Tvistsöm

Day 48: What accounts for the popularity of some forms of needlework over others? While tvistsöm is really just a long-armed version of cross-stitch and almost as easy to work, it has never achieved the same distinction as its cousin. It gives a more highly textured appearance owing to the fact that it is always worked in one direction (left to right or right to left depending on your handedness), with the work being turned at the end of each row. Individual rows look braided; side-by-side, they resemble cables. It is a very dense stitch when worked with the correct weight thread, allowing "tails" to be concealed on the front of the work. The back, therefore, is much tidier than that resulting from cross-stitch, and what's not to like about that? Here, I am working tvistsöm on a handwoven table runner with clustered warps. The fabric is not the even-weave on which one would normally work tvistsöm, and I found that I got the best results when working the rows on the length of the cloth rather than its width. It is necessary to treat each three-thread warp cluster (where the yellow floats appear) as a "pair" of threads in order to keep the stitches equal to those in the tabby sections. Where single stitches occur in a tvistsöm pattern, they are worked as cross-stitches.

Spotted Towhee

Day 47: Although Spotted Towhees are resident in my yard year-'round, nothing brings them out of hiding like a snowfall. And such busy little things they are, darting here and there faster than I can bring the camera into focus. They are primarily ground feeders, scratching for seeds and insects with a peculiar backwards hop which captures debris in their front talons and sets it flying behind them in a shower. They use the same technique to dig through snow, and often mine down to bare soil beneath the feeders in the hopes of finding seed scattered from overhead. Why not dine from a whole tray of black-oil sunflower seed when it is readily available? Bird species which eat insects as a principle component of their diet also incline toward searching for seed on the ground. Those which primarily consume nuts, seeds and fruit are more likely frequent raised feeding stations.

Snowjays

Day 46: A light snow fell overnight, and the birds roused early for breakfast. Steller's Jays, Towhees, Juncoes, Chickadees and those brave Anna's Hummingbirds who overwinter here now were all out at first light to check the assorted feeding stations. The suet feeder predictably drew the greatest number of patrons, with even the Juncoes changing their diets to a high-fat regime. Every calorie counts on mornings like this, and I know that if I'm tardy with serving seconds, someone is bound to knock on the window to remind me. Not all my "yard birds" are clever enough to equate the person behind the glass with food, but the Chickadees most certainly know, and so do the hummers. Is there telepathy at work when I can sense a hummingbird staring at the back of my head? Having lived around a number of different non-human species throughout my life, I am convinced it's so. In fact, I think they sometimes wonder why they're not getting through to people, humans having lost the ability to project their thoughts in communication. We've stepped too far away from Nature to use the gift which birds and cats employ.

What's Cookin' Now?

Day 45: Oh my! What's going on in Crow's kitchen now? If you guessed cranberry-orange marmalade, you'd be right. Second only to gooseberry jam, this is one of my favourites, but marmalades are more labour-intensive, so it's been several years since I made any. Those last two or three jars in the cupboard kept insisting, "You're not supposed to archive us!" but it's always hard for me to use the very last of anything. I haven't done much canning this year, so I decided it was time to replenish the pantry. I picked up all the ingredients this morning, and have the hard part of the job done already. A while back, I discovered a slick trick for taking the peels off the citrus without getting too much of the white pulp underneath. I use a potato peeler! It cuts the exact width I prefer for my "shred" (the bits of peel which are a characteristic of marmalade), and it's easy to stack three or four to slice into fine pieces. But then there's the problem of getting the white pulp off the outside of the segments. It's harder to do when you don't have a fleshy peel to use for leverage. In any event, the peels and fruit are now simmering to tenderize, and I'll be jamming tomorrow!

Cranberry-orange Marmalade
Remove the peel from 2 oranges and 2 lemon with a potato peeler. Cut peels into tiny strips. Remove and discard the pulp from the citrus fruits. Break apart, removing seeds and any fibrous bits. Grind the fruit in a food processor, leaving it a bit chunky. Add 1 1/2 cups of water and 1/8 tsp. baking soda to the fruit and peels. Bring to a boil and simmer, covered, for 20 minutes. Add 2 pounds of fully ripe cranberries. Return the fruit to a boil and simmer for an additional 15 minutes. This can be done in advance (like, the day before).

Measure 5 cups of fruit into a large saucepan. Add 6 1/2 cups sugar and a smalll pat of butter to prevent foaming. Stir to combine. Bring to a rolling boil, and boil for one minute. Remove from heat and stir in 1 packet of Certo liquid pectin. Allow to cool for 10 minutes, stirring often to prevent floating fruit. Pour into sterilized half-pint jars (8-9), seal and process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes.

Population Explosion

Day 44: They say you should be careful what you wish for. There was a time when I had no Chickadees in my yard. A few years back, one paid a very brief visit and I was utterly overjoyed. Of course having the contorted filbert to provide them a safe zone was probably a major factor, but it wasn't long before I had two 'dee-dees, then three, then half a dozen. For the last two years (maybe three), the Chestnut-Backed have been more than willing to sit in the palm of my hand to enjoy their lunch. The Black-Cappeds aren't as brave. Brave? Brazen is a better word for the Chessies. Just now as I went out to take this photo, one landed on the clothesline across the back steps, a mere six inches from my face. And cussed me out for being slow with the food! This year, the population has exploded. I must have at least three dozen, and the chorus of "Dee-dee-dee! Dee-dee-dee!" is almost deafening when they all come at once and begin clamouring for seed. What music it is to my spirit, this chorus sung by my winter friends!

Leftovers

Day 43: You may recall from a post I made two weeks ago that I was worried I was going to run out of one of the purples in a counted cross-stitch kit, and that I expressed a negative opinion of kits in general due to the fact that many of them seem to always run short of one or more colours. I have only one four-inch line of backstitch to do before the piece is complete, so I have brought together all the leftovers to make my point. What you see in the background in this photo is the excess, colours for which the company supplied an overabundance. In the foreground, however, the needle holds the very last fragment of purple #14223 which predictably does not match any of the standard brands of embroidery floss on the market. That said, it was enough for all the charted stitches, if only barely. If I'd had to make one more backstitch, I'd have needed to unthread and rethread the needle to get it through the canvas. Surfeit and shortage! The incongruity boggles my mind.

Easiest Flan Ever

Day 42: You can keep your pumpkin pie. You can even keep your pecan pie (and I never thought I'd hear myself say those words). I'm having flan for dessert. What's flan? Just the most delicious, decadent firm custard you can imagine swimming in a sea of caramel sauce! Now, there are several ways you can make flan, most of which involve a trip to the grocery store because most of us don't keep fresh cream in our fridges. However, I do keep both evaporated milk and sweetened condensed milk on hand, and as it turns out, that plus eggs, sugar and vanilla are all you'll need. And good timing. Flan needs to be made 8-12 hours in advance so the caramelized sugar can liquefy. But we're getting ahead of ourselves here. Let's just assume it's yesterday.

Add 1/4 cup of water to 3/4 cups of sugar and place over medium to medium-high heat. You can stir it right here at the onset, but at no time afterwards. Just cook it until the sugar takes on a golden-brown hue. You can wash the sides of the pan down if crystal begin to form. Use a little water on a pastry brush, but be careful not to drip into the boiling sugar. Once your sugar is nicely brown, pour it into an 8-9" pan, tilt the pan to cover the bottom with the syrup, and let it cool for an hour or so. You may hear it crackling and popping as the temperature drops. This is perfectly normal.

Once the sugar is completely cool, you can make the custard. Heat your oven to 325 degrees. Beat 4-6 eggs one at a time until there are no obvious chunks of egg white or streaks of yolk. Add 1 can of sweetened condensed milk and 1 can of evaporated milk plus 1 Tbsp. of vanilla (yes, a whole tablespoon). Set the pan containing the caramelized sugar in a larger pan (should be at least an inch bigger) and pour the custard over the sugar. Put the pan/pan on the oven shelf and add boiling water to the outer pan until it reaches halfway up the sides of the custard pan. Bake for 50-60 minutes (or longer!), or until a knife inserted in the center of the custard comes out clean. Chill for at least 8 hours. Happy Thanksgiving!

Avalanche!

Day 41: For the most part, my Christmas cacti tend to bloom first on one side and then on the other due to the fact that I seldom rotate them on their shelf. I must have shifted this one a few times during the summer because it came on with a veritable avalanche of snow-white blossoms. It's one of my older plants. I keep all of them pruned back to save space so that they can all fit in the one small south-facing window available for horticulture. The Loom Room tends to be the coolest spot in the house during the winter despite its exposure, and the cooler nighttime temperatures help keep the blooms true to colour. If the plants are kept too warm, they may take on a pinkish cast. That said, my toes all too often develop a bluish tinge when I'm weaving in the wintertime.

Donkey Blanket

Day 40: In the words of the immortal Donkey, "In the morning, I'm makin' waffles!" Thus this throw shall be known henceforth as the Donkey Blanket. When released from tension, this deeply textured weave contracts into ridges and pits not unlike those found in a breakfast waffle. It makes for a deliciously warm fabric. As weavings go, it's easy to set up on a four-shaft loom, even a table model operated with four jacks. However, this time around, I've warped it onto my floor loom which has the benefit of having six treadles, two of which can be employed both in the textural weave and as tabby sheds (border, bottom). I am using a direct tie-up which is a little different from that shown in Mary Black's "Key to Weaving." Rather than tying multiple treadles to harnesses 2, 3 and 4 as she suggests, I discovered that if a direct tie-up was used for 1, 2, 3 and 4, and treadles 5 and 6 were set to operate harnesses 1/3 and 2/4 (the tabby), by treadling the sequence as 1, 2, 1/3, 1/6, 2/5, 1/6, 1/3, 2, I could open the same sheds. What does this mean? Most importantly, it means that I don't have to crawl around on the floor changing the tie-up I normally have set up! This is another fascinating thing about weaving: there are often multiple ways the same end result can be achieved. This, then, is my own recipe for waffles. Maple syrup, anyone?

How's It Hangin'?

Day 39: This was as far as I got with hanging a new warp on the floor loom last night. One of the drawbacks to having multiple projects going at once is having to find time to devote to one in particular, but on the other hand, it keeps me from getting bored. This will eventually turn into a waffle-weave lap throw, and is a fantastic solution for all those little balls of yarn we all save because there's too much to throw away. For each waffle repeat, I needed six strands 18' long of each colour, and where some colours had to be used two or three times, the repeats were kept separated, but still in random order. The weft will be black. Call it "Joseph's Coat," if you will, bright and cheerful in its chaos. I love doing tag-end projects whether as crazy-quilts or woven pieces. The challenge is to keep repetition to a minimum, i.e., if red occurs next to blue, it can only do so again if a different red or blue is used as one of the pairings. Chaos isn't as easy to create as you might imagine, although to look at my "loom room," you might think otherwise.

Bletting Medlars

Day 38: It's medlar season! The first frosts came in hard, signalling that it was time to pick. The friend who owns the tree sent down a boxful which are destined to be Experiment #2 in making medlar jelly. You may recall that last year's product stiffened up to a taffy-like consistency and each jar required remelting with the addition of several tablespoons of water in order to make it spreadable. This year, I will be using liquid pectin rather than reducing the sweetened juice down, but since I have been unable to find a recipe using pectin, I'm having to guess at the ratio of juice to sugar. The worst that can happen is that I will wind up with several pints of medlar syrup. Medlar jelly has an unusual flavour, something like honey with a hint of persimmon. I used part of last year's batch for a delicious ham glaze. But first, these peculiar fruits have to be bletted, i.e., left in a cool corner of the kitchen until they begin to soften. This is actually the first stage of decomposition: medlars are only edible when they've begun to rot, and since for many people, the very idea is repellent, they are not commonly grown. That said, medlars are known to be one of the first fruits mankind cultivated for food.

Three-Shaft Stud Runner

Day 37: And here's the piece which just came off the floor loom. The weave is something I developed on the fly when I realized I'd miscounted warp threads and wound up with one extra between the yellows. I'm sure it's been published somewhere, but rather than searching through books for something which would use a 7-thread repeat, I "re-invented" it, and call it "Three-Shaft Stud." The fringe still needs to be trimmed and twisted, but this runner may get an additional treatment: embroidery on the ends. The catch is that the weave is not square like counted-thread fabrics, so although I think cross-stitch would work, I may play around with tvistsöm ("long-armed cross-stitch") as a means of adding decoration and weight to the end panels. It may be necessary to turn the tvistsöm so that the stitches run vertically, compensating for the wider-than-tall lay of the weft and warp. Tvistsöm is worked in one direction only (left to right if you're right-handed) and subsequent rows give a braided appearance as opposed to the familiar X of cross-stitch.

Totally Naked

Day 36: Naked! Completely starkers! Totally undressed! And you know what that means, don't you? There's a new warp waiting to be mounted on the floor loom, already measured and wound. The big loom seldom stands empty for more than a few days, and is generally used for more time-consuming projects than my smaller looms. For one reason, it holds more. I can easily wind on 10, 15, 20 yards of warp, enough to keep me occupied for several months depending on the weave. Although the loom is four feet wide, I usually prefer to work narrower panels if I'm making coverlets or blankets, sometimes joining as many as four panels in order to attain the desired width. Of course, this method requires paying strict attention to the number of throws per inch and as all weavers know, this is often dependent on mood. Don't weave when you're cranky! As gratifying as it may be to pound those threads against the fell, the difference in the beat may show up in your finished work. That said, the act of weaving is a meditation in its own right: the chatter of the heddles, the rise and fall of the harnesses, the rhythm of feet and hands and the growth of cloth advancing toward the reed combine to distract almost every sense from the chaos of worldly cares. No, my big loom won't stand empty for long. The geas of weaving is upon me, and I must obey its call.

The Design Process

Day 35: In weaving, as with many other art forms, the design process is not always as straightforward as could be hoped. What looks good on paper does not necessarily translate well to fiber. Colours refuse to play nicely with others, those which were expected to be dominant suddenly exhibiting recessive traits due to mutations in sett or beating. Behavioural anomalies remain hidden until after warping, when the weaver finds themselves faced with something quite unlike their original visualization. These peculiarities needn't be fatal to the point of cutting the warp off the loom unless one is working on a schedule, and quite frankly, if you're weaving to meet a schedule, you should probably take up a different hobby. One of the delights of weaving is its ability to surprise, and very little which comes off a loom can be considered a total loss. In this instance, the two-inch band currently in progress on the bonker loom bears very little resemblance to what I had in mind for the friend who requested a band for her mandolin, and the flaw lies in my interpretation of the pattern, not in the pattern itself. A slight re-thinking, another sheet of graph paper and a serious look at my fiber stash sent me back to the warping board with a different palette. The good news is that this is a short warp which I can finish up in a few days, and I already have ideas how to make use of the piece.

Near Miss

Day 34: It may have been the thudding of our boots on the frosty ground which startled this young Long-Toed Salamander (Ambystoma macrodactylum) into moving just ever so slightly. In any event, the minor motion caught the tail of my eye and saved the little feller from an untimely end. I didn't even realize what had stopped me in my tracks, but as always when something moves in the woods where I'm not expecting motion, I froze and began scanning the ground. It took me a while to spot that yellow dorsal stripe among the leaves, and even after I located the culprit and had knelt down to take a picture, Yonit was attempting to figure out what had captured my interest. Our little amphibian friend never twitched another muscle. This species is generally inactive at this time of year, resorting to the protection of forest litter or possibly even burrowing underground to over-winter, so I was a bit surprised to see one. Sad to say, Long-Toed Salamanders are losing their habitat as small, unprotected wetlands are filled in, and farmed game fish are being introduced into upland ponds. Hopefully here in the relative sanctuary of a state park, the species will thrive.

Manke Mt. Morning

Day 33: It is rare that I hike with a companion other than when botanizing, so when my friend Yonit suggested a local non-Park hike, I almost told her I'd pass, more out of reflex than for any other reason. After a few minutes' consideration, I accepted her offer and we began discussing possibilities. Pack Forest was her initial suggestion, but they have done so much logging as part of their experimental forestry program that scenic hiking opportunities have dwindled so far as to be almost nonexistent. I suggested Nisqually State Park, and since Yonit had never been there, she left the selection of the route to me. I laid out a five-mile loop with a side trip up Manke Mt. The frost was still firmly on the pumpkin when we met at the parking area and geared up in our winter woollies, and by the time we'd gone two miles, we were both ready to shed a few layers before starting the uphill climb to this very minor summit. At 908' (276 meters), Manke hardly merits a dot on the map, but some years ago, someone nailed a carved sign to a tree to mark what they believed was the high point. Maps might disagree with that assessment by a few feet, but for us, the unofficial summit of Manke (as indicated by the sign) and halfway point of our adventure suggested a lunch of cookies before descending on a trail littered with maple leaves still frost-covered and crunching beneath our boots.

Polkadot 'Pecker

Day 32: I should probably just say, "My 'pecker has polkadots," and then leave you wondering for an hour or two before posting the photo, but I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea. It's true, though. My 'peckers (and I have at least two) have lovely polkadots. This one also has red whiskers, indicating that the bird..."BIRD!" I said...is male. Females' faces are plain. That said, I live in an area where there is some intergrading between our dominant western race of Northern Flicker and the eastern version which sports black whiskers and yellow feather shafts (as opposed to red) on the tail and wing. At least once, I have seen a black-whiskered bird at the feeder flying off with a flash of red, the telltale of a crossbreed. When intergrading occurs, it can make identification challenging. Fortunately, it's fairly clearcut with the polkadotted 'peckers.

'Tis The Season

Day 31: 'Tis the season! The procession of the Christmas cacti has begun, one by one emerging from loom-room purdah to sit in the place of honour on the fireplace mantel. Picotee is leading the parade with White not far behind. They spend the better part of the year in a south-facing window, getting water when I notice that they're starting to droop, generally being ignored in favour of the showy Hoyas putting on the ritz in the living room, but when their turn comes 'round, they're trotted out in sequence to show off their holiday clothes. The display will run for six to eight weeks with a possible encore in January from the earliest members of the troupe. Walmart may think the Christmas season starts two weeks before Hallowe'en, but at Crow's house, it has now officially begun.

Cross-stitch Cross-eyed

Day 30: Some time ago, a friend was clearing out her project stash and asked me if I could use any of the kits she was preparing to take to a thrift shop. I don't generally like to work from kits for several reasons, but the primary one is that they are invariably short on one or more colours. This factor aside, even the most experienced and skilled needleworker can make mistakes. As far as I am concerned, mistakes are not allowed. If they are noticed, they must be picked back and replaced with the correct stitches. When picking back, it's not always possible to salvage the thread. If you're already working with a kit which is short on one colour, this can be disastrous, especially if the kit has been manufactured using custom colours (and many of them are). Nevertheless, I accepted my friend's offer of her discards and brought home several which I thought would make nice gifts for specific friends. They've sat on the shelf for six or seven years now, so I figured it was time to get at least one of them out of the way. I've been pecking away at this one for several months now, and yes, I've hit the dreaded Kit Shortage in a colour which can't be matched in DMC. I think I will have enough to complete the project, but I am down to saving every two-inch long "tail." The irony is that while I may run out of dark purple, I am going to wind up with an overage of at least a dozen strands of cream!

The Joe Log

Day 29: Whether due to drought-like conditions during the summer or the possibility that it has consumed all available nutrition from its host wood, the Joe Log has so far only produced a dusting of aqua-blue disks. My botany partner brought me this 18" long stick a couple of years ago after posting a photo which elicited the comment from me that I would "give my eyeteeth to see this in real life." The species is Chlorociboria aeruginascens, one of a small handful of turquoise-coloured fungi. I've been cultivating it carefully ever since, keeping it tucked beneath ferns where it was most likely to stay moist year-'round. However, our exceptionally dry summer has taken a toll on fungal communities in general, and I suspect the Joe Log hasn't escaped without feeling some effect. That said, the colony has had a few slow starts before. I wouldn't be surprised if it takes off now that the weather is cooler and the rain has returned.

Mushroom Hunting

Day 28: Even if I could identify this mushroom and it turned out to be "edible and choice," I would be hard pressed to find enough of them to fill a teaspoon. This has been without a doubt the worst mushrooming season in the fifty-plus years I've been gathering them. We've had heat, we've had dry...and when the rains finaly did come, they fell in a 'shroom-shattering torrent, had there been any 'shrooms to shatter. I have not seen a Shaggymane. I have not found a single Chanterelle. My yard should be full of  poisonous Stropharias, wormy green-staining Suilllus, antler-like "Blah Coral" and digestion-disturbing Russulas. There is nothing, save a dozen or so examples of this minuscule species. If, as I often hypothesize, fungus makes the world go 'round, we're in dire straits.

Cone Crochet

Day 27: I'm not big on "cutesy," but when I found a pattern on YouTube for a crocheted fir cone, it was more than I could resist. It appears in multiple iterations on various peoples' channels, so I won't repeat it here. Select the one which is easiest for you to follow. It took a bit of fiddling to find a thread combination which would render a life-size version. I used two strands of 8/2 weaving cotton in two shades of brown and a 2mm hook. The pattern is easy but somewhat time-consuming (and by that, I mean that it took me an hour to make a single cone), so I rather doubt I'll be attaching them to everyone's Chrismtas gifts as I'd thought I might do. Still, they work up quickly enough that select friends may receive truly iconic symbols of the Pacific Northwest to use as ornaments.

Lunar Eclipse

Day 26: Despite a forecast of "mostly cloudy," I set my mental alarm clock for 1:45 AM and woke up at precisely 1:44 to check on the status of the skies. Stepping out into the back yard in my nightgown, I almost hoped it would be overcast because the temperature was right at the freezing point, but there was the moon almost at zenith with thin clouds scudding around its outline. I'd set out the camera and tripod where I could grab them in the dark, so I retrieved them from the house and threw on a bathrobe, socks and wool hat while I was inside. Returning to the yard, I noticed a visible difference in the illuminated crescent and decided to stay out until the eclipse reached totality at 2:16 AM PST. I'm a sucker for celestial events and barely noticed the cold, only returning to my warm bed shortly after the last photo in this series was taken. At that point (roughly 2:25 AM), a heavier cloud drifted across the lunar face, obstructing it from view entirely and signalling that the project had reached an appropriate conclusion. My profound thanks go to the Weather Gods for permitting this thrilling, chilling observation.

First Snow

Day 25: Intelligent creatures tend to be curious about the world around them, taking new events and circumstances as learning moments. On the most basic level, this contributes to their survival, but among the brighter bulbs, it can also be an opportunity to experiment. A young crow, seeing snow for the first time, might notice that it was colder than bare ground. However, with birds' countercurrent circulatory pattern rewarming blood from the legs as it returns to the body, this would likely fall into the category of "just how things are" and not be worthy of a second thought. The fact that a beakful of crisp white crystals turns rather quickly to water would be lodged in the brain for future reference in case of thirst. So far, we're talking about things which are almost instinctual, but what about play? What if you discovered that with a toss of your head you could shower one of your companion crows with this strange white stuff before it had a chance to melt in your mouth? Doesn't that sound like fun? On several occasions, I have watched what could only be called "snowball fights" between young crows or raven couples. The parties involved were unmistakably enjoying the experience because neither participant made any attempt to leave the scene despite having plenty of opportunities to do so. In fact, the game usually culminates with one or both of the players getting rolled about before settling back on the fence to dry out. Corvids play games in summer as well, catch-the-stick (baton-passing), aerial acrobatics and so on, but my crowd seem to enjoy winter sports most of all.

New Family Member

Day 24: We are pleased to announce the arrival of a new member of the family! Much to my surprise, my family unit of three Canada Jays were recently joined by a fourth mature bird. For a second or two, all four were perched together on the shepherd's-hooks, taking polite turns at the suet feeder. The group has stuck around for much longer than usual and seem to be intending to stay for the winter. Their preferred food is the suet, although occasionally I see one of them take a few black-oil seeds. I've spent many a backpacking trip in their company, so it pleases me no end that they have come to visit me at a time in my life when I can no longer go into the deep backcountry. You kinda have to wonder...alpine birds showing up at my feeder, mycoheterotrophs sprouting in my yard...I am feeling a connection here, in Ma Nature's benevolence.

Six Degrees Of Separation

Day 23: Six degrees of separation: the idea that any two people are but six steps away from one another in the social sphere. Back in the days when my interest in lichens was in an early phase, I discovered a strange mass of tube-like branches, black on the underside, but more notably, bearing several disk-like structures (apothecia) of a rather sickly-looking chartreuse hue. I had discovered my first Hypogymnia. With my curiosity for the genus piqued, I began looking for other species within it, learning to identify them from the way they branched, the colour of their medullary ceiling and other cues. I developed a particular fondness for H. imshaugii (above), partly because it was present in my yard and partly because I was curious about the person after whom it must have been named, so I dug a little deeper and came up with a Wikipedia article about Henry Andrew Imshaug who, it must be confessed, should have been on my radar as a notable lichenologist. However, it was some time later when H. Imshaug the botanist (as opposed to H. imshaugii the lichen) came to the forefront of my attention when I found out that he was part of an expedition to inventory the fungi of Mount Rainier National Park in 1941. During that survey, he and his colleagues discovered a rare fungal species and wrote a paper about it. My botany partners and I learned of Imshaug's paper when we stumbled across the same fungus, although in a different area. Imshaug didn't have access to GPS technology in 1941, so his description of the location where he had found it was vague to say the least, but armed with knowledge of the fungus' preferred host and a rough idea of where Imshaug's group had gone, we were able to locate the site. Standing there among sedge and tinker's-penny, I thought about H. Imshaug the botanist, and how H. imshaugii the lichen had been instrumental in piloting me to the same ground where he and his team had stood. The six degrees of separation had come full circle for Imshaug and me.

Cats N Dogs

Day 22: As yet, I have not determined what parameters inspire my Davis weather station to offer up this particular observation, but I believe it has something to do with conditions over the past 15 minutes. In any case, since midnight (10 hours), I have recorded 1.52" of rain. If you were to walk down my driveway, you'd have to avoid numerous poodles to get to the mailbox. Otherwise known as a "Pineapple Express," the Pacific Northwe't is currently at the bottom of an atmospheric river. Flood watches are in effect (not "flood warnings," not yet, because the runoff hasn't reached the river channels), particularly in southwest Washington. Because we received so little precip during the summer (in a 5 1/2-month period, my gauge only registered 0.11", mostly as fog/dew), the ground is exceedingly dry. As the top layer becomes saturated and heavy, the possibility of landslips increases dramatically. Fortunately, I am situated where neither flood or landslide is likely to have a direct effect, at least as far as potential property damage goes. However, I may find myself cut off from the rest of the world, either physically or virtually or both, by road closures, power outages or other secondary events. Something tells me we're in for a long winter.

Happy Campers

Day 21: Although most of us don't enjoy being out in the cold and wet, the lichen population heartily approves our sudden switch from summer to winter. They perked up in a matter of days, going from crisp and fragile to soft and pliable in an astonishingly short period of time. Lichens are amazingly resilient, sometimes springing back to life from a state where they are dry enough to crumble into powder between your fingers. Many species have begun to fruit, their apothecia readily apparent. Here are examples from four of the genera common to my yard: Platismatia (aka Ragbag), a Cladonia species, Usnea and one of several Hypogymnias which grow in abundance on the cedar fence. Happy campers, these! They won't grumble about chilly nights and soggy moss-beds. They'll revel in them!

Snowline

Day 20: So close! And wasn't it just two weeks ago that I was complaining about temps in the mid-80s? This is the view from my front yard this morning, roughly 0.2 miles away horizontally and 500' vertically. If you feel like calculating the hypotenuse, go right ahead. It's too early in the morning for me to engage in mathematical gymnastics. I do believe "autumn" lasted all of three days this year, and while a short "shoulder season" is not uncommon in the Pacific Northwe't, I suspect this one may have been one of the shortest on record. We went from bone-dry to sopping within seven days, the human population exchanging shorts and tank tops for long johns and wool socks over the span of one week's laundry. The forecast shows the white creeping downward, although it still may miss my yard by a margin of a hundred feet. Although I have yet to see a mushroom, the lichens perked up immediately following the first rains. At least somebody is happy for the change in the weather!

From A Sow's Ear

Day 19: From the sow's ear of my stash of tag-end worsted yarns, I shall endeavour to make the proverbial silk purse in the character of a waffle-weave lap throw. Even if it doesn't work out according to plan, it'll be warm. When you have knit and crochet as many things as I have done over the years, that pile of leftovers, wrapped into little balls and tucked aside as "too big to throw away," threatens to reach critical mass. Lest my home should pass the event horizon of a black hole formed around a nucleus of yarn, the time has come to reduce my fiber footprint rather than buying even more yarn for another project. Although I still have a piece on the floor loom, it's near completion, so I've begun measuring a warp of worsted waste to replace it immediately. The "waffles" will be in stripes of coloured warp against a black weft (higher mathematics came into play to determine whether or not I had enough of ANY colour for weft, again trying to avoid buying more yarn). Warm, and bright in the bargain!