Crocosmia In Orange

Day 322: It had entirely slipped my mind that my botany partners Joe and Sharon had brought me a few bulbs of their orange Crocosmia three or four years ago until I was on my way back from the compost heap and spotted this one small panicle of flowers. "Orange?" I said, and my first thought was that a red one had faded in poor soil as my irises have done in the past. Then I remembered planting bulbs from theirs, but to date, all I'd seen was foliage. My red one ("Lucifer") is long done with its blooming period. Does this one bloom later normally, or is it trying to adjust to the difference in climate between sea level and mountain? Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised, although I do know that this plant has a tendency to spread and is notoriously difficult to remove once established. That said, given its own space, it is usually content to form a large clump without encroaching on other landscaping. If you want to grow Crocosmia (and who doesn't love those showy flowers?), be sure you locate it in a permanent spot. Otherwise, you'll be pulling little baby Crocosmia bulbs for the next thirty years. Trust me, I learned the lesson early on. I hope this is a sign that Orange is happy in my back yard.

Nuts To You!

Day 321: "Well, nuts to you!" sez I to the chipmunk who's been scrounging under the bird feeders lately. No, I'm not really expecting a crop of filberts from Harry Lauder's Walking-stick, although the tree is producing some. My experience with our native Beaked Hazelnut and the small grove of filberts we had when I was a kid leads me to think that the few the worms don't get into will be consumed by birds, squirrels and chipmunks long before they ripen. I planted Harry Lauder shortly after I moved here, meaning that the tree is roughly 30 years old now. Only once in the past have I seen evidence of nuts, and that was in the form of a few shells on the ground. I don't recall having ever seen one on the tree before. It will be interesting to see how these progress.

Folklore Charm

Day 320: Spinning blends on a Turkish spindle can be challenging when one fiber is neppy (i.e., full of slubs) and another is slick as a greased pig. One quickly learns why it's called a "drop spindle" unless great care is taken to ensure that some of the longer, grippier Merino is included in each pull, but on the other hand, spinning such a blend will help you improve your skill and control of the fiber. The name of the game is to pull apart and distribute the slubs aesthetically throughout the finished yarn. This does not necessarily imply that they must be evenly distributed, because part of the charm of slubby yarns lies in the occasional larger slub interspersed among smaller ones. In fact, "Charm" is the name of this particular colourway, one of my favourites in the Folklore series from Paradise Fibers. It is comprised of Merino, viscose and bamboo, and spins up beautifully at 26 wraps per inch (fingering/superfine weight). This skein is 95 yards and weighs one ounce.

Curl As A Cucumber

Day 319: I have often said that although I can grow beautiful flowers, I am almost a complete failure at vegiculture. I flunked zucchini, failed radishes, got an F in green beans. Now we can add cucumbers to the list, unless this one deserves redemption as capital-A Art. From stem end to blossom end, it forms a curl of nearly 540 degrees, and would have made the full circle-and-a-half had not that blasted little chipmunk gnawed off the tip. What caused it to grow so strangely? Was it lack of water? A cold snap? A hot spell? Poor soil? Any of the above might or might not apply. I think perhaps the pots which now contain said curly cucumber and two sickly tomato vines will be given over to some type of berry next year. A berry is a fruit, and therefore they seem to be unaffected by the black thumb which governs vegetables under my care. After all, one should play to one's strengths.

Spinning My Wheels

Day 318: I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels, and for at least a portion of the day over the last several months have been doing exactly that in one form or another. The current project on my Louët is reddish-purple Corriedale top, spun at a fingering weight (i.e., 18-22 wraps per inch). That's kinda my default diameter for Corriedale, and I tend to spin Merino somewhat finer on this wheel. On the other hand, when I'm using a drop spindle, my default for Merino thins down to 26 WPI. I seldom spin heavier yarns these days, largely because commercially produced fine yarns have become prohibitively expensive in recent years. Besides, if you spin your own, you get double the pleasure of working with fibers, and I do prefer to knit with fine yarns. That said, I'd hoped to upgrade my spinning wheel for September Morn this year, but was knocked out by several hefty financial setbacks at the start of the year. Oh well, Louët and I have been friends for fifty years now, and as long as I am able to find replacement parts when the inevitable breakdowns occur, we'll keep the partnership alive.

Developmental Stage

Day 317: Recently, I stumbled across an alternate way to work krokbragd on a rigid heddle loom (as opposed to "turned krokbragd" as done on my band and inkle looms). In the past, I've had problems with warp tension when executing this style of boundweave on the rigid heddle while using a pickup stick and heddle rod in combination. I was anxious to try the new method, so I set up 31 warp threads at 7.5 epi so I could use leftover knitting worsted as the weft. The alternate system uses a pickup stick placed in front of the heddle rather than behind, a process which must be done each time those sheds are required, i.e., two times out of three in a sequence. It is slow going, to be sure, but I have had no issues with tension, which seems like an equitable trade-off, all things considered. However, there was another factor to consider. Because different sheds are opened with this method, none of my old patterns would work as drafted. Krokbragd does not lend itself to being designed on graph paper like many other weaves, so for the last two and a half days, I've been using good old "trial-and-error" as I tried to work out how to weave alternating rows of flowers. There have been a few hitches in the development of a pattern, but I finally have it nailed.

The Cone Of Fame: Plying Turkish Cops

Day 316: Sometimes I just have to drop something in here for ease of personal reference, and in this case, it has to do with manipulating Turkish cops. No, I'm not talking about bribery. I am referring a process by which the cops of spun singles yarn are controlled so that they can be plied together without tangling up with each other. I've had no end of problems with this in the past few months as I've been doing more drop-spindling, and have tried several different systems, none of which worked particularly well. A few days ago, the light bulb over my head lit up. Because they are light in weight, they tend to roll around if not somehow confined. Additionally, rolling around loosens up the outer end of the thread, so that even if they don't twist around each other, they often twist around themselves. Putting a rubber band around each one didn't work. Neither did running them under a stationary object. I needed something which would do two things: hold them in place separately, and allow for a smooth feed of the thread. Brainstorm! I stuffed each one into its own cone of weaving yarn, fed the working ends out through the top of the cone, and I was able to ply right down to the last few feet without a single problem. The process shall forevermore be known as the Cone of Fame.

Red-Osier Dogwood, Cornus Stolonifera

Day 315: Quick! What's an "osier?" If you said, "A flexible twig such as those produced by willows and used in basketry," you're my etymological friend for life. Osiers occur in other woody shrubs as well, including our Pacific Northwest native, Cornus stolonifera. Related to the more familiar flowering Dogwood, Red-osier Dogwood carries cymes of tiny flowers with white petals, unlike its larger cousins which exhibit white bracts (modified leaves) surrounding the true inflorescence. Red-osier Dogwood's blossoms are followed by bitter white berries, edible but not desirable except to deer, elk and moose, and of course the plant's common name is derived from its red twigs. It can be found west of the Cascades from the middle of Oregon to northern British Columbia, and is sometimes used as an ornamental in native-plant gardens.

Fire Nerves

Day 314: Well, I was hoping we might make it through the summer without smoke or fire, but earlier this week, smoke from the wildfires in British Columbia drifted down this way, and we were at an AQI of 160-190 for roughly 72 hours. You don't have to be a "sensitive individual" for that to impact you. It's just plain unhealthy for everyone. That said, my second wish for the season was dashed yesterday morning when some moro...jacka...dumbsh... jeeper redneck land-rapist started a vegetation fire in Elbe Hills. I blame the Dept. of Natural Resources (or as they are known locally, the "Destructor of Natural Resources") almost as much as I blame the idiot who started the blaze. They should close the gates, keep people out of the woods during fire season, but they don't. I mean, they must think it infringes on Second Amendment rights or something, temporarily limiting where people can go to shoot things. Oh, dear...okay, I'll get off the soapbox and on with my essay.

As mentioned somewhere above, yesterday morning, a vegetation fire started in Elbe Hills. PulsePoint is not good on giving details, but as I monitored their reports throughout the day, the fire was never downlisted from being an "active incident." That meant crews were still on the ground. Before I went to bed last night, I made up my "evac pack" of important papers, medications and so on, just in case they decided to move us out in a hurry. I did not sleep well, despite the fact that five or six raindrops fell before 9 PM. Fortunately, the fire was controlled and had been removed from the list of "active incidents" when I checked PulsePoint this morning, but my fire nerves have not subsided. The gates are still open, and the morons are still streaming into the hills.

Overshot Vs. Summer-and-Winter

Day 322: If I asked you to tell me how these two pieces of cloth are alike and how they are different, you would probably point out the obvious: that one is red, one is green, that they are different patterns, but that would only be superficially correct. An experienced weaver would reply, "The one on the left is summer-and-winter weave. The one on the right is overshot." Let's talk about that for a minute.

Summer-and-winter weave (left) produces a pattern which is not quite the exact opposite of itself on the reverse side. That's where the name comes from. One side is light (top), the other dark. In overshot (right), the pattern reverses, creating the inverse of the design. Compare the top and bottom images of the green coverlet. Neither side is dominated by the colour of the pattern threads. While the technique for weaving in both these styles employs a tabby thread on every other throw to bind the pattern threads in place, the threading and treadling sequences account for the difference. Either weave can be effected on a four-shaft loom, although eight shafts will provide more latitude in creating complex patterns. True overshot is woven in "blocks," i.e., throws are repeated multiple times to make squares or rectangles which are staggered to form a design like the one in the righthand photo. While summer-and-winter weaves occasionally use blocks, turning the cloth over to view the back will tell you whether or not a block-worked piece is true overshot.

I Grew It Myself!

Day 312: I'm not the only horticulturist on the block. My kids have graduated from growing their own sunflowers to cultivating a plot of proso millet beneath one of the feeder trays. They're a bit lazy, though, leaving the weeding to me, but thanks to them, I shipped a specimen of Buffalobur off to the Burke Herbarium. It's not the only invasive which has come to me by way of birdseed, unfortunately. "Clean crops" are pretty much a thing of the past, what with supply running neck and neck with demand. That said, I am enjoying the birds' horticultural experiments. It will be interesting to see if the millet ripens.

Bad Air

Day 310: I'm roughly 150 miles from the fires in Kelowna (British Columbia), but the smoke from them drifted in here overnight, and the Air Quality Index now stands at 170 (unhealthy) for my location. The Mountain has disappeared from view and although the hills behind this tree line were faintly visible an hour ago, they are now also occluded by thick smoke. I'd hoped we were going to get through this summer without a smoke event: an unreasonable expectation given the way climate change is progressing. That leads me to the subject of today's post.

You might think that the prevalence of bad behaviour in modern times is due to the political scenario, but it's my opinion that it's driven by the awareness, conscious or unconscious, that our planet is slowly dying, and that we have no one to blame but ourselves. Climate-change deniers can spout the party line all they like, but they are not fooling me. Their greed and lust for power comes from a deeply rooted self-preservation instinct and, whether they want to admit it or not, the evidence in wildfires, strong storms, rising ocean temperatures and such plays on their minds subliminally. As a drowning man would push another under to grasp at a straw, so do the climate-change deniers shove others aside so that they can grab the biggest, the best, the most in the hopes of saving their own hides. But in a dog-eat-dog world, the last dog standing is doomed to starvation regardless. Humanity, my friends, is on its way out.

Pearly Everlasting

Day 310: Who among us does not know the humble Pearly Everlasting? We may not know it by name, but its crisp, white heads have woven themselves into the tapestry of fond memory, likely from the days of our youth. Paperlike white bracts (modified leaves) cluster around a small center of yellow disk flowers on this, the only North American Anaphalis (A. margaritacea), and it is found across the US with the exception of the southernmost states from Texas to Florida and, mysteriously, North Dakota. It is also prevalent in Canada and parts of Asia. It often grows where other plants would struggle: in compacted, rocky or clayey soils which incline many people to dismiss it as a weed, but it is in fact a native species.

Do Not Tickle

Day 309: The fortuituous timing of a post from Watson's Nursery and the date submissions were due for the Puyallup Fair couldn't have conveyed a clearer message: I needed to make another pass at keeping a Venus Fly-trap alive. My success in that regard has been rather limited in the past, with something like six months as the record, but even at that, it was fun while it lasted. I've had greater luck with other carnivorous species, but lost my last Sarracenia when an exceptionally hard frost dropped without warning a few years ago. I have not been able to replace the plant, but hope to do so at some point because it gave me many years of faithful anti-mosquito guard duty. Venus, of course, will live indoors. She's not as hardy as Sarracenia. One word of caution: she does not like being tickled. If her traps close on empty air, they are likely to digest themselves.

Volcanic Rudbeckia

Day 308: I live with volcanos. There's a 14,411' one within spittin' distance, and another known for its violent temper not too far away to the south. And then there are a hundred or so juveniles in the Barren Wasteland between the outer walls of my kitchen and garage: Rudbeckias, with their cinder cones surrounded by any number of tiny fumaroles emitting sulphrous-yellow smoke, rising above a bed of rough talus. Red-hot lava spreads out below, dusted here and there with the ash of earlier eruptions. Black-eyed Susans, you say? Nah. Etna, Kilauea, Popocatepetl, but definitely not Susan, however upset she must have been about that black eye.

Kiwis Coming On

Day 307: I'm almost afraid to say this, thinking of chickens counted before they're hatched, but it looks like I'm actually going to get some kiwi berries from my vines this year. The last few days of temps in the upper 90s have not caused them to drop. There are at least a hundred end-of-thumb sized fruits, about as large as they are expected to get on this variety. How long will it take them to ripen? That's what I'm trying to research this morning. So far, I've learned that they can be picked ahead of frost, kept in cold storage for up to six weeks, and ripened in four or five days on the counter. Ripe berries have black seeds, although they may not reach their full sugar potential until somewhat later. One grower recommends that they be harvested at 8 Brix, and that the sugar content can be measured by squeezing a little juice onto a hand-held refractometer. I think in this case, I'll put the science aside and just pop one in my mouth after they've begun to soften.

Mylitta Crescent, Phycoides Mylitta

 

Day 306: It's always exciting when something new shows up in my yard, and although I think I may have seen Mylitta Crescents here before, I have never been able to get a photo to confirm the ID. That said, I may be wrong. I'm not good with butterflies and I know it, but although some of the fritillaries have similar markings, there are differences apparent even to my untrained eye. Phycoides mylitta purportedly nectars on several species of thistle, and there's certainly no shortage of those around here! If they were a cash crop, the pasture across the road would be a gold mine. However, like most of the butterflies which have visited my yard this summer, this winged beauty went straight for the lantana, and hung out in the flowers for a good five minutes or more. Overall, the butterfly population has been unusually abundant this year, with a flush of swallowtails unlike any I've ever seen. Like Mylitta, they seemed to favour the lantana even over the delphiniums which usually provide the greatest draw. Is it the colour? This is the first time I've grown lantana here, and I chose a red one to please my own eye without a thought to its lepidopteral appeal.

Recovery

Day 305: You might think that woodpeckers and sapsuckers have to have hard heads in order to jackhammer trees all day, but in fact the opposite is true. These drillers' skulls have a spongy structure called the hyoid bone which, along with a covering of muscles, cushions the brain against impacts. Never was that put to the test quite like it was a few days ago when this little fellow, identifiable by the development of his markings, smacked into my north-side living room window and dropped senseless into the flower bed below. I've nursed a lot of birds back to sensibility after window strikes over the years, so I dashed outside to see if the poor thing might have survived. The juvenile bird was conscious, if barely, but had its eyes shut and did not respond when I touched it gently. After a few minutes, it blinked a couple of times, so I went in the house to get a box, intending to protect it from predators and to move it to a shady location. As I lifted it carefully into the box, it squawked and snapped at my fingers and, once lowered inside the shallow protection, seemed to be struggling to get out. This was a good sign, so rather than leaving it in the box, I tipped the pro-tem shelter on its side to provide shade from the glaring sun. For the next half hour or so, I checked on my young charge every few minutes as the bird seemed to be coming back to its senses, eyes remaining open and turning its head. Finally, much to my relief, it flew into the nearby Sitka Mountain-ash which is always a favourite with my resident Sapsuckers. That was four days ago, and here's my patient, looking for lunch in the Mountain-ash, and obviously over what must have been a horrendous headache.

Pizza!

Day 304: For someone whose normal routine has included making bread every ten days or so for the last 50+ years, it's odd that until recently, I had never made a pizza. Now I have to agree with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that pizza is one of the world's perfect foods, and I'll eat any type of topping with the exception of anchovies, but my go-to was always Italian sausage and pepperoni until I was introduced to chicken-bacon-artichoke hearts. I'd been afraid to try making pizza in a standard oven, discouraged by multiple references to pizza stones/steels and impossibly high temperatures, but I stumbled across a secret (where else?) on YouTube: put a heavy-duty baking sheet upside-down on the bottom rack of the oven before preheating to 450 degrees. The crust won't be as crisp as that made in a 900-degree kiln, but it comes very close to home-baked from any of the common take-out pizzerias. The spicy meats are readily available and freeze well, so that's what I've been using on the homemade version. The dough is simple and quick, not needing a slow proof in the fridge. This recipe makes a 12-inch pizza.

Start by proofing a teaspoon of active dry yeast in 3/4 cups warm water in which you've dissolved a teaspoon of sugar. Sift together 250 gm bread flour (by weight, not dry measure) and 1 teaspoon salt. Make a well in the center. When the yeast is nice and foamy (about ten minutes), pour it into the well and stir into a shaggy dough. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, working all the flour into the dough. Oil your hands lightly and give it half a dozen kneads, put it in an oiled bowl and turn it once to be sure it's greased all the way around. Let it raise for an hour or until doubled. At the end of the hour, knock it back a few times (a dozen or so stretch-and-folds), put it back in the bowl and let it raise another 45 minutes. In the meantime, lightly oil a pizza pan and sprinkle it with cornmeal. When the second rise is done, ease the dough out of the bowl onto the pizza pan and begin gently patting it from the center out toward the edges of the pan. Build it up a little at the edges. Add your toppings. As noted above, place the pizza pan on top of a preheated heavy-duty baking sheet (upside-down) and bake the pizza at 450 for 20-25 minutes or until bubbly. I topped mine with store-bought pizza sauce (about 3 ounces), mozzarella and cheddar, pepperoni and sweet Italian sausage. Does any person in the world not like pizza?

Fulled Vs. Raw

Day 303: First, a qualifier: these are two different shades of blue, so please factor that in while comparing the fulled version (left) to the raw (right). Fulling is what occurs when a woven item is wet-finished. The fibers, tightly spun for durability, plump up and fill in any small gaps left in the weaving process. Depending on fiber content (in this case, 100% cotton) there may also be varying amounts of shrinkage in the finished cloth. This is where experience with a specific fiber or manufacturer comes in handy for the weaver, in that they can better estimate what the finished dimensions of a piece will be. For example, I have learned that when I am using Valley cotton, a 16" warp width will give me a 12.5" width towel, and I need to weave a 24" length to obtain a long dimension of 21". Even when changing brands of the same fiber, your mileage may vary due to a number of factors. With cotton, the obvious reason would be how tightly the yarn is spun and plied, but plant species and regional growing conditions may also affect how the fiber will full. Although these latter two considerations are not something the weaver usually thinks about, they can account for differences in the way a yarn behaves when washed. How will drought conditions affect cotton grown in Brazil? Will stressed cells full more readily, hungry for moisture, or will the fiber be more harsh? I don't know, but I have a feeling that if I'm still weaving ten years from now, I may need to adjust my formula for the ideal towel.

Perhaps I'll Dye Naturally

Day 302: We finally had a day this summer which fell into my classification of "perfect for hiking,"  i.e., mid-60s and cloudy with no chance of a shower. Once again, I chose a trail close to home, but had no particular destination in mind although I was sure one would suggest itself before I'd gone very far. I wasn't planning to be out more than an hour or two, not with a new project on the loom begging for my attention, so I packed light: water bottle, some Cheezits, toilet paper, a rain jacket just in case the weather forecase was wrong, and my trusty camera. I did not think about it being August, did not think to include the "perhaps bag" (avoska) which qualifies as the 11th Essential for autumn hikes. About a mile in, I spotted the first Lobster. "Oh!" I said aloud. "Perhaps I can dye naturally," speaking, of course, in reference to my handspun yarn. Although many people disagree with me, I don't consider Lobsters desirable for the table. However, as previously noted, I had not brought a perhaps bag, so I passed Lobster #1 by. In another tenth of a mile or so, I came across six or seven more, some a bit past prime. And then a quarter mile further in, I spotted another really nice one. This was a bit more than I could be expected to ignore even temporarily, so I dumped my TP out of its baggie and popped the Lobster inside, thinking I'd have plenty of room for the others I'd seen and planned to collect on the way back. And that was it. There were no more Lobsters to be seen when I arrived at "halfway" and reversed my course. When I got back to the site of the half dozen, I brushed the soil and forest debris off one and pulled it up. It was much bigger than I'd expected, and wouldn't fit in the bag with the first one I'd collected. Now committed to a course of action, I decided my light rain jacket would have to stand in as a perhaps bag. By the time I finished harvesting from that patch, my daypack was half full! Because I knew there were no others beyond the first one I'd seen when I began my hike, I veered off onto a spur trail to get back to the parking area, and lo and behold, I found half a dozen more. At this point, I'd stuffed my pack to the point that I could barely close the zipper (the photo shows about half my haul). When I got home, I pared off the orange outer layer (the parasitic Hypomyces lactifluorum which is the dyeing agent) and discarded the remains of the host Russulas beneath the big Doug-fir in my front yard where they're welcome to proliferate. Then I stuck the parings in the dehydrator for four hours at 130 degrees for a yield of roughly a pint of loosely packed dyestuff. I'll need a lot more before I can even dye a 1-ounce skein of wool, but Lobsters are plentiful locally. And next time I'm out, I'll have a perhaps bag with me.

Plan B

Day 301: Fiber artists frequently have to think on their feet when something fails to go according to plan. That was the situation in which I found myself when my order for 3/2 cotton arrived on Tuesday. Although I had specified that both cones were to be from the same dye lot, they were not, and they were sufficiently mismatched that I didn't feel I could disguise the fact in a piece I intended for competition. Naturally, I called my supplier and received assurance that they would rectify the problem. However, it will take 10-14 days for the new thread to arrive. That said, having put the 3/2 against my intended warp, I decided that in any event, it was too heavy for the look I wanted to achieve. I was quite pleased with the 8/2 as both warp and weft in the towels I just finished, so I checked my stockpile of weaving cones and found that I had enough "nautical blue" to complete the project. Plan B! Don't leave home without one!

Hedge Bindweed, Calystegia Sepium

 

Day 300: You may hear people refer to this plant as "morning glory," and in fact, it used to be placed in Convolvulus alongside the Morning Glory of garden fame. Today, we know it as Calystegia sepium, referring to it commonly as Hedge Bindweed. It may also be called "Lady's Nightcap," although this appellation is used less frequently than it was a century ago. Modern English defines "nightcap" as an alcoholic drink taken before bed and, except in the literature of Dickens' era, rarely refers to headgear worn to protect the coiffure. The Latin translates to "a cup-like cover growing as a hedge," and for what it's worth, my mother used to tell me that they were faeries' skirts, a hypothesis which found some support in my much-loved copy of "The Flower Children" by Elizabeth Gordon, copyright 1910. Now considered a "Weed of Concern" in many Washington counties, Hedge Bindweed still has a certain romantic appeal to it. I wouldn't want it or any of its cousins in my yard, though.

Spurge Laurel Purge

Day 299: I went out for a very short walk yesterday in our little county park, and was distressed to find that the Spurge Laurel (Daphne laureola) was alive and well. It's been several years since I found it and turned in a report to the Invasive Plant Council, and I would have thought the county would have taken care of it by now. However, this brought up another issue which has been bothering me for some time. In my personal contacts with various land managers in the area, I've been told several times that "we've never gotten any reports from the IPC." They've gone on to ask that I report directly to them instead, which I began doing with much better results. The land managers are grateful for the information and generally act swiftly when told about invasives in their domains. As I walked, these factors were brewing in my head, and as I came back into the parking area, I noticed a county worker spraying for blackberry on a hillside. I hailed him over and told him about the Spurge Laurel. He then took me to his supervisor, and the three of us went together so that I could show them where the plants were located. Once again, I was told that the county had never received a report of this noxious weed. It makes me wonder if any of my reports have ever been sent to the agencies involved. That said, the crew working in our little park assured me that there would be a Spurge Laurel purge as soon as they've done the research on how best to eradicate it.

A Matter Of Taste

Day 298: When Nature opens her larder and issues an invitation to partake of her provender, I am usually at the head of the queue with both hands and my mouth wide open to accept the gift. However, I take exception to the fruit of the Red-flowering Currant, a Pacific Northwest native purported to be edible. As I have often said, paper is "edible," but I wouldn't want it served up on my dinner plate. The same holds true for these insipid, dusty-flavoured berries. I have tried to like them, seriously tried. I've juiced them, jammed them, eaten them raw in the hopes I would develop a taste for them as I did for cilantro (which I now love), but no treatment or lack thereof has provided me with any reason to harvest them.The local birds seem to share in my opinion of the fruit, but since the hummers love to nectar at the flowers, I maintain two bushes. In all the years I've grown them, I have yet to see any evidence of any wild creature eating the currants. Thanks, Ma, but I'm going to continue to give this one a pass.

Seasonal Change

Day 297: When I first described summer-and-winter weave in a post, I referred to the dark side as "winter" and the light as "summer," not really considering that there might be another way of looking at it. While my definition has its foundation in the amount of ambient light in the Pacific Northwest during those two seasons, friends elsewhere saw the lighter side as being frosty and the darker, lush with growth. I can see the logic in both views, and it makes me wonder if I had woven these towels during the winter months, would my choice of terms have been reversed? In any event, this was a very quick project as weaving goes. I strung 18 feet of warp on July 13, and here I am, done already. The towels have been fulled yet, i.e., put through the washing machine to plump up the fibers. Weaving yarns are tightly spun as a general rule so that they can withstand the friction of the heddles and reed and so that they have as little stretch as possible. Fulling relaxes the fiber and lets it expand into the small gaps between threads. Now the loom is naked, and will have to stay unclothed until Tuesday or Wednesday, waiting for the arrival of a new, heavier thread. The Plan is laid out, the calculations done, but the warp must be measured and hung before the shuttles can embark on their flight across the seasons of summer-and-winter again.

Almost Showtime!

Day 296: Two weeks from now, these four items will be delivered to the Washington State Fair (Puyallup Fair). The waffle-weave coverlet is my sole entry in the Weaving Division. The other three will be competing in Spinning in the classes Socks, Blended Fibers (the center skein) and Drop Spindle. The Fair runs from September 1-24, open every day except Tuesdays and Sept. 6. Unfortunately, my reservations with regard to COVID and being in public places will mean that I do not attend, but I'll be using the time wisely, working on pieces for the 2024 season.

Meet Mrs. Peck

Day 295: Meet Mrs. Peck! That was how she was introduced to me via a YouTube video, although in my care she has undergone a tummy tuck to reduce her avoirdupois. The original pattern for her body consisted of two squares which left her looking quite boxy as a plain cloth prototype, so I trimmed a curve to round her out, "smallerizing" her at the same time. In theory, she's a pincushion, but I couldn't bear the thought of doing chicken voodoo, so she'll just sit on my shelf for now.

If you'd like to make your own Mrs. Peck, you'll need two 6.5" squares of fabric for her body, with one corner rounded off into a nice curve. Her wings shouldn't be too large. Draw a template for them slightly wider at the front and straight across the top edge. Cut them from fabric and sew them to her body parallel to her back seam, then fold them down and topstitch. Cut a 2.25" square for her beak. Fold it into a triangle and then bring the side points together at the lower point to make a square. Fold the beak in half again to make another triangle. It should be open along the lower edge. Cut shapes for her tail, comb and wattle and position them as you like. Sew together along the curved edges and her back, leaving the side opposite her beak open. Now match her back seam to the center bottom seam by pulling out the corners of her bum. Take a few stitches along each side, leaving the center open so you can stuff her tummy. Hand-sew the last short seam and tack on a couple of 1/4"buttons for her eyes. The most time-consuming parts of this cute project are cutting out the pieces and inserting the stuffing, so in a very short period of time, you can make a whole flock to give as gifts.

Dyeing To Try This

Day 294: I've been dying to try this: trying to dye this Blue-Faced Leicester wool with unsweetened Kool-aid. It seems to be a popular way to break into the science of dyeing, and one which gives surprisingly good, non-fading results. Chemical dyes require dedicated equipment, whereas Kool-aid dyeing can be done with your regular kitchenware, using either a Crock-pot or a microwave oven. I opted for the microwave version. I presoaked three ounces of BFL (a stray skein of handspun I found in my stash) in six cups of room temperature tap water for about 20 minutes, agitating it lightly halfway through. Then I gently removed the wool from the water and added two packets of "blue raspberry lemonade" Kool-aid. I chose it because it was the only flavour available to me which wouldn't have resulted in pink yarn! Since the drink powder already contains citric acid, there was no need to mordant the yarn. After replacing the wool in the cup, I heated it in the microwave for two minutes on high, then gently moved the yarn around, taking care not to handle it too roughly for fear of felting. After repeating the process twice more, all the dye had been absorbed. Once it has cooled to room temp again, I'll give it a light rinse with a little Dawn, and hang it out to dry. The colour will undoubtedly lighten as it dries, but will still be a lovely permanent shade of light aqua blue.

My Favourite Weed

Day 293: You've probably heard it said that a weed is just a wildflower nobody wants, and while that may hold true for things like dandelions and tansy, sometimes a weed worms its way into your heart despite your best efforts to eradicate it. That's the relationship I have with Cichorium intybus, also known as Chickory or Wild Succory. It is an introduced species, having been brought to North America from Europe, and is seen commonly on waste land where its sturdy roots demonstrate their ability penetrate hard-packed soils with an enviable determination. The stems and foliage are tough and wiry and not particularly attractive, but when it flowers, it paints vacant lots and roadsides with a beautiful, sky-blue brush you cannot help but admire. It is only moderately invasive, unlike the Centaurea complex which would take over the world given half a chance, a factor which (forgive me) I feel tips the balance to the favour of its aesthetic appeal. It's my favourite weed.

Traditional Red

Day 292: Well, I am rapidly coming to the end of this weaving project. I'm already into the fifth of six towels, having woven two of its eight motifs yesterday. The day before, I completed four motifs, the limiting factor being how long my bum shoulders can hold out. That said, this is my favourite summer-and-winter draft. I love working on it, so now I am having to ration myself with respect to how much I do each day in order to spread it out while waiting for an order of heavier thread to arrive. I want to use a 3/2 cotton for the pattern floats in my next project (a coverlet). The traditional colours for summer-and-winter are blue or red on a white/cream/natural ground. That's not to say you can't use other colours. In fact, the first two of these towels are green. I tend to lean toward the cooler shades in my weaving, and although I do find this red very striking, it wouldn't be my first choice for my own kitchen. The upcoming coverlet, destined to be an entry in next year's Washington State Fair, will be blue.