which the shuttle is passed. Tension on the warp is governed by a strap running around the weaver's back (hence the name "backstrap"). To open the shed, the weaver leans slightly forward to relax the tension and alternately raises or depresses the heddle through which the warp threads run. The shuttle is then passed through the shed, and the weft thread can be beaten into place using either the shuttle or the heddle. As the work develops, the clamp is loosened and the finished weaving is pulled back through it, and likewise, the unwoven warp can be released from the anchor incrementally. Backstrap weaving can be done sitting or standing, and the warp can be anchored on any available object (tree, fence post, doorknob, etc.). Any length weaving can be made, and width is only limited by the weaver's arm span. If fancier designs are desired, pickup sticks can be employed to lift warp threads. Here, I am weaving a simple tabby pattern, creating a shoulder strap for the lined bags which were woven on my four-foot floor loom. It takes roughly an hour to make a 44" band.

A Brief Respite

Day 310: By mid-afternoon yesterday, the brief respite we had from wildfire smoke was in retreat against a new onslaught. Although the Mountain hadn't been clearly visible at any time in the previous 24 hours, you could at least distinguish glaciers from rocks, and that for the first time in two weeks. But as the saying goes, all good things come to an end. This morning once again, there is no Mountain on the horizon, only a blurry red disk rising in the east. I consider myself to be in good physical condition, yet the smoke in the air impairs my breathing, leaves me feeling tired, worn and, if the truth be told, not at full capacity mentally. On the other hand, I am grateful that it isn't worse. Ranger friends have been evacuated from both Yosemite and Glacier due to the wildfires there. As tinder-dry as the Pacific Northwest currently is, all it would take would be one lightning strike, one careless toss of a cigarette, one fool leaving a campfire smoldering, and we'd go up in a puff.

Rose-Of-Sharon

Day 309: For a foot-tall plant, the Rose-of-Sharon I planted this last spring is really putting on a show. A member of the Hibiscus family, its big, floppy flowers overwhelm the foliage and draw hummingbirds to sip their sweet nectar. I certainly wasn't expecting a display, and am surprised at the succession of blooms. Although they're relatively short-lived (only open for a day or two), one has been following another for more than a week now with many more to come. I should have done this a long time ago!

Using A Nuke To Kill A Spider

Day 308: Fresh off the loom, three 40" lengths of cloth are destined to be shoulder-bags. Both warp and weft are standard knitting worsted and when sewn up, will make bags roughly 11 inches square. Each one will be lined with heavy twill and will have a button-down flap, perfect for a knitting tote or even for Morris bells and hankies. Weaving them went even more quickly than I'd imagined, and now I'm tasked with creating the straps. It would be much easier if I had a small rigid heddle loom or even a 10 dent-per-inch reed to use with a backstrap, but as we all know, this is not a perfect world. No, instead I've warped up 17 ends to make a strap 1.5" wide on my four-foot floor loom. This is what I call "using a nuke to kill a spider." It gets the job done, but constitutes a classic example of employing way too much resource to effect a solution.

Farming The Wasteland

Day 307: Some of you are undoubtedly thinking, "Oh, boy...you're going to regret that!" and you may well be right, but I like mint jelly on sourdough toast. I'm talking about real mint jelly, not the mint-flavoured apple jelly available commercially. After paying extortionate prices for two measly four-ounce containers of fresh mint last year, I decided to grow my own. The stuff is a weed; there's no call for it to cost almost $8 per half-cup! In the Barren Wasteland, there are two concrete pads. One covers the pit where my water supply's captive-air tank lives and measures about four feet on a side, but the other one (roughly 3' x 4') remains a mystery even after thirty years. Between them is a foot-wide patch of poor soil, a strip which seemed perfect for a mint patch since the concrete bounds it on the two long sides and theoretically, should prevent the roots from infiltrating the rest of the area. If I am diligent about cutting it before it goes to seed, I should be able to keep it domesticated and producing plenty of leaves for delicious mint jelly and tea.

Too Much Like Work

Day 306: I seldom see fruit on Red-Flowering Currant (Ribes sanguineum) in the backcountry because the critters think they're delicious. On the other hand, humans might have some reservations on the subject. The flavour is rather bland (I hesitate to use the word "insipid") but not unpleasant, and I suspect they'd make a good jelly if you were willing to pull the blossom ends off each berry. I planted a couple of bushes in my yard to provide nectar for hummingbirds (they are drawn to the hot pink flowers), and was uurprised when the plants yielded up roughly half a cup of fruit. Never one to forgo Nature's provender, I picked them and then set to the project of cleaning them. Analysis: the caloric benefit doesn't justify the effort for a snack. However, if you could collect enough to put through a food mill and then filter the mash through a jelly bag to get juice, it might be worthwhile. Somehow I don't think that's going to happen any time soon.

Rhizocarpon Geographicum, Map Lichen

Day 305: The complex of lichens which includes Rhizocarpon geographicum has been the subject of much debate. The "lumpers" of the scientific community lobby toward grouping the yellow-green "maps" into a smaller number of species based on distinct morphological differences (including some which require a microscope to determine) while the "splitters" lean toward separating them by the substances (chemicals) they contain. The latter method takes these colourful crustose species into a pit so deep that the average lichen enthusiast is inclined to throw up their hands in defeat, all hope of making a firm identification lost. How finely do we want to parse it? Is "splitting" necessary taxonomically, or is it something which should be a footnote to the lab analysis? In this case, I'm with the lumpers. Lichens are fascinating, so let's keep them approachable.

Snap-Shots

Day 304: Last year, I accidentally bought some tall snapdragons instead of the shorter varieties I prefer. As Murphy's Law would have it, the tallest wintered over and are now providing me with spikes of lemon-yellow blooms. One solitary dark red survived, but it is lost among other plants. The pink ones shown here are new this year (pinker than they looked in the store), as are the red-and-yellows which I absolutely love. Snaps are a good way to add pops of colour to your garden, besides being just plain fun for those of us who never quite grew up.

First Burroughs Fog

Day 303: Yesterday's volunteer appreciation picnic at Sunrise was one of the wettest and windiest I've attended. That didn't stop me from going for a hike. In fact, I found it quite refreshing after more than two weeks of 90-degree temperatures. Thanks to the cool weather, I reached Frozen Lake in a mere twenty minutes, and then after some deliberation over which direction to take, I headed up First Burroughs in fog. It rained a bit (something I devoutly hoped was happening at home as well), giving me a chance to test out the new jacket I'd bought with a gift-card award from the Invasive Plant Council and a pair of Arnie's hand-me-down rain pants, and I'm happy to say that both served me well. As I approached the top of First Burroughs, a bright spot appeared in the northwest and the clouds gave way just enough that I could see Frozen Lake 600' below and a few patches of blue sky. It was the clearest moment of the day. For a Saturday, the trails were relatively free of other hikers, and those who were out went by me with heads down and grim expressions on their faces. You have to be a native Pacific Northwesterner to appreciate the joys of hiking in inclement weather, and if that's what it takes to have some solitude in the backcountry, I am willing to endure anything except a typhoon.

Ceropegia Woodii, Rosary Vine

Day 302: My first experience with Ceropegia woodii was at age ten when my mother and I moved into a beautiful old farmhouse. The sellers were an elderly Scandinavian couple who felt compelled to downsize, so they left many things behind when they moved out. Among them was a Ceropegia with wiry trailing stems 8-10 feet long, stems which bore peculiar woody grey "knobs" of varying sizes at many of the axils. I later learned that these nodules were the plant's means of propagating itself. Each one was capable of producing roots to start a new plant. It wasn't until sometime later that we noticed the equally intriguing flowers. No more than 3/4" in length, they were inconspicuous against the grey-green mottled leaves. The prior owner claimed that she'd had the plant for over fifty years.

After I left home, "Knob" moved from place to place with my mother, and then when as a young wife, I returned to the Pacific Northwest to set up housekeeping, I asked her for a start. In its turn, that "Knob" gave me many more knobs for a succession of plants, but my lackadaisical maintenance led to the expiration of the last generation during one hot summer several years ago. Recently, I obtained a replacement which I again failed to notice was in bloom until the expended flowers began falling to the floor. Hopefully, I'll see little grey knobs developing soon.

Spin Cycle

Day 301: With interest in traditional home arts on the uptick over the last few decades, the availability of fibers has increased as well. No longer does the spinner have to raise their own sheep or find a rancher willing to sell a fleece. Now there are many sources for both natural and dyed materials: clean, carded and packaged as roving. I'll admit I've gotten a little spoiled, and definitely prefer to purchase wool in that form. After having a major shoulder repair some years ago, the process of carding wool puts too much strain on atrophied muscle and tight tendons, and I simply can't stay at the task long enough to prepare sufficient wool for an hour's spinning. With roving, I can tug off several sections and start spinning immediately. The fibers will have been straightened for me, and the material will be free of debris and neps, those nasty little tangled knots of wool which bunch up and leave lumps in the finished yarn.

Since I prefer to knit with lighter weight yarns, I usually spin two fine strands and then ply them together for strength. In this photo, the spindle is filled with single-ply Gotland (sheep) wool and the hank is a finished skein of double-ply. It is the same weight as the tan llama wool on the right, shown here in the process of being knit into a scarf. I am using #5 needles and a simple waffle pattern with a garter stitch hem, alternating knit and purl every five stitches and five rows.

The Colour Garden

Day 300: Perhaps they aren't as unstructured as a traditional English garden, but my flowerbeds are nevertheless a themeless riot of hues and growth habits. I grow "for pretty," with no particular mind to borders and backgrounds, not objecting to those things which reseed with wanton abandon, totally happy when a solitary yellow snapdragon pops up amid the cosmos or nasturtiums creep out on the far side of the hellebore. This is my "colour garden," the morning-sun bed which often may sprout the occasional sunflower, courtesy of the careless eaters in the bird feeders nearby. I love the little surprises each growing season brings: Nigella over here, a Gazania which survived the winter, a pop of blue Lobelia from a seed a decade dormant. Nature knows no truly straight lines, and neither should a garden be anything other than a crazy-quilt in my conception, its floral patchwork calling to memory the dearest fabrics of bygone years.

Selfies!

Day 299: Kitty selfies! As you can probably guess from the title of the book, the portraits were hand-felted from Tip's and Skunk's fur. A friend had sent me the book suggestion as a joke, but I took it seriously and ordered it almost immediately. I'm always interested in learning new crafts, and needle-felting was something I'd never tried. Special felting needles with barbed points are used to mingle wool (or cat hair) onto a base fabric or into its own fibers to form a matted fabric similar to the felt you'd purchase in a crafts store. Here, I used a commercial felt square for the background, shaping the cats with the aid of a plastic stencil. Stray hairs always linger around the edges, and these were trimmed away with embroidery scissors to give more defined outlines. I made Tip (the black kitty) first to get a feel for the process and then created Skunk, a more challenging subject because of her colouration. Each kitty took about fifteen minutes to complete. The same technique can be used with wool (sheep, llama, goat, etc.). To protect the felter's lap from inadvertent pokes, felting is done on a thick piece of foam, but mind your fingertips! Warning issued, rest assured that no cats or mamas were damaged in the making of these "self-portraits."

Postcard Tug

Day 298: Yesterday evening, Sound & Fury danced in performance at Seattle's Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, a site known to locals as the "Ballard Locks." This complex of locks allows ships passage from the salt waters of Puget Sound to Lake Union and Lake Washington. Salt water is prevented from intruding into the freshwaters of the two lakes by means of a dredged basin in which the heavier salt water settles and drains back into the Sound. According to official sources, the Ballard Locks see the most ship traffic of any lock in the United States. On the north side of the Locks, visitors may also stroll through the manicured grounds of Carl S. English Jr. Botanical Gardens, read about the project or shop at the visitor center, or on certain occasions, pause to enjoy the sight of Morris dancers clashing sticks and flagging handkerchiefs to the sound of bells.

I arrived early, having had some other business in Seattle, and took advantage of the time for photography and a little geocaching. As I walked across the foot-bridges spanning the locks, I recalled passing through them as a child in my father's little cabin cruiser. To a child of seven or eight years, the algae-coated concrete walls and looming machinery were somewhat intimidating, and the length of time it took for the water levels to be adjusted felt interminable. Even then, I wanted to be out on open water, angling for anything which would take a bait. For me, that usually meant a dogfish, Puget Sound's "mini-shark," even more frightening than the claustrophobic atmosphere of the locks. My dad would either gaff them and throw them back, or take the carcases home to plant under the fruit trees, a practice which he claimed prevented peach-leaf curl. On the other hand, my parents caught flounder, cod and (unintentionally) sea anemones and starfish, both of which intrigued me. Sometimes, we'd cross the sound and put into a small bay where the warmer water invited my folks to swim. I'd paddle around in the shallows wearing a life jacket, and on one memorable occasion, I panicked and had to be hoisted back into the boat when I saw a ray and thought it was pursuing me. The end of the day meant another tedious passage through the locks, one which usually found me sound asleep in the cabin, thoroughly worn out from the seafaring adventures headed up by the captain I adored.

Second Experiment

Day 297: Despite the fact that Akebia fruits (Akebi) have absolutely nothing to recommend them as edibles, my success at hand-pollinating them last year led me to wonder if I could repeat the experiment with similar results. Testing should never be a one-off. If results are not reproducible, you can't claim success. To that end, when the Akebis bloomed this spring, I got out my trusty camel-hair brush and started checking flowers daily for pollen production and receptivity. Once again, very few female blossoms appeared on the white-flowered vine as compared to the purple variety, and conversely, none of the male flowers on the purple Akebia matured to the pollen-making stage. Consequently, I was only able to transfer pollen from white male flowers to purple females; nevertheless, I got results, and seven Akebia fruits are coming into their maturity. I now know that I waited too late to pick them last year and that the seed/pulp ratio was skewed to the "seed" side of the equation. As for their potential as edibles...well, as a good scientist, I'm going to have to see this experiment through to its conclusion, although I don't expect the final stage to vary from previously recorded data. In other words, "Ugh!"

Naturalist-at-Large

Day 296: In the truest sense of the word, I was literally wearing a different hat today, although still functioning in my role as a naturalist. Today I conducted a small group of associates from the Nisqually Land Trust on an interpretive walk through my Ohop Valley stewardship property. The theme of the easy hike was "How Restoration Benefits the Critter Community," and covered topics including species-specific use of plants for forage and habitat, successes and failures in the restoration process, forest succession and the human history of the area. I devised a "nature bingo" and awarded wooden Audubon bird-calls to the first two participants who completed it, and handed out consolation prizes to the rest. I took guidance from an interpretive system called ACE ("Audience-Centered Experience"), and was happy to find that this group was easy to engage in discussion when I drew them out with questions. It was a bit of a change-up from my usual (and rather pedantic) recitation of scientific facts. The group's responses were well thought-out when asked to give their opinions on what constitutes "old-growth forest," an arbitrary human definition which varies from agency to agency but even moreso from a critter's point of view. The Nisqually Land Trust is a private non-profit organization, and therefore will not be affected by the prevailing anti-science sentiments in high-level government. Here, I can speak science freely, helping to educate people who, hopefully, will secure a future for our Earth.

Vine Fruit

Day 295: Fruits of the vine! I thought I'd lost all my kiwi berries to the varmints, but I discovered two which had escaped predatory notice. I am sure the only reason they remained on the vine is that I removed Doogie Squirrel from the equation and haven't seen any of his kin since I relocated him to Mineral. I'm not sure how to tell if they're ripe; currently, they're hard as little rocks. As for the grapes, I've given up trying to prune them according to the book. I just let them go last year, and this year, it looks like I may have a record harvest if I'll just get out there and put the net up. The Steller's Jays prefer grapes a bit on the tart side and invariably pick them a day or two before my human taste buds consider them ripe. Grapes, of course, are best after a light frost has set the sugar, but even a light freeze will cause the bunches to shatter at the slightest disturbance. These are Interlaken, a seedless variety which tastes very similar to Concords. I've never tried to make jelly with them because the vine has only produced one good crop in thirty years.

Crow's Rule Of Projects

Day 294: The success of any venture necessitates a little self-analysis in order to form a game plan. Recognizing your weaknesses is crucial, to wit, I have a short attention span. I get bored with projects quickly. Having recognized this failing when I was still in my early 20s, I formulated a "rule of projects," and by sticking to it religiously (whether I want to or not), anything I start gets finished eventually. What's Crow's Rule of Projects? It's simple: I can't have more than one craft of any type going at once. If I want to weave something different, the project currently on the loom has to be completed before I can start a new weaving, or I have to finish knitting the Perpetual Afghan before I can start a hat or pair of socks. Sometimes I need a little extra push, like finding a yarn I particularly want to use for a garment or having a brainstorm with respect to something I'd like to give as a gift. That's motivation to finish up the current work. I should also mention that it's okay to have more than one project going, but only one piece of knitting on the needles, one doily on the crochet hook, one quilt in the hoop at any one time. In fact, it's preferable because it keeps me from getting burned out.

These are a few of my current boredom-beaters. The silver Gotland wool arrived on Wednesday and I've already spun about two ounces out of twenty-four. I re-warped the loom yesterday to make a couple of knitting worsted bags (quick work), and then there's the ongoing quilt and a kumihimo braid. With each of these, I set minimum goals per sitting, i.e., I will spin three tufts of wool each time I work at the wheel, stitch one rectangle and two squares whenever I quilt. I generally exceed the minimums, but there are times when I move from loom to spinning wheel immediately after the requisite throws in the pattern have been made. Some things can be dropped in mid-work; kumihimo is easy to lay down, so I haven't established a minimum for braiding. It's "filler" for when I need a break between long-term crafts. Crow's Rule of Projects works!

Love-in-a-Mist

Day 293: My poor garden is getting heat-stressed. Although today is a bit cooler, the last two weeks' temperatures have hovered between 85-95 degrees and despite being watered, even the most drought-hardy plants are feeling the effects of the dry spell. I recorded a pitiful 0.20" of precip for the month of July. Because I rely on a well for household water, I try to plant drought-tolerant species so that I can be sparing with the hose. Fortunately, Nigella (Love-in-a-Mist) has endured practically anything Nature has thrown at it, re-seeding itself to provide flowers again next year. The pods turn a warm brown when dried, retaining the reddish-purple markings. They're lovely for dried arrangements or...oh, yeah, last year's are still hanging from the lantern chandelier in the east end of my kitchen.

Bud Blancher Knapweed

Day 292: If you're out walking and happen to see pretty little purple flowers which don't exactly fit the description of "thistle" because they're not thorny, or that remind you of Ragged Robin (if you have those in your area) or Bachelor's Buttons, step up and take a closer look. Chances are, it will be one of several species or hybrids in the Knapweed family, and a rapidly spreading invasive in many parts of North America. Even as a private citizen (as opposed to someone affiliated with an organization like the Invasive Plant Council), you can report your sighting on-line through EDDMapS at https://www.eddmaps.org/ and for those of you who have smarter phones than mine, there are apps to make the process easier. EDDMapS stands for "Early Detection and Distribution Mapping System." It is part of the University of Georgia's Center for Invasive Species and Ecosystem Health. Per their web page, "Early detection of new invasive species infestations and rapid, coordinated responses are needed to eradicate or contain invasions before they become too widespread and control becomes technically and financially impossible."

Knapweed is a growing concern here in the Pacific Northwest (unintended but appropriate pun, there). It can establish a monoculture in a very short period of time, and is sufficiently virulent to even give Scotch Broom a run for the money. Although many city, county and state agencies try to stay on top of it in their parks and on their trails, it goes without treatment on adjacent private properties. If you find it in a location where you can legally remove it, bag the heads before cutting, being careful not to shake loose any developing seed. Dislodged seed may continue to develop if it drops to the ground. Dispose of the bagged seed heads by placing them in your household garbage. Do not attempt to compost them; the temperature in a compost heap is not sufficient to destroy them. In worst-case scenarios, chemical treatment is recommended. Check with your local weed board to find out which chemicals can be used in your area.