Ice Lashes

Day 138: Returning to work today after a protracted "snow absence" was like walking into a faerieland. At the end of January bare ground lay all around the Longmire Administration Building, but today it was mounded with white, a large hummock the only indicator of a picnic table in the middle of the back lawn. The roof of every building was piled with snow, trees shedding gobbets of slush which landed with dull thumps like muffled drumbeats as I walked around the housing area. And oh, the icicles! Fringes of ice-lashes fluttered over the blank eyes of windows, curling under as the weight of snow pushed them beyond the eaves, dangerous and beautiful, fragile and sharp as knives. The wise walker steers well away from trees and overhangs when ice prevails. I kept to the middle of the road to do my sightseeing.

Play It Again, Sam

Day 137: "Play it again, Sam." I'm currently on my fourth iteration of this tatted doily, trying to find exactly the right combination of thread size and tension for entry in the Washington State Fair. I've finally settled on using an extra-fine needle and #40 crochet cotton (in progress above). The larger version in the image used #50, but the finished product feels a little too flimsy for a doily. Lace-weight crochet cotton is hard to find these days, fine work being dismissed by those who want the instant gratification which the heavier threads allow. On my personal scale, #20 qualifies as "huge" and I refer to #10 as "ship's hawser," to be avoided for anything other than pot-scrubbers and dishrags. Lace by its very definition should be as delicate and light as its intended service will allow.

Crewel Embroidery

Day 136: I was only four years old when my grandmother first started instructing me in needlearts and, oddly for a child who quickly became bored with any other endeavour, stitchery held my attention. Admittedly, my patience was (-cough!) somewhat less than it is now, but seeing an image develop from nothing more than thread and cloth entranced me. My first pieces were kit work, cross-stitch on printed pillowcases and table runners, but when my hands had become familiar with the action of inserting a needle accurately, Gma advanced my lessons into stem stitch and French knots worked on handkerchief linen. "Over four threads and back two," she'd insist, not allowing me to be sloppy in my execution. By the time I was six or seven, I'd become sufficiently proficient at buttonhole and satin stitch to be introduced to cutwork, but my fascination with it was somewhat short-lived. I much preferred working with bright colours, creating pictures rather than patterns. It was a logical step from floss embroidery to crewel which, for many of my adult years, was my preferred medium. I don't do a lot of crewel these days. These two pieces were done not long after I moved here, and have hung in the living room above the vanity ever since.

Digital Starling

Day 135: Yes, I'm getting a little hard-up for material here. If it ain't up a tree, it's covered in snow.

I envy people who can create "pencil sketch" images with a click of an app on their phones, or with a little more work, with Photoshop's utilities. I use PaintShop Pro for all my post-processing because years ago, it was recommended to me by a friend who was a graphic artist for a magazine, and she assured me that although it was more difficult to work with, it was more versatile. I committed myself to the program and have used it ever since. While it may be more versatile, it is definitely NOT more user-friendly, and many of the quick features available with phone apps can only be achieved by making complex series of individual adjustments to the base image. The user manual is decidedly vague and unhelpful. I've been trying for years to come up with the proper combination to execute a "pencil sketch" (the PSP option listed as "pencil sketch" does nothing more than apply a nearly-opaque layer to a photo), and this is as close as I have come. While I've achieved detail in the flecked feathers of this juvenile Starling, I still feel I still have a long way to go before I'm happy with the end product.

Fake Fir

Day 134: Western Washington clothes her shoulders in a garment trimmed largely with fake fir. Douglas Fir, icon of Pacific Northwestern forests, is not a true fir; true firs such as Grand and Noble bear cones which stand erect from their branches. Doug Fir cones hang down from their point of attachment. The scales of Doug Fir cones are also "persistent," i.e., they do not fall apart after releasing their seeds and remain attached to the central core. Ironically, the scientific name of Douglas Fir (Pseudotsuga) means "false hemlock," undoubtedly reflecting the similiarity in the tree's needles, less spiky than those of true firs (genus Abies).

Beadwork

Day 133: Although what springs immediately to mind upon hearing the word "needlearts" (i.e., knitting, crocheting, tatting or other handcraft involving hooks, needles and thread), beadwork nevertheless falls within the definition of "art-needlework." I don't do as much of it as I used to, largely because the finished product is closer to art than it is to functionaltiy, but every now and then, I break out the hair-fine needles and waxed threads and settle in with pots of #11 or #13 seed beads arrayed on the table beside my chair. This, of course, is an invitation to CATastrophe despite the fact that both Skunk and Tip know they are not allowed on hard surfaces. Curious noses nevertheless investigate and the occasional probing paw dabbles where it should not, and tiny beads are enormously hard to retrieve from carpet plush. Nor is the fault always feline; I have been known to reach for my coffee only to knock over a stack of bead jars. Yarns and threads are much easier to untangle, therefore beadwork is done more or less as special occasions demand.

Iconic Species

Day 132: Although the range map in Sibley's Field Guide to Birds of Western North America indicates that Dark-Eyed Juncos (Junco hyemalis) are a winter bird, my yard is never without a resident population. That said, during this unusually protracted snowy spell, I don't think I've ever seen as many here at one time. I would estimate that close to 60 individuals may be present at once at my feeders, on the ground beneath them and perched in the nearby shrubs, waiting for their turn at the seed. They are not the only species putting up an abnormally large showing. The Varied Thrushes are still around, 30 or 40 birds who aggress on each other, but not on others not of their race. An influx of Purple Finches began a few days ago, and now their numbers are likewise swelling. The Red-Winged Blackbirds are back in force, as are the undesirable Starlings. Add to this census the family of Black-Capped Chickadees, a few Song Sparrows, a dozen or so Spotted Towhees, the customary Steller's Jays, Crows and Ravens and even a solitary Mourning Dove, and you have, if not the larger scope of a "Big Year," at least the window-peeping birder's picture of a "Big Yard."

Haemorhous Purpureus, Purple Finch

Day 131: Ornithologist-naturalist Roger Tory Peterson had the most marvelous way with words. In his field guide, he aptly describes the Purple Finch as looking "like a sparrow dipped in raspberry juice." While this description could also apply to House Finch, where the two species occur together, another distinctive marking separates them in the field, and for this aide-memoire, you can thank your correspondent: "Houses have shingles," i.e., the breast is strongly marked by dark streaks, whereas in Purple Finch, the breast is clear. However, when you're updating your Life List, be sure to make a note in your field guide. Purple Finch has been the target of those fiendish taxonomists and is no longer called "Carpodacus purpureus." It is now Haemorhous purpureus, "Haemorhous" is also reflected in the nomenclature for Cassin's Finch and House Finch after DNA proved that the American species are unrelated to Eurasian rosefinches.

Cyanocitta Stelleri, Steller's Jay

Day 130: Let's get one thing straight right off the mark: this is a Steller's Jay..."Steller's," not "stellar" despite the bird's stellar colouration. Georg Wilhelm Steller was a German naturalist and explorer in the early 18th century. As such, he contributed to our knowledge of the natural world by discovering a number of new species (largely in Alaska and the Arctic), at least two of which are now extinct. Many of those species bear his name today, either as a common name or in their taxonomic designations. The "blue jay" we see in western Washington is one of the birds he described. Its natural range extends from southern Alaska down the west coast to southern California and along the Rocky Mountains into Mexico. Like most other corvids, its behaviour has been criticized as aggressive, but in my personal experience with these birds, as long as there is enough food to go around, its reputation is grossly exaggerated. Year-'round visitors to my feeders, Steller's Jays eat compatibly beside the smaller birds and are even somewhat timid when confronted by the larger crows and ravens. Steller's Jays are also known to mimic the call of the Red-Tailed Hawk and, clever corvids that they are, may do so in order to cause more skittish birds to seek cover, allowing them to feed at their leisure. In my yard, they only seem to argue among themselves, and that, seldom more than a peck at another bird trying to occupy the same spot.

Who Goes There?

Day 129: Ah, what a story my yard tells, particularly beneath the bird feeders and on the sidewalk leading to my kitchen door! A fresh dusting of snow last night provided the page on which jays, juncos, towhees, thrushes and a rambling raccoon signed in as guests, their activities criss-crossing so densely that in places, the evidence of their comings and goings became too jumbled to read. Rocky tends to follow a regular beat: enters the yard beneath the crow board, checks for goodies beneath it (a hodgepodge of overlaid tracks), then follows my well-trodden rut through the snow to the clearer sidewalk, there to access the ground beneath the seed trays. I suspect he's making his second stop of the night, the first having been Clyde's back porch where the pickings are somewhat better. Then, ever hopeful that some circumstance has changed in the previous 24 hours, he investigates my recycling bin, the empty cat food cans deliciously odorous but securely out of reach. He exits the yard toward the road, a trench left in the remaining foot of snow showing evidence of repeated passage. The birds, on the other hand, are mostly hoppers, clear imprints of paired feet at regular intervals except for the towhees who give a backward hop to bring scattered seed to the surface. The record of my visitors' pursuits is as interesting to read as a good mystery or spy story: Who goes there, in the dark of night, and with what agenda?

Star Shower

Day 128: For as often as I have touted Hoya bella as the world's most forgiving houseplant, the combination of a hot, dry spell two summers ago and my neglectful watering resulted in a wilt from which mine couldn't recover. However, since I had spread the wealth by making starts from the original plant to distribute among my friends, one of them returned the favour and sent me a piece of hers. It has not been a spectacular flower producer, but I am grateful for each shower of Hoya "stars" emerging from its stems. I do have better success bringing it into bloom than with other plants in my Hoya collection, and its blooming period is intermittent with flowering occurring sporadically throughout most of the year as opposed to being confined exclusively to spring or summer.

Pulled-Thread Sampler

Day 127: Yesterday, we examined hardanger, in which the threads of the foundation cloth are removed to form holes in the finished work. Pulled-thread embroidery is very similar, but for the most part, the threads of the even-weave fabric base are left intact. The working thread is pulled up tightly to create open areas in it. Here, several different stitches are displayed in a 48-count sampler. The three rows on the border have had threads removed, with the cut ends re-woven into the base cloth. However, the center has not and, in the execution of pulled-thread work, the route of the working thread must be planned with care to keep it from showing on the face of the needlework. More commonly seen than the lacework shown here, hemstitching is a very basic form of pulled-thread work.

Size Matters

Day 126: Hardanger embroidery came up in discussion with an internet friend a few days ago, a needleart I've not done much of since burning myself out on it producing pieces for display in a Scandinavian shop. It's an enjoyable pastime, although the repetitious nature of the blocks can be a bit tedious. The filler stitches were always the most fun for me, the intricate detail appealing to my creative muse. As they say, "size matters," and I've always preferred working with the finer threads regardless of the type of stitchery involved, and hardanger was no exception. It's most commonly done on coarser fabrics than the 22-count shown here with the acorn satin-stitch design, but typically Crow, I decided to go finer still and executed the gooseberry piece on some 44-count I had set aside for pulled-thread work. Since I could only see to work it with my glasses off and the fabric held inches from my face, you have no idea how many times I poked myself in the nose with the needle.

Art Imitating Nature

Day 125: I have my own pussywillow tree now, started from a slip nicked out of an abandoned city lot some twenty years back and now grown to a height of 15 feet, but during the era when I lived on one of southwest Washington's camas prairies, this iconic harbinger of spring was bloody hard to find. In prior years, it was my custom to cut a single branch to celebrate winter's passage, but when I moved to the prairie, most of the time I had to do without. In desperation, I decided to take matters into my own hands, literally. Equipping myself with copper wire, brown florists' tape and a package of silver-grey "deedly-balls," I counterfeited several twigs of our small native pussywillow, totally bogus but perennially in bloom. My living tree (a cultivated variety) has stouter stems and pointier catkins. Can you find the real one among the fakes?

Taking Turns

Day 124: We're taking turns, Skunk and I. While I'm sitting in the chair, I have the heating pad thrown over my injured shoulder, and when I get up, Skunk takes possession. Sometimes when I get too warm and she's on my lap, I'll lay it across her poor old arthritic hips. We seem to both be benefitting from the application of heat; at least she's been bouncier these last few days. I can't claim to be bouncy, but I'm able to raise my arm without howling. Little old ladies, the two of us, falling apart at the seams, finding comfort in shared warmth and companionship. Aging ain't a sport for wimps.

Border Security

Day 123: Whether clueless, curious or defiant, the number of people who think these signs do not apply to them have necessitated the stationing of a State Patrol officer at the junction of SR 706 and Hwy 7 in Elbe. I got out just fine, but in order to return home, I had to show identification before I was allowed up the road. SR 706 is a mess of limbs and trees fallen like jackstraws, downed power lines and work crews labouring valiantly to restore power and phone service to residents of the upper Nisqually Valley. Hwy 7 has its share of trees across the road, but the major obstacle there is an accident involving multiple semis which has yet to be fully cleared away. That said, my portion of the road is clear. My power has stayed on, although it's fluttered a few times (probably as crews change over the service from one line to another). I still have internet. And I have enough milk to last me into the next decade, thanks to Kevin and another friend who, lacking any connections, didn't get my morning message. A new supply of cat food has been laid in for the Fussy Eater, and my library book stack has been replenished. If the snow flies again as well it may, I'm ready.

Varied Thrush, Ixoreus Naevius

Day 122: We're back among the living! Shortly after breakfast, my power went out and my cell phone lost service. Kevin managed to call in on my land line, but almost immediately after he hung up, that went out as well. Power came back on a little over two hours later, but both phones remained dead. I settled in with a good book, taking a break mid-day to make chocolate chip cookies. The mail still hadn't arrived by three and I was getting anxious, sure that trees were down somewhere up the line. I kept checking in between chapters, but got engrossed in the plot for a longer stint and the next time I looked out the window there were two men in my driveway, shovelling snow. Huh? The one furthest away seemed youngish. The other was behind one of my trees, and when I caught a quick glimpse, I noticed several days' growth of whiskers before realizing that it was Kevin. He and his youngest son had come up with a "care package" of milk, soup and banana bread and a pair of heavy duty snow shovels. In half an hour, they'd cleared my driveway.

That said, both Kevin and another friend had tried reporting my phone outage to CenturyLink, the worst phone company in the world. Kevin was told that since it was my service, I would be the person who needed to report the outage. He insisted, "She can't report it because, as I keep telling you, her service is out!" I don't know that he ever got the point across to the moron on the other end of the line, but at 8:30 PM, I still didn't have phone. At 8:45 PM, it was back, bringing my internet with it. Those cheery chirps you're hearing aren't the Varied Thrushes. They're a happy Crow!

Enough Already!

Day 121: "Enough already!" Towhees' red eyes always make them look a little daft, but a foot of new snow is enough to push anybody over the edge. I misjudged the depth of last night's accumulation, and when I stepped into the yard to take out birdseed, I went in over the tops of my 12" wellies, filling both of them with snow which promptly turned into ice water. I'd had the foresight to take off my socks (it's a wrestling job to get the boots off unless I'm barefoot), so by the time I'd laid breakfast for the birdies, my feet were chilled through. And now it's snowing again, which means that my feathered friends are gobbling down the seed at a rapid pace. Maybe next time I go out, I'll put on my waders.

Round Two

Day 120: The first flakes of Round Two have begun to fall, and there are at least two more storms moving in, the strongest scheduled to arrive on Tuesday. Temps got above freezing for a few hours today, and if I'd had half the brains of a rutabaga, I would have run down to the grocery store for milk while the roads were bare and wet. Hindsight is always so much clearer than foresight! But I was intent on finishing a tatting project and let the moment slip away. It may be June before I have another chance. The good news is that the forecast now shows warmer overnight lows for the most part, still below freezing but a vast improvement on temps in the teens. I'm digging in, 'cuz there's no hope of digging out!

Snowpocalypse 2019

Day 119: I trust these guys' prognostications more than any forecast from NOAA or Cliff Mass, but in this instance, all three agree: it's gonna be a doozy. Snowpocalypse 2019 has barely begun and already I have eight inches of white in my yard. Predicted snowfall amounts vary from mere showers some days to  substantial accumulation on others, the general theme interspersed with periods of gusty winds and bitter nighttime temperatures. The wind is keeping snow from weighing down tree branches and power lines, a plus for me but a factor which deprives my little avian friends of the igloo-like protection of the contorted filbert. They're gobbling the calories as fast as I can lay out seed, the larger birds at three feeders (including the Thrushes) and a ground crew of juncos, sparrows and of course the Towhees who prefer to scratch for their dinner. I may not have bought enough milk to see me through to the melt, but I'm well stocked with bird seed.

A Taste Of Summer

Day 118: For several months now, I've been digging into the foods I put by from the garden, savouring each little taste of summer. Ten pints of frozen raspberries are gone, the last of them nibbled to keep a sore throat at bay. The last jar of canned plums is chilling in the fridge, and while I still have a dozen pints of apple chunks, I got a surprise when I pulled out a jar and discovered it was actually pears. Likewise, going through the freezer, I unearthed a cup of blueberries this morning, just enough for a batch of muffins. Only a handful of dried tomatoes remain to augment vegetable soup. With Snowpocalypse just now beginning outside my windows, summer reigns in my kitchen.

More Than One Way To Skein A Tat

Day 117: A little over two weeks ago, I showed you how to transfer the knot in shuttle tatting. Since most people think of tatting as being made with a shuttle and the transfer is where the most common error occurs, I thought it was a valuable lesson. Today I'd like to demonstrate an alternate method for producing those rings and chains. In other words, there's more than one way to skein a tat! I'm referring to needle-tatting

Faster, more consistent, almost foolproof, needle-tatting differs from shuttle tatting primarily in the fact that double-stitches and picots, whether in rings or chains, are almost always made with the ball thread. The thread which runs from the needle only provides the core for the knots. In the photo, you'll see a standard shuttle with a ring just made. Just to the left of the ring, you can see a chain in progress on a tatting needle. Some of the picots have been left open so that you can see how a length of thread is left unknotted in order to leave a small loop (the picot). When a sufficient number of stitches has been made, the needle is drawn through and the work is snugged up. An overhand knot is placed at the end of the chain to hold it in place, and then the work is continued, making the next stitches as the pattern requires.

Yes, you, in the back of the room, you have a question? "Why, if needle-tatting is faster, idiot-proof and more uniform, isn't it the preferred way to tat?" I'm glad you asked.

Because needle-tatting stitches are formed over a needle of a given diameter, the knots do not snug down as tightly against the core thread as they do in shuttle-tatting. This makes the work somewhat less stable, particularly when picots are being formed. The knots on either side of the single-strand picot tend to seek a balance, gradually working loose and causing the picot to disappear after several washings. To prevent this, when I close a ring or draw up a chain, I tug each picot a little tighter with a needle or my fingers to help stabilize it. It's rather a pain in the neck, but as a trade-off for being able to complete a doily in just a few days, I actually prefer to tat with a needle.

Desperately Seeking Protein

Day 116: A faint, dry sound registered subliminally, drawing my eyes to the big Doug fir at the corner of my front yard. I waited, standing as still as it is humanly possible to stand, and then in the deep shadow at the base of the tree, somewhat obscured by the branches of a minor shrub, a "piece of bark" moved, its toenails making the scratchy noise as it progressed around the tree. For the next ten minutes, a Northern Flicker (Red-Shafted Flicker) diligently probed the deep crevices in Big Doug's hide, always staying in the shadow. Then at last, the bird moved into the single brush-free spot of sun three feet up from the tree's base, rapping a few times, then gobbling down the insects raised by the vibration. At times, the Flicker's entire head would disappear from sight as it sought bugs deeper in the cracks. I was amazed that the bird's skull would fit into such a narrow opening. I wonder what's hatching, that it draws two insectivorous bird species to my yard on a biting-cold February day? It must be good, because the Thrushes were back in force again today after a 17-degree night, desperately seeking protein in the leaf litter.

A Flush Of Thrushes

Day 115: Yesterday evening, I noticed activity in the heavy cover at the base of the contorted filbert, but although I could see orange on the bird, it wasn't doing Spotted Towhee's customary hop-back/scratch maneuver. Nor did it act like a Robin. It was definitely digging furiously, with decaying leaf matter and gobs of snow being thrown about with vigour, so I got out the camera and zoomed in through the double-pane glass of my big window. "What the heck?" I blurted. "That's a frigging Thrush! It's too early for Thrushes!" But there it was, and as I watched it, another Thrush joined the first. I wrote them both off as mentally deficient. This morning, however, I discovered not one or two, but at least a dozen of them, some in the woods adjacent to the house, others again under the filbert. And they were piping, albeit rather faintly, as if they couldn't quite bear to draw a full breath of frosty air. Some insect must be hatching out in the leaf litter, both under the filbert and in the piles I made when I raked last fall. Having guest accommodations at the ready is important; you never know when someone may drop by for an unseasonal visit.

Shelter In Place

Day 114: Following Mr. Towhee's advice, I am sheltering in place, not even going out for groceries although I discovered yesterday that I'm down to my last half dozen Red Rose tea bags. 'Sokay, I have some herbals I should use up, and I'm well stocked for coffee. That said, if you're a bird, food is a priority regardless of the weather. Towhee and friends are making quick forays to the feeders, then retreating to the relatively snow-free core of the contorted filbert. The tangled branches provide protection not only from predators, but also from the weather. If you're snowed in, you might want to think about making a few bird-sized holes in the snow/ice covering your shrubs. The little guys will appreciate your efforts.

Let It Snow!

Day 113: Here in the Pacific Northwest, it's not uncommon for NOAA to predict snow right up 'til the last minute and then revise the forecast to rain, but this time, it looks like it may actually materialize. And I'll be glad to see it, even if it does restrict any plans I might have had for going to the store. I won't drive if there's snow on the ground unless there's a medical need (cats or me). That said, we're short on the white stuff here. Other than a very light dusting in November and a few sloppy flakes which didn't stick in early December, we've had no snow at all. Even at Longmire, there isn't much. When I was at work last week, it was only patchy on the ground. At higher altitudes, there's less than there should be, and this worries me. Certain plant species count on a period of total darkness to rest bulbs or prepare seeds for germination. When the snow pack is low, the light transmitted through it can be enough to prevent those species from sprouting the following summer. Of course, other factors figure into the equation for a "good" wildflower year as well and, when poor conditions combine, the wildflower season suffers. So let it snow! For the sake of the high meadows, I can do without that bottle of milk.

Hairpin Crochet

Day 112: Here's a craft not often seen nowadays: hairpin crochet. Done on a smaller scale, it's known as hairpin lace, but you'd be hard put to find a staple (aka "loom" or "fork") of a size suitable for anything finer than sport yarn on today's market. Originally made on real hairpins using fine-gauge threads, the modern version generally uses an adjustable staple and yarn. I own two set-width staples (1" and 1.5", the latter in use here) as well as an adjustable model which makes strips up to 4" wide. Work begins with a loop of yarn knotted in the open center of the fork. The fork is then given a half turn and a single crochet is made through the top loop on the left side (opposite for left-handers). The fork is given another half turn, another single crochet is made, and the work continues in the same manner until the desired number of loops has been achieved. When the strip is complete, it is secured and removed from the staple. A second strip is made, and can be joined to the first in a number of different ways depending on the desired effect. For a simple scarf in sport-weight yarn, draw loops through each other three at a time for a "braided" look (photo). Hairpin can be used for afghans, doilies, edgings or even garments. Different crochet stitches can be used to achieve a more textured appearance to the centers of the strips, or beads can be added if desired.

Sanderlings From Hell

Day 111: As a 1500-piece jigsaw, my friend Patty's photo titled "Sanderlings on the Rocks" is without debate the most difficult puzzle I've ever put together. It didn't take me long to subtitle it "Sanderlings from Hell." The largest single section I was able to assemble consisted of no more than 18 pieces. The rest had to go in one piece at a time solely by shape because there was very little colour variation between rocks and birds. Even with it finished and on the table, I don't think I could make an accurate count of Sanderlings. Some have their heads under their wings, and I swear some of the rocks have legs. There were some tense moments when I was convinced one or more pieces were missing; in fact, as late as last night when I had fewer than 100 pieces left to go, there was a line of three I simply could not find. I eventually got them by trying to fit in every remaining piece, one at a time. What a great puzzle!