Hummingbird Feeder

Day 177: The early-season hummingbird feeder is in bloom, attracting both Rufous and Anna's to its panicles of hot-pink flowers. They were drawn to my two bushes even before the buds had opened, hopeful of a sip of nectar as they probed the petals with their beaks. Although I keep glass feeders out year-'round (the Anna's hummers are here all winter), when the Red-flowering Currant (Ribes sanguineum) is in bloom, the kitchen-brewed syrup is largely ignored. This shrub is native to the area, and produces a less-than-palatable dusty blue-grey fruit which goes untouched by any of my resident birds. I'm sure some critter must eat the berries, but I don't know who.

Viola Glabella

Day 176: Viola glabella. Now there's a contradiction of terms! Translated from their Latin origins, the two parts of the name mean "yellow" and "violet" as in the colours, but then the Romans never made it to the Pacific Northwest where the majority of our "violets" are indeed yellow. One assumes those in Italy at the time were of a pale purple hue. But you've heard me rant on this subject before. Instead, let's just enjoy this sunny little harbinger of spring whose yellow faces we find smiling in the moist, shady nooks of our forests and gardens, cheerful even in the rain.

Secret Falls

Day 175: "Secret Falls" is the name I gave it. On the map, it doesn't have one, and that's understandable because it's only about a yard wide and maybe 15' tall. I made its acquaintance some years ago while snowshoeing up Westside Road when the road was gated for winter. I could hear water flowing, and yes, there was a trickle flowing through a culvert beneath the road, but only a tiny wink of the falls was visible although it was only about fifty feet from me. Curious, I made my way into the forest and around a slight bend, and there it was, its cascade concealed by the angle of the cleft in the rock. These days, it gives me a goal to achieve when I want a short hike as I did on a warm day recently. Secret Falls was there waiting for me, as always.

Fritillary

Day 174: Last fall, I cleaned out the huge flower pot which holds the Fritillary Lilies and Snowflakes, replanting the bulbs in fresh soil and closer to the surface. This really needs to be done every few years, but I have been horribly remiss, with fewer blooms emerging than might have if I had been more diligent. This year, I'm reaping rewards for my small labour. The Fritillaries began opening a few days ago during the warm weather, and there are numerous buds yet to come. Fritillaria meleagris may be known to you as "Chocolate Lily" or "Checkered Lily," and is a close cousin to our native Fritillaria affinis, also called by both common names. The native plant has a less-than-pleasant scent which I have not noticed in the garden variety. A family of butterflies also goes by the name of Fritillary and is also checkered in appearance, a bit of trivia which sent me straight to the dictionary to find out the origin of the word. "Fritillus" in Latin refers to a dice-cup (checkered, one would presume) or a checkerboard; to be strictly accurate, mind you, it does not refer to a chessboard, because chess was unknown to the Romans.

Tragedy And Comedy Rock

Day 173: I love this old guy! He sits about a mile up the Westside Road, and has revealed many facets of his character in the numerous times I've walked past him. Yesterday was no exception. As I was headed north, he seemed to be in a rather grouchy mood, scowling and dour, but on the return southbound, I found him happy and smiling. "Tragedy and Comedy," I thought, "carved in stone." Or could that be a cat face? In the past, when the ferns of his toupee were more lush, I've seen him as a Raven, a guide for those who walk the path, but try as I might, I could not find the Raven in his profile yesterday, so strongly had this new personality emerged. You never know who you may run into in the woods.

Dizzybats!

Day 172: If this doesn't drive you dizzybats, you probably need better glasses! I am now up to the "fun" section of the undulating twill project for the April Weave-Along, "fun" because it is an optic white weft against black and dark grey warp. It so befuddled my eyes that I took to installing a little piece of yellow slicky-cord (nylon cord) at the start of each section so I could tell where one left off and the next began. Without it, my squares weren't turning out uniformly square. The single-throw motifs want to be longer than their heavier, double-throw counterparts, so I am having to pay careful attention to how firmly I beat the threads into place.

Out Of My Mind

Day 171: I must be out of my mind! Not only is this thread finer than anything I have ever spun before, it is also the slipperiest. It is bamboo, which is to say it's rayon under a more romantic name, and I've used this same fiber to blend with wool before, but had never spun it by itself. Bronka just finished up two ounces of luscious, creamy Corriedale wool spun at a lace weight, and as I was scouting the cedar chest for a new spinning project, the bamboo caught my eye. "Well, let's try it," I said, fully expecting it to be so slick that I couldn't control the feed. But it surprised me, and so did Bronka. I was able to set the tension such that sufficient twist came into the fibers without pulling too much from my fingers, and an extra-fine, shiny thread began winding onto the bobbin. Here, I show it bent back on itself to demonstrate how it will look when it's make into two-ply. It's going to take a long time for me to spin even a one-ounce skein, but I am loving the feel and the way it works up.