Haycorns

Day 352: Western Washington is famous for its Doug-fir forests and the other evergreens interspersed throughout. One does not associate deciduous trees with the state, although we have cottonwoods, alders, maples and a few others. However, oaks (primarily Garry) are fairly well confined to the prairies of the southwestern counties, so when I needed haycorns for a project, I turned to my east-coast sisters with a plea. Patty was in a position to gather quite a few in various sizes. Some have worm holes in them, so the lot will be given a bake in the oven to eliminate any unwelcome visitors. Tiggers may not like haycorns, but I do, and this windfall should keep me in crafting material for a long time to come!

A Mile And A Half

Day 351: I have a substantial stash of 8/2 cotton, my favourite weaving fiber, so I seldom think about the actual yardage required to finish mid-sized projects. Even when I have something large in mind (e.g., a coverlet), I can usually open the cupboard doors to do a visual assessment: "Yep, I have enough on that cone." I keep extras of the colours I use most frequently, particularly the off-white sold as "natural." This time, I had something a little different in mind: a holiday tablecloth, overshot on a green ground. As I was working out the length of the warp and the number of threads, a small doubt crept into the back of my mind, suggesting that perhaps a single cone of green wouldn't be sufficient, especially since I'd already taken some off it. It was time for higher math. Out came the pencil and the notepad, and sharply on their heels came the scale. No, there was not enough green left on the cone and, as luck would have it, I had just sent in an order and couldn't add another item to it. Cross with myself for not having made the calculations timely, I closed the book and began re-thinking my design to use what I had on hand while still keeping with the holiday theme. In the end, I decided to warp with natural, using red and green for the overshot against ice-blue (or possibly with the blue dividing pattern repeats). I spent most of yesterday on my knees, winding a mile and a half of warp onto the warping board. A mile and a half...7992 feet, 2664 yards! The weft never uses quite as much, but I think we can fudge a little to call this project the "Three-Mile Holiday Tablecloth."

Gate Crashers

Day 350: You know the profile. There's always the group who arrive at the party half an hour early, and start in on the food as soon as it's put on the buffet. Robins...American Robins...Turdus migratorius...are rude. A flock of at least two dozen showed up this morning to start in on the Sitka mountain-ash berries. I can only hope the Cedar Waxwings arrive while there are still some left. Okay, I appreciate the cleaning service, because a driveway full of mountain-ash berries leaves your shoes rather sticky after you've gone out to get the mail, but I did not put out this banquet for gluttons. It was meant to nourish the Waxwings as they begin their long journey southward. Robins migrate, yes, but not as far. Still, I suspect a flare has gone up, and it won't be long before the Waxwings notice the increased activity in my yard. They'll be here, and I'll be watching for them.

Strange Fruits

Day 349: If you think back, you may recall that in late May, I was out in the garden with my little paintbrush, tickling pollen from one Akebia vine and transferring it to another. Here are the results of that horticultural exercise. If you've ever tried to eat an Akebia fruit, you might be wondering why I bother. Well, the primary reason would have to be the oft-cited "because I can." Secondary to that is the fact that I've trained my taste buds to enjoy the subtly sweet flavour of this nearly impossible-to-eat fruit. It took a few years of repeated exposure. The pulp holds quite close to those myriad black seeds, and the only way to get it off is to put a spoonful in your mouth, squish the mass with your tongue until the soft parts semi-liquify, and then remove the slippery seeds from your mouth before swallowing. You wouldn't want Akebia vines growing out of your ears now, would you?

The Results Are In!

Day 348: The results are in! The Washington State Fair is done for another year, and I brought home two first prizes and two seconds. I was suprised that the waffle-weave throw took a first because it wasn't particularly difficult to weave. The judge's comment? "Great colors! Nice hem finish." It earned 97 points of a possible 100, and was obviously the top entry in its class with that score. My spinning entries each scored higher, with the green yarn made on a drop spindle achieving 99 points and a first prize. The judge said, "Very nicely spun!" The maroon skein also received 99 points for a second-place win, with the judge commenting, "Beautiful skein! You did a fantastic job." Lastly, the socks received 98 points, but took a second place because the judge felt I should have reinforced the heel, and I admit I probably should have done so. All in all, I'm feeling pretty smug. It's not every day you bring home two blue ribbons!

Shadow Weave

Day 347: One of my favourite YouTube weavers hosts "weave-along" sessions in April and October. I couldn't participate in April because I had a project on the loom, but this time, she caught me just as I'd reeled off the summer-and-winter coverlet. The loom was empty, and I had not yet decided on a new project when she announced that the October Weave-Along would feature shadow weave. Shadow weave is not a technique, but rather an exercise in "colour and weave," i.e., using colour within a given weave structure to create a design rather than using only the weave structure. It is a relatively new style of weaving, developed and introduced to new weavers by Mary Meigs Atwater in 1942. It is related to "log cabin," but carries the same principle further to create more complex designs. Warp threads are hung in a repeat of one dark, one light, and weaving is done with two shuttles, again one dark and one light, always alternating. The design is governed by the threading, i.e, which heddles/shafts hold the threads. It is fun and fast to weave, with a rhythm which is almost like a dance. I'm nearly done with the first of three towels in green and yellow.

Sharpie

Day 346: Got a Sharpie? I do. Accipter striatus (Sharp-shinned Hawk) flew in to see what was for breakfast, and since he didn't feel like tackling a Steller's Jay, he went away disappointed. Sharpies are not always easy to distinguish from Cooper's, but this guy's distinctive streaking continued far down his breast and clinched the identification. Side by side, you might have noticed that Cooper's has a larger head and a longer tail, factors which are difficult to judge when only one specimen is present. Overall, Sharpies are smaller, and might well come off on the losing end of the contest with a Steller's Jay. The smaller birds seemed to know he was around, and stayed in the protection of the contorted filbert's tangle of branches. Even when bare of leaves, the tree's natural maze proves too tight for a Sharpie to penetrate.

Scrubby At Sunset

Day 345: "We interrrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you..." Scrubby at sunset! It's time for fall migration, and after having my Canada Jays at the feeder for the last several days, it shouldn't have surprised me when Scrubby (Western Scrub-jay, Aphelocoma californica) showed up for a late supper. I don't often see them here, although over the last several years, they...or this one, by himself...have more consistently appeared for a day or two in summer. Scrubby is a large bird, this individual slightly bigger than any of my Steller's, and certainly larger than the Greys (Canadas). According to Sibley, Steller's is the largest of the three, but that does not hold in my observation. So now that the Greys and Scrubby have stopped by, one burning question remains: Where are those darn Cedar Waxwings? They're late again, and my mountain-ash trees are heavily weighted with fruit.

Guttation

Day 344: Why do some fungi sweat? The phenomenon is most often seen in polypores (shelf fungi), but occurs in a few other species as well. In vascular plants, guttation happens when root pressure and high humidity combine. In fungi, it's not as well understood. Some studies suggest that the fungus is ridding itself of excess moisture which otherwise might cause it to rot. Others have shown by chemical analysis of the exudate that it may contain bioactive compounds, some of which could be harmful to the fungus, and by "sweating," it is expelling them. Conversely, it is also known that fungi may also reabsorb beneficial nutrients held in guttation droplets. The best time to observe guttation in plants or fungi is on a high-humidity morning following a cool night, and now that the Pacific Northwest has returned to its autumn weather pattern, you should have plenty of opportunities to find fungus sweating in the forest.

Acrobat Feeder

Day 343: My "Greybies" are back! The Canada Jays (Perisoreus canadensis) have returned from the uplands where they've summered on illicit handouts from Park visitors to enjoy a more healthful diet at my feeders. It takes them about ten minutes to empty the suet basket of the quarter-block portion I put out every morning, carrying off as much as they can hold to stash elsewhere for later consumption. I'll increase their ration as cold weather settles in. I believe this group is a family unit. Earlier this year, I had seen as many as five birds at once, and at this point, I have only observed three together. There could be more, taking turns. I have not yet been able to identify individuals by subtleties in their markings.

The Drafting Triangle

Day 342: Whatever method a spinner chooses to employ, be it supported long draw or long draw, inchworm, worsted, woolen, from the fold or any combination thereof, all share a common thread (excuse me, I honestly didn't see that one coming until I started to type it): the drafting triangle. This is the space between the leading hand and the back hand where the feed of fiber is controlled. Here, the spinner determines the diameter of the yarn to be wound onto the spindle by alternately pinching off the twist and drawing loose material from the fiber supply. Too much fiber in the drafting triangle will result in a lump, too little yields a thin spot and potential for breakage. A practiced spinner gauges the amount of fiber in the drafting triangle by eye, more easily done when held above a contrasting background. I tend to spin over my knee/thigh rather than close to the spinning wheel's orifice as I see some spinners do. I also draft back, a technique not seen as often as drafting forward, i.e., drawing new fiber into the drafting triangle by pulling with the leading hand. These techniques are neither "right" nor "wrong." These are the styles which were taught to me by my grandmother some seventy ago, presumably the way her own mother taught her to spin. The important thing is that I can spin a consistent yarn, neither over- or under-twisted, smooth, and of even diameter.The current wool (white Corriedale) is destined for an experimental dye job. Stay tuned for further developments!

Arrrrr!

Day 341: "If there be ary a thing wot compels me t' slit a gullet, it be th' skite wot swaggers onter me deck an' says t' bo'sun, 'Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Bring me to yer captain fer I wants t' j'in yer crew.' I'll keelhaul th' bleedin' fool afore 'e growls 'is second R. It be International Talk Like A Pirate Day ag'in, an' I be up to me flamin' arse in 'Arrrrr!'" So says Capt. Morgan Corbye, mistress of the seas, and I "be" (am) her biographer. At her bidding, I will set the record straight.

While the generic piratical growl is usually transcribed as "Arrrr!" with any number of Rs following the A, it should be noted that they are British Rs, whatever their number. Generally, unless followed by a vowel, they do not rumble, roar or resonate in the vocal cords. In fact, the very name of the letter is pronounced "Ah," and therefore "Arrrrr!" is an elongation of that sound. "Arrrrr!" with a growling rumble is a rhotic Americanization. When uttered by a true pirate, it more closely resembles "Aaaaahhhhh!" or "Aaaaggghhh!" or even "Aaaaaw!" Think of an anguished groan: "Aaaaarrrrr! Me leg's gone at th' knee!" It should also be mentioned here that Capt. Corbye's thoroughly piratical "arse" is an "aaahhhs," not an "ass." The latter is a donkey like Eeyore, which, I might add, is transcribed into American English as "Hee-haw," i.e., "eey-yoaahhh."

Canning Season

Day 340: I love having friends with fruit trees! Yesterday, a supply of pears and apples showed up on my doorstep, the pears at such a point that half of them needed to be processed immediately. The yield was only three pints, three pints to tuck away for winter nibbling. Today, I intend to work on the apples. They're harder to peel for these old, arthritic hands, but the thought of summer in jars makes the labour worthwhile.

I can't recall how long I've been canning jams, jellies and fruit. I suppose you could argue that it would be a lot less work to buy "fresh" fruit in winter, fruit which has either been in cold storage for several months or shipped across an ocean, fruit which was probably picked green and gassed to ripen it. No, that does not appeal to me. I'd rather spend a few hours in the kitchen paring, slicing, boiling jars, dripping sticky syrup on the counter and floor, steaming up every window in the house. I know this fruit personally. It's never seen a chemical, has hung on the tree in healthful sunlight and rain until it was ready to be picked. It's the real deal, warts and all, unlike some waxed, perfect and just-short-of-plastic pippin from the grocery store. It deserves to be preserved, if only for the short term.

What Is Loom Waste?

Day 339: As I sit here contemplating the next project to be hung on the floor loom, I'm calculating warp length, factoring in the unavoidable "loom waste" in order to obtain the proper length of cloth. Loom waste is that portion of the warp which cannot be woven, and occurs at both ends of any given warp. There is less waste at the beginning of a piece than at the end because it is simply tied to the apron rod. After a few rows are woven with a cord or other spacer to set the weave, the actual weaving can commence. On the far end, it's a different story. The warp is likewise tied to an apron rod, but the rod cannot pass the heddles/harnesses and reed. On my floor loom, the gap between being able to make an undistorted throw and the back rod is about 18", and that's squeezin' it. Add to that the thread required to tie the warp to both apron rods, and you have "loom waste" of roughly three feet. I usually allow five feet in my calculations, which gives me room to make a sample swatch for my weaving files. The short lengths of unusable warp are called thrums. Ever thrifty, I usually crochet thrums into potholders when I've collected enough of them.

Attention To Detail

Day 338: Thanks to the magic of photo-processing software, I can show you both sides of my first piece of false damask weaving at once. You will notice that, unlike summer-and-winter weave, the pattern appears in exact reverse. The means to effect this is no easy process and requires an enormous amount of attention to detail at multiple times before a single pass of the shuttle can be made, but any two-colour design which can be charted on graph paper can be executed in this manner. Let me explain.

A single square on a graph represents four...yes, four!...passes of the shuttle. The checkerboard pattern on the top and bottom of the piece required 72 throws (24 for each block). To make a single throw, first the pattern threads must be selected. This is done by opening the shed which holds them, working a pickup stick through them to raise the desired set. When they are selected, a thin wire is passed through the resulting shed and the pattern shed is closed. Got it? You haven't made a shuttle pass yet. Now the wire is slid back to the reed, and the first actual weaving shed is opened. This raises the selected pattern threads as well as the ground threads. To be on the safe side and to make double-checking easier, the pickup stick is again threaded through the shed to ensure that it is entirely clear of unwanted ground threads. At this point, I examine each set of raised threads to be sure that there are three (not four!) in each grouping for the ground, and then the shuttle can be put through the shed. This is the first pass of four to be made in a similar manner in order to complete one line/square on the graph. Referring back, this means that each large checkerboard square requires repeating this process 24 times, since each check is six lines as graphed. Now that I'm more experienced with the technique, I can do a line in about eight minutes, i.e., each row of checkerboard squares takes about half an hour to complete. It is impossible to speed up the process any further. Don't make a mistake, because picking back is difficult, to say the least. A more efficient use of your time is to check, double-check and triple-check each shed to be sure the correct threads are raised. Some sheds are harder to clear than others.

Since making this piece, I've changed the design up a little to remove the bulge in the birds' tails and to add a tip to their wings. I'm two-thirds of the way done with a second version in blue with smaller checks top and bottom. I love the technique, slow though it may be.

Hoyas Galore!

Day 337: While I can't claim that all four of these were in bloom simultaneously, they were all in flower over the last fourteen days! Different Hoya species bloom on different schedules. Some flower intermittently every six weeks or so, with longer periods of rest during their "off" season. Others only put on their displays once or twice a year. Hoya bella (lower right) was the first in this batch, and the flowers were just beginning to fade when H. ilagiorum (lower left) opened. Ilagiorum remained open as H. fitchii's clusters (top right) began to form, but the real surprise was when good ol' standard Hoya carnosa variegata joined the parade. It had never bloomed for me before. Its cluster is palm-sized, with individual flowers fully 3/4" in diameter! Fitchii had not fully faded when it opened, a succession of Hoyas in bloom like none I've experienced before. All four species are purportedly of the "intermittent" type. Whatever I'm doing, I must be doing it right.

Kautz Creek Keyhole Tree

Day 336: From USGS's website: "The October 2-3, 1947 Kautz Creek was the site of the most voluminous debris-flow event of historical time; it covered the road with 28 feet of mud, rocks, and tree debris. Very heavy rainfall started early on October 1, and the first debris flow occurred October 2 between 10 and 11 p.m. A succession of debris flows moved down valley during the night ending at 8 a.m. October 3. An estimated 40 million m³ (52 million yd³) of debris was deposited in a fan along the Nisqually River that extended up Kautz Creek valley northward across the highway."

Although eyewitness Assistant Superintendent Harthon Bill reported "logs were striking the abutments and flying right over the bridge," some trees were left standing, doomed to suffocate in the mud. Their silver snags can be seen as you hike the first mile of trail from parking. Near the edge of a channel carved by another flooding event stands an old friend I call the Keyhole Tree, waist-deep in the historic mud which cut its life short. I cannot tell you why it branched to form a curl. Nor can I tell you its species. I just know it as a landmark, part of the songline which takes me through an area seemingly scant of vegetation, but looking to the ground, I see recovery at work. A long process, to be sure, but the lichens and mosses and pioneer forbs are hard at work here, rebuilding a forest into which one day the Keyhole Tree will be reabsorbed.

Uncut Cloth

Day 335: This is what a coverlet looks like, fresh off the loom. Well, and a little extra. The coverlet will consist of three panels sewn together, and the remaining section will be turned into a matching pillow or something. I'm actually surprised by how quickly this went, but then I really devoted myself to getting it done. My minimum goal was two motifs (squares) per day. Some days, I did as many as five, but that generally proved to be too much for my shoulders. Of course, I was working on other projects as well. Now the floor loom is empty. I had a project in mind, but once I did the calculations, I realized that my reed isn't wide enough, and because reeds aren't cheap, it's prudent for me to change my project plans instead. While I'm thinking about that, I can continue working on the false damask on the table loom. Actually, the first sample piece is almost done. I may cut it free before starting a new one, just so I have something to show my readers.

Kautz Crossing

Day 334: For the way the rest of the week has gone, it comes as no surprise that I was stung by something big, black and bad-tempered while I was out looking for mushrooms this morning. I didn't ask for its ID, but since I wasn't dead by the time I got back to the car, it wasn't a bee. I knew it wasn't a bee anyway, because I saw it as I swatted it off the back of my hand. Nor was it a deer-fly, because I am having a typical "wasp" reaction: my hand has swelled up to the size of a basketball and hurts clear up to my ears. Slight exaggeration there, yes, but swollen and painful nonetheless. I almost aborted the second part of the day's plan...the part (forgive me, Kevin, for not sticking to the prospectus) formulated while I was looking for 'shrooms. I've been telling myself I wanted to walk up Kautz for the last couple of weeks, but the thought of hordes of visitors on the trail was a strong deterrent. Today was cloudy and cool, and I covered the mile to and from the creek crossing without seeing a soul once I'd gone past the viewpoint near parking. The joy of being alone in the woods even seemed to take the "sting" out of my poor hand as long as I was in motion. It wasn't much of a hike: mostly flat, only a mile (one way), nothing scenic, although the area has a unique charm due to having been scoured by a glacial outburst event back in 1947. Three-quarters of a century later, not much grows there except slide alder, lichen and moss. But did I find mushrooms? Nothing edible, no. It's been a rough week. Maybe I should get up on the other side of the bed tomorrow morning. Or not at all.

The Most Peaceful Day

Day 333: On this date, you often hear the question, "Where were you on 9/11?" I was here, on the 7131-foot summit of Old Desolate in Mount Rainier National Park. I'd been camped down below in Elysian Fields for a week or so on my annual September pilgrimage, waked to a lightly frosted morning and decided it was time to visit Old D. I was on the move before the sun had crested the ridge dividing the Fields from Vernal Park, following the same songline I had trod dozens of times over the years. I said hi to the Anomalous Boulder as I passed, wound my way through a belt of trees to attain the Grasshopper Track which in turn took me to the Birdbath below the Black Thing. I poured a little water in the basin because it was empty (not surprisingly), passed through Marmot Skull Gap's barrier of heather, slipped and slid through the sandy slopes until I reached the Monitor (a prominent rock), and after hugging my old friend as was my custom, I began the plod up Old D's shoulder. A tiny patch of snow lingered in the shaded cirque on the north side. By the time I reached the summit, it was nearing elevenses, so I settled in with the ladybugs and little black wasps to take my lunch of crackers and cold coffee. Usually, I'd have stayed an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but on this occasion, there was something different which compelled me to stay until mid-afternoon. It was so quiet, so blissful, so serene that I could not bring myself to leave until I knew it would be dinnertime before I got back to camp. I don't think I said a word while I was there, not wanting to intrude upon the near-absolute silence.

Several days later, I hiked out from my camp. Once I'd reached trail, I passed a few scattered people, but the only one who acknowledged me remarked on the pine needles caught in my hair. "Yeah, I've been out for a while," I told him. My fishing buddy was waiting to pick me up when I got back to Ipsut. We had driven twenty miles or so before he said to me, "You don't know what happened, do you?" And then he told me about the 9/11 attack.

In hindsight, I realized that the silence on Old D's summit was because all planes had been grounded. The usual background noise of jets was absent from the deep backcountry, and indeed from everywhere else in the United States. But that one thing, that absence of intrusive noise, made for me the most peaceful and idyllic day of my life. I feel a little guilty admitting that it was September 11, 2001.

Four-Shaft False Damask

Day 332: Until very recently, I thought it was only possible to weave false damask on an eight-shaft loom or a draw loom. Then I discovered a novel technique as explained by Sarah of Sarah Jackson Handwoven Designs on YouTube for executing it on a four-shaft loom. Her instructions there are not complete, and I was too lazy to try to figure out the tie-up (although I was fairly certain it was broken twill, as it turned out to be), so I bought her tutorial pattern through Etsy. I decided to weave it on my table loom in case it proved to be beyond me, but now after several inches of very steep "learning curve waste," I am pleased to say that my pattern is beginning to emerge. I did not use Ms. Jackson's design, instead drawing one of my own to suit the dimensions of the trial run.

Let me tell ya, this is a right royal pain in the neck to weave, but I haven't been this excited about a new technique since I discovered overshot some fifty years ago. Supplemental to your loom's four shafts, you will need a pickup stick, two lengths of music wire and the patience of a saint. If you are following a design on graph paper, each square requires four picks, three of which involve manually picking up the pattern threads. A wire is then passed through the lifted threads and pushed back against the reed, and when the shed is opened, the wire holds the pattern threads above the lower tier. The remaining shed (#3) utilizes the threads picked up and held on the wire from the previous pass. I call it "the easy shed," but easy or not, if I am not careful, I risk picking up unwanted threads. After discovering several inadvertent floats in my practice work, I added another step to Ms. Jackson's process: reinserting the pickup stick in the shed before sending the shuttle through. Even so, I have to check each shed to be sure it is clear. The design on the "back" of the fabric is the exact reverse of that on the "front."

Technically, this process effects the same shed sequence you would get if you were treadling an eight-harness loom. The four-shaft weaver uses pickup sticks/wires to create the same sheds which would be created by treadling. Obviously, this means it is a slower process because of all the manual manipulation required, but the main thing is this: IT CAN BE DONE! And you don't need an eight-shaft loom to do it. Did I mention "slow?" I'm getting faster. I can now complete four passes of the shuttle in something under ten minutes. That's real progress!

Proud Heritage

Day 331: I'm proud of my Heritage...my Heritage raspberries, of course! This "everbearing" variety produces its heaviest crops if only allowed to fruit in autumn, so to that end, I cut them back to ground level after the vines have withered, forcing them to start over from scratch the following spring. They begin bearing in September and will continue up until the nights dip below freezing. My small patch (about 4' x 8') yields plenty-'nuff berries for a big batch of jelly and the occasional bowl of fresh fruit. I pop them in the freezer as they ripen, picking a few each day, dusting each layer with a little sugar. I'll make jam when cooler weather arrives, or if my pantry is already full, I'll simply eat them as snacks.

Spillway - The Teaser

Day 330: It's a dam spillway! This is the teaser. I recently found instructions for a weaving structure I had always thought was impossible to create on a four-shaft loom, i.e., that it had to be woven on a minimum of eight shafts or on a drawloom. I won't give it away just yet, but having done a small experiment with the leftover warp on the floor loom, I am reasonably certain that I understand the technique. In any event, I decided it was prudent to warp it onto my table loom so that there would be less wastage in case everything goes pear-shaped on me, and that's how I've spent the morning. I chose the metaphor of a spillway for good reason: although the threads are each drawn through individual heddles, they pass through "penstocks," four in a bunch in each dent, separated from one another by an empty dent. It makes for quite a cascade! I need to settle on a design before I can begin, but let me assure you, this is the most excited I've been about a weaving technique since I discovered the joys of overshot some fifty years ago.

Krokbragd On A Frame Loom

Day 329: There are several new and exciting things going on in my little fiberarts world currently, and you'll be hearing about more of them in days soon to come. We'll start with the frame loom, my September Morn present-to-self. It presents weaving in its most basic form: warp threads wrapped around pegs, the sheds controlled by a stick inserted between them. Many weavers got their start on one of these in grade school, weaving a simple over-and-under tabby. However, any warp threads can be picked up with the stick, so many other weaving structures are possible. I was sure krokbragd was one of them, and although I was right, it is somewhat tedious to do. That said, the problem of slack warp threads was eliminated completely, making the trade-off worthwhile, and I was able to weave a tabby border for neater selvedges. For small pieces like krokbragd placemats, this little loom is perfect, and it folds down flat to be quite portable. Like many a child before me, I sit on the floor when I'm weaving on it.

Mad For Mums

Day 328: I'm mad for mums, and since it has been several years since my last one gave up the ghost, I decided to make up for lost time and bought three of my favourite colours yesterday. They are all small plants, so I put them together in a pot I can easily move to a protected area when temperatures start dropping below freezing. Although they're sold as annuals, chrysanthemums are astonishingly sturdy. I've never had one which didn't come back at least one year, and more likely, three or four. Even if only one of these survives the winter, I'll be happy.

Mums are long on a natural insecticide, pyrethrum. Their flowers are processed to extract an oleoresin which is marketed under the name "pyrethrin," available in almost any garden center, but if you plant mums, you'll see a decrease in mosquitoes, ants and aphids, at least in proximity to the plants themselves. Surround your favourite sitting area with them, and enjoy mosquito-free tea-times. Autumn is here. Go mad for mums!

Huernia Procumbens

Day 327: I live in a hours divided. The hoyas occupy the east and north facing windows of the living room (actually, it's more like NE and SE), and the cacti are mostly all crammed onto a shelf in the small south (SW) window of the Loom Room where they can receive the greatest amount of light. The Loom Room tends to be cooler as well, especially in winter, i.e., the best possible situation I can provide in order to bring them into bloom. The largest two, Huernia procumbens (Pointed Star Lifesaver Plant, above) and Epiphyllum oxypetalum (Night-Blooming Cereus), are in hanging baskets above normal eye level when I'm seated at the loom. Huernia's stars sometimes escape my notice until they've faded. I always feel a little guilty when I find a dried-up one among the stems. This one almost eluded me, since it appeared on the side of the cactus facing the window. If I hadn't brought the plant down for a pruning, I might not have seen it. While not as colourful as Huernia zebrina, the flowers of this species still look as if they'd eat you alive if they were only bigger.

Busy Day

Day 326: Yesterday was a busy and very productive day on the fiberarts scene. Not only did I complete the third of the three panels for the summer-and-winter piece, I finished plying a four-ounce skein of yarn. If that doesn't sound like enough, I also devised a method for making tidy selvedges when weaving krokbragd on the frame loom which was a September Morn present-to-self. The system can be adapted to the rigid heddle as well. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before: simply weave two or more selvedge threads in tabby. D'uh! As for the summer-and-winter, I still have quite a bit of warp left on the loom. I always add extra. There might even be enough for a fourth panel, although I wouldn't want to add it to the coverlet. I will probably use it for a matching pillow. It will be a week or ten days before I'm ready to take this weaving off the loom, but I feel I can rest on my laurels, knowing the coverlet panels are done and, I might add, in record time (August 10-September 3, i.e., 24 days). What's next? I'm considering another coverlet, this time in overshot. We'll see. I have a week or two to think about it.

Staying Within Reasonable Bounds

Day 325: Late last fall, the trellis supporting the white-flowered Akebia vine broke about halfway up the wall. I figured it was as good a time as any to prune back the vine to a reasonable height. The white one is my pollinator. I have been unable to get it to set fruit, although whether the problem lies with it or with the male flowers of the purple vine is uncertain. The purple males produce very little pollen, and it can be assumed that what they do produce is infertile, but in any event, transferring pollen from the white male flowers to the purple females works. That said, the vines of either are very vigorous. Pruning them to stay within reasonable bounds makes harvesting the peculiar fruits of this particular horticultural labour much easier.

Nutty Horticulture

Day 324: Most of my readers will recall that I've done a number of rather odd horticultural experiments in the past, but this one has to be the nuttiest yet. Past experience with filberts/hazelnuts strongly suggests that wildlife or worms get the meat before the nuts can be harvested, but I don't recall that I ever opened a nut while it was green to see if there was actually anything inside. Harry Lauder has developed quite a few clusters of nuts this year, so I decided to sacrifice one in the name of science. I was surprised to find a developing nut inside the shell which, it must be mentioned, was already fairly hard. I began by trying to saw off the top, but I pinched the shell so hard with the pliers that as soon as I'd broken through the exterior, it shattered. Even so, the experiment gave good results, revealing an immature filbert. Having discovered this, a second experiment suggested itself: try to keep peckers and paws off a few nuts long enough for them to ripen. It's possible they may go wormy. Experiments frequently have numerous possible outcomes. To that end, I mounted three chicken-wire cages on stakes, each cage surrounding two to four nuts. While this may not be sufficient to deter the long-beaked Steller's Jays, I am hoping to have two or three nuts mature.

September Morn

Day 323: The leaves are beginning to turn colour. The first true rain has fallen. The sky is blithely grey, and western Washington feels like western Washington again. The Beautiful Month opens with fog and drizzle, and invites me to step into the yard to dance in the coolness, driven to a pleasurable madness only area natives will understand. Too long have we been dry and bright and overly warm: out of sync, out of the norm, longing for shut-in days of Goretex weather. There were puddles in my yard yesterday, and although I didn't do it, I wanted to go outside to walk barefoot in one, to rejoice in mud and the smell of wet grass. A new meteorological cycle begins, and it is a glad, good September Morn!