Kittygons Coming Together

Day 298: Although I'm still 100 shy of having cut all the lime green background pieces, I've begun assembling the kittygons after spending most of an hour yesterday with all of them laid out on the floor. My goal was to have no two identical small hexagons in proximity to one another, no two prints appearing in the same position near each other, and to prevent "clumping" of the same print, i.e., to place them in a fairly even distribution throughout the quilt. That was a pretty tall order, and I'm not sure I filled it to the letter, but that's what scrap quilts are about: randomness. One cannot achieve randomness by making it conform to rules because enforced randomness is not truly random by its very definition. I'm sure some day when I'm curled up under the Kittygons during a power outage, I'll find order somewhere in the chaos. I will undoubtedly cuss a vividly blue streak before I laugh and say to myself, "How on earth did I miss that?"

Erigeron Acris

Day 297: As a general rule, I dismiss DPDs ("damn purple daisies") from my personal list of Wildflowers of Interest. I can look across a field of lavender-hued asters without seeing them as anything but background noise. However, this miniature version won a special place in my heart when I discovered it several years ago. As opposed to most other DPDs, this one is quite small, standing no more than six inches tall (and that would be a stretch). It's easy to overlook, and perhaps that's what caught my eye originally: I don't look for something. I look at the whole scene and my eye is automatically drawn to what is unusual in it. This is Erigeron acris, "acris" meaning "sour, bitter," thus leading to the plant's common name of "Bitter Fleabane." The flowers are very pale lavender, almost white, and the greyish-green leaves camouflage it quite effectively in the dry, rocky areas in which it is frequently found. When mature, the plant's fuzzy seed heads look like miniature dandelion puffs, each seed (achene) attached to its own parachute of fluff (pappus), ready to be carried away on the winds of autumn.

Patty's Potato Chip

Day 296: Yesterday, the Potato Chip Quilt arrived at its final destination, taking my sister-of-the-heart Patty quite by surprise. Oh, I'd baited her with a tracking number so that she could follow a Mystery Box as it travelled across the country, but had given her no clues as to what it contained. The third member of our triumvirate was in on the secret, keeping her lips zipped as tightly as mine. I wanted her to share in the suspense and the moment of revelation. Now both of my "sisters" have quilts I hand-stitched, although Mousie's was pieced by her grandmother about seventy years years ago.

Quilting is one of the ways I've kept sane through the pandemic. When I finish the one currently on the frame about two weeks from now, it will be the seventh one I've made since covid protocols became a new way of life. Of those seven, one was quilted with the sewing machine and one was tied, using buttons at the anchor points, but the other five were all hand-quilted to make the puff pattern visible on the back side (photo, right). This stitching helps stabilize the batting, although modern batts don't tend to lump like the cotton ones of yesteryear. I find hand-quilting very relaxing, even meditative, and I am grateful to the friend who gave me her old quilting frame which has made the job even more enjoyable. As much as I love piecing the bright colours and arranging them, I am truly in my métier when doing hand-stitchery. One hand remains above the quilt, the other beneath it, driving the needle straight down or straight up, striving to keep my stitches uniform and aligned. As my mother often said, "A thing worth doing is worth doing well," and I try to live by her philosophy. Even so, my hand-work is far less meticulous than that of my great-grandmother who, although I barely knew her, has served to inspire me in the art of quilting.

There Is Nothing...

Day 295: Friends know the phrase well: "There is nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds!" The last several weeks have provided me with much amusement in the character of newly-fledged Evening Grosbeak kids being fed by one or both parents. There is much to be learned from the patience seen here, and from the occasional demonstration of "tough love"when mom or dad decides it's time for Junior to find food on his own. That said, these are familiar sights. Not so, the youngster who was being instructed in how to drink from the birdbath. A young male, not yet in full colour but with white wing patches fairly well developed, was receiving instruction from Dad: "Look, you bend over, get a beakful of water, tip your head back, and it runs down your throat." The youngster's sense of balance was a little dodgy, and he seemed to be afraid he was going to fall backwards off the rim. He turned around so that his tailfeathers were resting on the bowl, but when he tipped his head back, the tip of his tail slipped to the side and got wet. He shook it off, releasing a sudden Parrot-sized rainstorm. The shower startled him the first time, and then he seemed to realize that the cool water felt good. He decided to forgo drinking lessons in favour of stepping down onto the first tier of the basin for a full and very splashy bath. Dad retreated to the safety of the nearby fence while I watched from the kitchen doorway, wishing I'd had the camera at hand. This breeding season has been one of the most successful so far, with hardly any fatalities. If you're thinking of buying stock, invest in sunflower seeds. I may have to start buying them by the semi-load.

Lapsana Communis

Day 294: Following up on a post made on June 6, I finally remembered to photograph the flower of Lapsana communis, a weed which goes by the common name of Nipplewort. As you can see, the blossom is relatively small, not even close to the size of that of a hawkweed or dandelion. Nor does it form a fuzzy seed head like them. Instead, it drops individually-sheathed seeds which do not split open (dehisce) until germination occurs. Consequently, the weed tends to remain in closer confines than those pests whose seeds are wind-dispersed, but nevertheless, it can take over an area and crowd out less vigorous native species. It is not listed as invasive, but it is not native to the area. The foliage is purportedly edible and the sap is reported to be soothing on the skin. I'll remember that the next time I'm out there pulling it by the handful.

Anticlea Occidentalis, Mountainbells

Day 293: Okay, bear with me here. This is not going to be another rant about taxonomy, I promise. That said, when this plant was moved from Stenanthium to Anticlea, my curiosity about the etymology was aroused because it didn't seem to be sourced in Latin. As it turns out, the name was drawn directly from Greek mythology. Anticlea was the mother of Odysseus (the identity of his father is subject to debate). Her name means "without fame," appropriately perhaps, because she seems to have no particular function in the legend beyond being noted as part of Odysseus' genealogy when he meets her spirit in Hades. Ask three people how to pronounce "Anticlea," and you'll likely receive three different answers. I've heard "An-TICK-lee-uh," "ANTIE-klee" (totally ignoring the final "a") and something close to my own pronunciation of "Anty-CLEE-uh." Perhaps the most surprising thing about the taxonomic shift is that it denotes a phylogenetic link with three species of deathcamas, one of which (Glaucous Death Camas) also experienced a reclassification (from Zigadenus to Anticlea). In any event, Mountainbells are lovely and relatively scarce in our forests. They prefer a moist, shady habitat. Their delicate purple bells sway on slender stems to a height of roughly 12 inches, responding to the slightest breath of wind.

Willow Galls

Day 292: Red galls can be found on almost any species of Salix (Willow) in the Pacific Northwest. These growths form around the larvae of specific insects (wasps, midges, etc) and arise as a reaction to chemicals secreted by the insect itself. The gall serves as both protection and as a confined source of food for the single developing larva contained within its shell until the insect is ready to emerge. In this instance, the responsible party is likely a member of Pontania, i.e., a Sawfly. Several members of the genus are specific to one particular host species, although some willows can be affected by more than one species of Pontania. Galls generally do not damage the tree, although the same cannot be said for the mature bug.