First Chanterelle

Day 322: There has not been much moisture and it is very early in the season, but nevertheless, I tucked a perhaps-bag in my kit and set out yesterday morning on a four-mile walk to check a Chanterelle spot I discovered a couple of years ago. I honestly didn't expect to find any, given the circumstances, and thus was surprised when I found a button. Ordinarily, I'd have left it to grow, but my taste buds have been nagging me for wild mushrooms, and a quick scan of my immediate surroundings revealed enough additional buttons for a small bowl of soup. Having not yet had lunch, the decision to collect them was made by my stomach, not my head. There will be more, of this I am certain. The soup was delicious.

Soft Light

Day 321: With clouds on the eastern horizon, the soft light of early morning provided an opportunity to photograph the Cosmos. I prefer to shoot in natural light, often using a tripod to obtain a long exposure, and sunlight, although something of a rarity in the Pacific Northwest, makes for "hot spots" on light-coloured flowers. My camera is less sensitive to red and purples than I'd like, but I find I get truer tones when there is a slight overcast even though the greens appear somewhat duller. Now as for the pinkness of these particular Cosmos, they may be volunteers from past years. The package I bought this year was supposed to be yellow and orange shades, and a shorter variety. I am beginning to have reservations about buying any more seed from the company I normally use. Germination rates have been very low for their products over the last several years, and this is not the first time the variety has not been true to the description. It may be time to move on.

A Pressing Need

Day 320: My needs are pressing these days, and I am grateful to a former Park volunteer for the gift of his plant press. "I think you'll get more use out of it than I will," he said as he handed it to me, and indeed I have flattened my share of vegetative matter in it, much of which was destined for the Park's herbarium. However, my most recent finds have been outside the Park and from areas where taking specimens is in no way restricted. In fact, some came from my own yard! The three currently contained within the press will be sent to WTU (otherwise known as the Burke Herbarium): Origanum vulgare, Ambrosia artemisiifolia and Galeopsis tetrahit (shown above). When making a voucher specimen, the plant should be arranged to show as much of its morphology as possible. Some leaves should be turned over so the reverse can be seen. If it is in flower, the blossom should be carefully opened out to show the structures inside, taking care not to tear or distort tissues. If possible, a root should be included. It takes weeks or sometimes months for specimens to dry fully. It's a lengthy process, but the plant can be mounted when needs are not quite so pressing.

Baltic Inkling

Day 319: Long-time followers might possibly recall Crow's Project Rule which states that I may not have more than one project piece of any specific type of fiber art in construction simultaneously. There is some flexibility in the Rule when it comes to weaving because there are so many different techniques by which a cloth can be manufactured. At the moment, I have a lap throw on the floor loom, a scarf on a rigid heddle, and this Baltic-style band on the inkle. The floor loom is operated by my feet. The rigid heddle requires much arm/shoulder motion, and the threads on the inkle are largely manipulated by my hands. I prefer to have this variety so that I can change up the physical stressors as well as the mental focus necessary for each style of weaving. To me, they qualify as "different," if not perhaps as different as knitting is from crochet, even though they all fall within the category of "weaving." Baltic patterns such as this one demand a heavier single or a doubled thread for the design floats. These pattern threads are raised from below or pushed down from the upper warp layer as needed. The back side (visible in the lower background in the image on the left) is often as attractive as the charted design.

Eye Of The Tiger

Day 318: Have you ever really looked at a flower? There's nothing quite like botany to bring your focus to bear on the intricacies of a plant, but apart from the compelling urge to slap a Latin name on a specific species or subspecies, you don't need to know all the technical terms to appreciate the fine details in a blossom. Marigold "Tiger Eyes" could go a long way to raise your awareness levels. This one-inch flower is exquisite. Massed, it's lovely as a bedding plant, but look more closely at the individual. Observe the fringe on each petal of the disk flowers, note the dainty orange edge on the rays. Flip one over. Surprise! It's orange on the back. Look deeply into the centers of the disk flowers, imagine yourself as a bee searching for the sweet nectar hidden deeply within. Think about how the petals' furled and ruffled shapes hold the precious moisture of rain or dew, capturing and channeling it so that it drops to the soil at the base of the plant. I guarantee that if you take a closer look, you'll never think of Marigolds in quite the same light again.

Snap Shots

Day 317: I've planted an assortment of annuals in my flower beds over the years, and as most of us are wont to do, I've unintentionally allowed them to re-seed themselves, ensuring a succession of "volunteers." Some have proved to be bothersome. It took me several years to eliminate the last of the Lobelia, a plant which is fine massed in hanging baskets, but rather annoying when it pops up elsewhere. Likewise, marigolds are nice along a border, but have a tendency to turn up where you least want them to be. Snapdragons are another story. Who doesn't love snaps? I would prefer the low types to the tall ones, but that lanky, lemony one in the middle makes such a bright and cheerful addition that I've given it permission to seed to its heart's content in a spot where nothing else seems to want to grow.

Horticultural Achievement

Day 316: After struggling for five years to find an effective method for rooting a slip from my contorted filbert, I discovered this last spring that I had succeeded with one soil-layering out of a dozen. I potted it up and buried the pot up to its rim in the front flower bed where I could keep a close eye on my baby. I watched as it put on buds, and as they matured into leaves, I was convinced I'd succeeded at long last. And then I committed an egregious sin: I forgot all about it. We went through a blistering hot spell with temperatures over 100 degrees. I watered, but did I check to see if it needed special protection? No. In fact, I didn't think about the poor little thing until a few days ago, and then only as an afterthought when I was pulling weeds. Hidden behind other foliage, it almost escaped my notice even then. It's had all summer to develop a strong root system, and given what it's been through, it seems determined to survive. Next spring, I'll plant it in its permanent location. And I'll check on the next dozen who will have had their joints pinned under the soil for a year.

Origanum Vulgare, Wild Marjoram

Day 314: As much as I appreciate being able to botanize in my own back yard, I do wish that my finds would be native species as opposed to introduced ones. While Origanum vulgare (Wild Marjoram) is not considered a serious invasive, it is nevertheless a weed, an escapee from cultivation and therefore undesirable. You might wonder why non-native species are problematic when they don't threaten to take over the world by monoculture. A major issue is that they draw pollinators which should be working elsewhere to keep native populations viable. Bees, bugs and birds are like humans. They will most likely choose a tasty food over a healthful one if the healthful one is less appealing. I mean, who can fault a child who prefers ice cream to spinach? Pollinators are no different, and although we may not fully understand their tastes or what makes one food source more attractive than another, they do exhibit preferences. Not all non-native species carry the same drawing power, and thus are less likely to become serious pests. However, weeds are often stronger or more resilient than native species and may still crowd them out over time. In any case, non-native species are the junk food of the pollinator's world, and while the B's (bugs, bees and birds) are visiting them and helping them to proliferate, native species are being neglected.

Pollinator At Work

Day 314: This year as last, I will owe a debt of gratitude to the dozens of Anna's Hummingbirds who are busily pollinating my Heritage raspberries. They seem to prefer them to any other plant in the yard, even the Hardy Fuchsias which are one of their favourites. They flit from perches in the contorted filbert and mountain-ash, navigating through the tangle of leaves and vines with ease, reaching even the blossoms in the middle of the raspberry jungle. They are pure joy to watch at their industry, and I will remember their labours long into the winter months when I pull raspberries from my freezer.

Crow, Queen Of Weeds

Day 313: Just call me "Queen of Weeds." Yep, got another one. However, you might notice that these photos were shot using my velvet "studio background" as opposed to in a natural setting. Nevertheless, the plant was alive at the time. Punchline? It was in my yard. It popped up under one of my bird feeders one day, close enough to my flower bed that I only glanced at the foliage and assumed it to be a stray Cosmos, but as the plant grew taller and a few Cosmos volunteers started appearing in the garden, I was less convinced. I decided I'd let it stay until I could identify it, thinking to do so from its flowers. At three feet tall (still paralleling the Cosmos), cone-shaped heads began to form. "Nope, that is definitely not a Cosmos," said I, and set to work to put a name on it. As luck would have it, it turned out to be Common Ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia), a weed whose pollen causes allergic reactions in a large number of people. I suspect that it was inadvertently included in commercial bird seed and subsequently rejected by a discriminating diner. And to think I'd been so tenderly cultivating it! At least I managed to dig it out before it bloomed and set seed.

Double Experiment

Day 312: While in the realm of science, it would be bad form to conduct two simultaneous experiments on a single subject, my experience as a fiber artist is sufficient that I felt I could predict the outcome of one with a tolerable level of accuracy, to wit, using a variable dent reed for the first time on my rigid heddle loom. The reed is designed to accommodate two or more different weights of warp thread in the same piece, but there are limitations. The sections are a fixed width, so a little extra planning is required. I had 136 yards of heavier cotton thread which I wanted to use up, plus two balls of lighter weight space-dyed cotton with one shade which matched that of the heavier cotton. Consultation with a pocket calculator told me I could make a 6' scarf with two bands of the heavier thread separated by a wider band of space-dyed thread in addition to outer bands of the same space-dyed thread plus a heavier selvedge. However, I wanted to maximize the space-dyed thread to create a "painted" look, i.e., I wanted to warp it so that the colour changes more or less matched up to make a transition zone between the four hues in the thread. For weft, I had two choices: lavender or Pacific blue. I opted for Pacific blue, hopefully allowing the blue-green areas of the scarf to dominate. That was the second experiment, and I am happy to report that it worked out as planned. The effect is subtle and pleasing to the eye.

Six Of One, Half Dozen Of The Other

Day 311: Because I am a small person, I like small things: cherry tomatoes, for example. I grow bite-sized Sungolds not only for their shorter growing period, but for their convenient consumability. For the same reason, I was enchanted by the idea of Mexican Sour Gherkins, a miniature cucumber which could easily be fobbed off in a Barbie-doll diorama as a seedless watermelon. Yep, what you see in this photo are fully ripe cukes, and "sour" is something of a misnomer. They have a slight tang to their crisp white flesh and a flavour which is vaguely reminiscent of the aforementioned melon's transition zone from pink to white which, as we all know, is the part used in making watermelon pickles. And let me tell you, that plant produces! It has climbed the tower, advanced outward to the fence and is busily making dozens, perhaps hundreds of little bitty cucumbers. I'm not sure enough will be ripe simultaneously for me to harvest them for pickles (there might be, if I could stop eating them), but next year, I plan to grow more expressly for that purpose.

Mönsterhoppor

Day 310: "Mönsterhoppor." It looks like the name of a rock band, but it means "floating threads," according to the instructions which came with the specialized Stoorstålka heddle which makes weaving traditional Sámi bands much easier than using the good old-fashioned pick-up method. I have to admit it's faster, but each Stoorstålka heddle is designed to hold a specific number of floating threads, and acquiring a full collection would be cost-prohibitive. There are a few draft variations possible within each warping, and of course changing up the colours would give each band a personalized touch, but by and large, the range of patterns possible with any particular heddle are quite limited. While the apparatus could be installed on a rigid-heddle loom to allow the weaver to work while sitting in a chair, I prefer using the backstrap method so that I can work standing up. Traditionally, the weaving is done with wool. However, I am using cotton so that I can apply the bands to pieces which are intended to be fully washable, e.g., fingertip towels where they will give a nice weight to the hem.

The Hearts Of The Forest

Day 309: My heart is in the forest, and if you should doubt that, here is proof in multiple. I had stopped to photograph the guttation droplets being exuded by the fungus as it rid itself of excess moisture following a showery night, but as I viewed the scene through the lens, I noticed that it was heart-shaped. It took a while longer before the Oxalis leaves registered as trios of hearts, I suppose because I'm not one of those people who can readily see galloping horses, elephants or letters of the alphabet in clouds. Only recently as I've pursued watercolour painting have I learned to mute the analytical portion of my brain to let its artistic side express itself. It's not that I lack imagination. It's that I prefer to quantify things with the measurements and details which hopefully will lead me to a Latin name. For now, though, I will choose to interpret these hearts in the forest as a gift, a token of love from Mother Earth.

Galeopsis Tetrahit, Common Hempnettle

Day 308: For all of its name being "Common Hempnettle," Galeopsis tetrahit was not known to occur in Pierce County until yesterday morning. Yep, I found it while I was out for a walk. The "up" side of this story is that I can add another check mark to my growing tally of rare and unusual plant sightings. The "down" side is that this one is a weed, and an invasive one at that. However, it also provided me with an opportunity to submit a voucher specimen to the Burke Herbarium, the first one I have ever made for WTU. As I once told Arnie, it's against my religion to pluck a plant from the wild, but in the case of an invasive, I'll make an exception. I made a second trip out to collect it, and it is currently drying in my plant press. What I had not realized until it was too late was that the plant was in seed. As I dug it out, it released dozens of them onto the ground. I'll need to monitor this site for the next several years to ensure that Galeopsis doesn't take hold in the county.

Trail Hazards

Day 307: I hadn't gone twenty feet past the trailhead before I said, "Okay, that does it. I need a spider stick." A sure sign that summer is drawing to a close, silken threads criss-cross the path every few feet these mornings, and even a short walk can leave a hiker feeling as if they are gowned in gossamer. Some webs are single strands. Others are nets to rival those of fishermen. However, these snares are often inhabited, their occupants deftly camouflaged against the light and shadow of the forest. My first encounter today was a full-on face splat, and out of the corner of my eye as the web pulled from its anchors, I saw the spider on a short tether. Morris-dancers might have thought I was practicing a hanky dance with invisible hankies for the contortions which next ensued. I passed through a hundred yards of forest before my next entanglement, having seen and removed several with the aforementioned spider stick which I was wielding like a fencer, but when I came into a brighter opening, the webs were spaced no more than three feet apart for a distance of 200 feet or so. It was there I spotted these two (fortunately in time to avoid them): a female and her mate, the latter attempting to engage his partner only to be repelled by her savage attacks. I laid down my short-handled spider stick and went for a longer twig because it was clear to me that this pair was plainly irksome and not in the mood for visitors. I can't recall a time when I've been more happy to have my feet on pavement than when I finally reached the end of the trail.

A Rugged Rug

Day 305: The rag rug is finished, and unlike commercially-produced rag rugs, this is a Rugged Rug, meant to withstand years of use. The coloured weft is hand-twisted from two lengths of quilting scraps, plied together as rag rope. While not board-stiff, this rug definitely will not flop over on itself when lifted by a careless toe. It will not trip you. It is heavy. It will stay in place with no need of latex backing or a non-slip mat. Every pick was beaten firmly into place until the fabric cordage was even more compacted against its companions, resulting in a durable, washable rug which will probably outlast its creator. With planned obsolescence the default for modern products, if you want quality and permanence, do as I do: make it yourself.

Huernia Zebrina

Day 305: Huernia zebrina (aka Lifesaver Plant) is a star performer among my houseplants. From tip to tip, its blossom measures a full inch and a half. The "lifesaver" in its center is 3/4" across. It blooms sporadically but reliably, coming into flower several times a year. As with my assortment of Christmas cacti, it is moved from the plant shelf in the loom room to a place of honour in my living space when it feels like putting on a display, but sometimes it sneaks a flower in on its window-facing side which I fail to notice until it has faded. This one took me by surprise when I rotated the pot during a watering.

Broken Dawn

Day 304: Dawn is broken. It does not rise golden to push back the night. It does not cast its lengthy rays across meadow and slope to wake the flowers and the creatures who live amongst them, and rather than dispelling gloom, it brings it as a heavy cloud of despair to settle on those beneath its glaring, fire-reddened eye. Dawn is not breaking; it is broken, shattered by humanity's carelessness and greed. Like a china plate fallen from a fireplace mantle to the flagstones of the hearth, it might be that it can be glued back together, but it will never be the same.

Goldenseal Berry

Day 303: The Goldenseal plant (Hydrastis canadensis) puts all its energies into producing two leaves and one clustered, berry-like fruit. It takes four to five years for it to reach this stage, so its increasing rarity is easy to understand when you think of greedy collectors and gatherers trampling through northern forests in search of its golden roots. Thirty years ago, Goldenseal was more common, and in fact, there were a few small-scale growers who made starts available to the general public. I was fortunate to be able to score two which I gave a loving home in a shady cool location where previously, buttercups had grown in profusion. The two have the same habitat preferences. With years of care and continued buttercup removal, I now have a narrow bed of Goldenseal measuring roughly 15 square feet from which I judiciously harvest only the tips of the leaves to brew for three or four pots of healthful tea each year. The berries, with their promise of future seedlings and Goldenseal generations to come, are too precious to pick.

Milkweed, Second Year

Day 302: The Barren Wasteland was getting out of hand, so early this spring, I weeded out the undesirables (frequently distributed in so-called area-specific wildflower mixes) to make room for other plants. I do not recall relocating any milkweeds. In fact, I do not remember seeing any milkweeds at all despite having attempted to establish them several times. Yet in addition to the ones I started from seed this year (now all of six inches tall), I seem to have two specimens, each standing at least three feet high. Will I get flowers and pods? If in fact, this is second-year growth and not some particularly vigorous first-year seedlings, they should come into bloom this season. I see no evidence of bud formation, however. Could these be from seed I had planted previously and which has lain dormant for several years? Whatever the answer may be to that question, I am happy to announce the presence of milkweed in the Barren Wasteland.

Jack Loom

Day 301: The rag rug project is proving to be a bit more labour-intensive than I'd anticipated, but that's not actually a Bad Thing. It keeps me entertained. The floor loom is currently occupied by a summer-and-winter piece (halfway done!), so I brought my small Schacht loom out of hiding and set it up on a card table. Due to issues with a repaired shoulder, I find it easiest to operate the jacks while standing at the table rather than sitting, not that I'd get much "sitting" done for as frequently as the weaving space is taken up by the heavy twisted weft. At most, I can squeeze in eight throws before I have to advance the warp, but this is also a Good Thing because the rag rope is so thick that it is almost impossible to pass a shuttle through the shed. Instead, I twist 8-12 feet, weave it, wind it onto the front roller, and then settle into my chair to twist another dozen feet or so. The weft must be packed tightly, and in lieu of the traditional wooden beater, I'm using a 4" afro pick, working my way across the weft after each pass. Suffice to say I'm getting a variety of physical exercise out of this weaving, and the quilting leftovers make for a bright and cheery rug.

Townsend Two-fer

Day 300: It goes without saying that I'm probably trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon, but for the past four or five years, I have been steadily relocating squirrels and chipmunks from my yard to habitats where they can't get in nearly as much trouble. That said, I have never caught a "two-fer" before. I don't know who was more surprised, me or my two Townsend captives. They were transported several miles up the road, released into a welcoming forest and when I got home, I had no sooner reset the trap than another one of the cheeky little buggers showed up under the bird feeder. Sigh. You just can't win.

Non-Stop Garden News

Day 299: The Garden News (hardy fuchsia) is Non-Stop (begonia) now, showcasing an assortment of grand openings and special features. The hummingbirds are having a heyday, unsure which flower to visit first. The hot weather did most of my annuals in, but the perennials (at least the ones I've chosen) have learned tricks to ensure their personal survival. When I first began tending flower beds, I planted annuals heavily, and although I never really pursued a particular colour scheme, each year had its dominant hue. My mother's assertion was that perennials would ensure a performance of some sort year after year. I finally came around to her way of thinking, convinced by a succession of peonies and delphiniums which argued strongly for her logic. Now I look forward to the return of those spots of dependable, reliable colour, and as a bonus, the Rufous and Anna's Hummingbirds have marked the waypoint of my property with their internal GPS.

Figs For Winter

Day 298: My first attempt at fig jam was, if not exactly a total failure, definitely not what I had intended. I had studied a variety of recipes and, being lazy, opted to go with one which used commercial pectin. Even though I measured the amounts of figs and sugar carefully, I wound up with a product only slightly thicker than syrup as a result of the proportions not being correct for the ripeness of the figs. This is a fairly common occurrence when using pectin to set jams made with apricots, peaches, figs or other low-acid fruit. After giving the jam 48 hours to set, I decided to remake it using the old-fashioned reduction method, i.e., boiling it down. However, I had at least another gallon of ripe, fresh figs in the refrigerator which needed immediate processing, so I decided to dehydrate them. I blanched them first to soften the skins, then cut them in half. They filled all eight trays of my 50-year old Harvest Maid dehydrator to capacity! At 135 degrees (the recommended temperature), they took a little over 50 hours to dry to a chewy state. Because they still contain some moisture, I've packed them in containers to be frozen for enjoying this coming winter. Meanwhile, I turned a third of the failed jam into a delicious thick and spreadable fig butter, supplemented with frozen figs from last year's harvest.

Fruits Of My Labours

Day 297: Much needed rain has fallen overnight, the first since the last day of June. The pluviometer registered 0.01" one dewy morning in July, perhaps weighted by a spider which had set up housekeeping in the idle drain. The garden is grateful for the moisture, as am I. A native to the Pacific Northwest, my nerves wear raw when they are compelled to endure hot temperatures and bright sunlight for any length of time. As I entered the Berry Pen through the kiwi-vine covered archway, a shower of cold beads fell on my head and shoulders, streaked my glasses, shattered on my exposed arms foretelling of autumn and its promised harvest of Sungold tomatoes and miniature cucumbers, benevolent drops whose touch was as welcome on my skin as on the foliage of my vegetables. Rain! Real rain! If I didn't have neighbours, I'd dance naked in it.

Twinberry Fruit And Flower

Day 296: Anybody want to hazard a guess as to why Lonicera involucrata's common name is "Twinberry?" I'll give you bonus points if you can name another common Lonicera, and you can win the grand prize if you can tell me the botanical term for the paired bracts immediately below the flowers/berries. Arnie, you'll have to be disqualified on the grounds of your professional standing. Sorry 'bout that.

This set of images has been a long time coming. For many years, the ripening of the berries served to remind me that I had forgotten to look for the yellow flowers in the spring. When I finally did get a photo of the paired flowers, I was deterred from going out to look for the twinned berries by the pandemic. You may notice that each tubular blossom has its own individual ovary ("inferior," i.e., at the base of the flower, as opposed to being inside the petals, "superior"). These ovaries are cupped by a pair of bracts (the involucre) which turns red later in the season, setting off the glossy black of the berries to best advantage. The fruit of this Honeysuckle relative is not poisonous, but neither is it desirable as a food. Birds and bears have been known to consume the berries, although they are not considered a primary food source for any species. However, Lonicera involucrata is shrubby, providing shelter and protection from predators for birds and small mammals.

While I Was Out...

Day 295: With gas priced at $4.09/gallon, I have to make any trip out count for as much as possible these days. On my way to harvest figs yesterday, I stopped by a city park to do an invasive plant patrol. After recording 21 instances in 40 acres, I still had time left, and filled it by walking an additional mile through a wetland area for a second survey. At the second location, I found Jewelweed (above) well on its way to establishing monocultures covering at least 10,000 square feet. Both sites are administered by city governments which have understandably tight maintenance budgets, but I have to wonder: where are the volunteers who would love to engage in weed-pulling? I work with several other groups with robust volunteer programs, so am baffled by why these city governments can't get teams together. Their laxity in controlling invasive species on their properties is allowing them to spread into the community where they will be much harder to eradicate.

Figgerin' It Out

Day 294: I think I've got it figgered out. Some of them will be eaten out of the hand. Some will be turned into jam, and others will be reduced to fig leather, and some may even be dried. Along with raspberries, I'm of the mind that figs are something you can never have too many of, although you might be inclined to consume too many when they come on with a flourish. These came from a friend's tree, along with enough frozen ones to fill a large cooler. The variety is Desert King, hardy here in the Pacific Northwest, and obviously quite productive, given the proper care. My own four-foot tree has yet to produce a single fig, so I am grateful for being allowed a share of Karen's harvest. Her tree is about 25 years old, fifteen feet tall and at least that wide. We barely put a dent in the number of figs on its boughs. Cooler weather is coming, so Thursday and Friday are allotted for figgering how best to preserve them, given the current shortage of canning lids in stores.

Update 8/4: Although it may firm up over the next few days, I don't think I got a good set on my first batch of jam. Consequently, the remainder of the fresh figs are now in the dehydrator, eight full trays. The frozen figs can wait for cooler weather.

Making Rag Rope

Day 293: First, I'm going to give you a tidbit of generational wisdom which was handed down to me by my mother who learned it from my grandmother. In their respective eras, products were not as readily available as they are today. Many items were repurposed after they had outlived their original uses, giving rise to the old saw, "Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without." It is a philosophy I embrace, and it goes without saying that the world would be better off without the overabundance of single-use disposables we see today.

Now enter the sewing stash, and mind how you open the door to that cupboard lest you find yourself caught in a fabric avalanche. Anyone who sews experiences this dilemma to some degree. Trimmings from the cutting table are too long, too big to be thrown away. They go in a box (possibly labelled "quilting scraps" as mine is), in a drawer, in a trunk. The pile grows with each garment made. The more ambitious members of our unofficial guild of hoarders make quilts; our closets are full of quilts, our friends have quilts, and still the seams threaten to burst on our drawers, boxes and cupboards. Oh, whatever can we do to relieve the pressure? How about making some rag rope? It's easy, it's a mindless occupation (you can do it while watching TV), and it opens up a new chapter in our mental Big Book of Projects.

To start with, you're going to need strips of fabric. How many? Enough for your project. I'm planning to use this hank for a woven rag rug, but you could just as easily turn it into a basket, a washable shopping bag, rustic mats to put under hot dishes on your dinner table. For my rug, however, I will need roughly 100 yards. I turned out 12 yards yesterday, in between all the other things I was doing. So, assuming that you're going to make a rug (woven, braided or sewn), cut your strips approximately 1.5" wide. If some of your fabrics are lighter than others, cut those strips slightly wider. Tie or sew the ends of two strips together as a starting point. Let's go!

Step 1: pinch and hold your starting point, then take one of the strips and give it a few turns AWAY from you (the direction is important, so listen up). You can do this by engaging a finger about four inches from the pinch point, and yes, your finger is probably going to get trapped a few times before you get the hang of this motion. Once you have the twists made, you're ready for Step 2: bring the twisted strip TOWARD you so that your second strip is now in the upper position. Reposition your pinch point to hold the twist in place. Step 3 is essentially a repeat of Step 1 using the other fabric strip, and likewise, Step 4 is a repeat of Step 2. Completion of the four steps will bring you back to your original position. You can make your twists looser or tighter depending on your project preferences. New strips can be added in several ways. I prefer to overlap the ends by an inch, fold them together and take a few stitches through all layers to secure them. If raw edges or the occasional sight of the reverse side of a print offend your obsessive-compulsive nature, you could fold and press the strips to minimize their occurrence. I'm not that particular. After all, this is a rag project and should have a "homegrown" feel.

Hardy Beauty

Day 292: Given the wide variety of hardy Fuchsias available, I find it hard to imagine why anyone with garden space would bother with the annuals. Even with winter temperatures here dropping into single digits almost every year, all but one of mine have survived with no mulching or additional protection. While the types with smaller, slender flowers are what most people think of when you say "hardy Fuchsia" (assuming that they don't respond immediately with, "There's no such thing!"), the large-flowered cultivars offer a range of colour combinations equal to that of their annual cousins. That said, hardiness and hue seem to be linked (at least in my observations), with the lighter shades being somewhat more tender than the good old pink-and-purple sort such as "Army Nurse" (bottom) and "Riccartonii" (top). If left to their own designs, many varieties can attain the size of a small shrub. I keep mine pruned to manageable dimensions. They flower on both new and old wood, so pruning is simply a matter of taking out stems which have become too leggy or woody. Spare your budget! Chuck the annuals and plant some hardy Fuchsias in your garden next year.