True Leaf

Day 200: Where there's life, there's hope, and I am hoping for sweet little Sungold cherry tomatoes to add to my lettuce salads later this summer. The seeds were a COVID-share; a friend dropped them on my porch when she heard that I had not bought tomato plants before the stay-at-home order was put in place. I put them in four pots, and was pleasantly surprised when all nine seeds sprouted, leaving me plenty of wiggle-room to thin. "One for the worm, one for the crow, one to die and one to grow" was my father's adage for planting seed corn. It seems to work for tomatoes as well. True leaves are now beginning to appear on my seedlings. At this point, they are vulnerable to "damping off," but I only need one to survive for the garden. I should have a crop somewhat later than if I had planted a commercial start, but Sungold is a prolific producer, a single plant yielding more bite-sized fruit than I can use. For now, the seedlings are sitting just inside the kitchen door where they can look over their future home and think about how they'll flourish when I let them out of confinement.

Purple Finch Male

Day 199: Backyard birding has taken on a whole new relevance since COVID-19 appeared on our maps, and although I'm not likely to see any new species, it's a delight when one of the "summer folk" arrives. I presently have a disproportionate number of female Purple Finches giving the few brightly coloured males a wide selection of potential mates. The female is an LBJ, "Little Brown Job" in birder parlance, and sometimes difficult to identify at first glance because she resembles a sparrow. Look for a light "eyebrow," a heavy, seed-cracking beak and a dark lateral (side) stripe on the throat which begins at the lower part of the bill. The male is much easier to pin down. He looks as if he'd bathed in raspberry juice. Where the species overlap, males can be confused with those of House Finch, but remember: Houses have shingles, i.e., their breasts are marked with dark flecks. The breast of the male Purple Finch is clear.

Canada Goose

Day 198: As if it wasn't tough enough to squeeze my daily walk in between traffic, possible human contact and disputes with a herd of elk over the right-of-way, now I have to contend with Canada geese. Make no mistake: this is a large bird, and the advantage it has over humans is that it can fly, and it does not hesitate to do so, straight toward anyone it perceives as being in its territory. In this particular scenario, Mr. Goose and I were on opposite sides of a barbed-wire fence, but we were in eye contact for some time as the goose assessed whether or not I was a rival. I know to pick my battles; I can rout a herd of elk, but Goose won the staring contest and I moved on.

Branta canadensis populations are somewhat reduced from what they were in Washington a decade ago, but in many areas, they continue to be abundant and are considered pests. Public education about geese is important to controlling their numbers. When favoured by human contributions to food sources, goose populations can rise quite rapidly, so eliminating potential foods is an effective deterrent. Many parks post signs cautioning people not to feed geese and ducks. This not only discourages them from visiting the space, but is also better for the overall health of the birds. Two groups of honkers populate the state: residents (non-migratory) and non-residents (migratory). For a young goose to migrate, it must be taught its route by its parents. If the parents are non-migratory, all subsequent generations will be non-migratory as well. That said, if you're watching a flock of cute little goslings, don't forget to look behind you occasionally. "Getting goosed" can be a very painful and memorable experience.

The McLeod Project

Day 197: They call it the "loud MacLeod." The tartan of MacLeod/McLeod of Lewis is even more recognizable than Royal Stewart, being one of very few "plaids" with a yellow ground (a "plaid," incidentally, is a garment rather than a pattern). It also happens to be my family's tartan by way of an indiscretion committed by my grandfather's mother with a man of the clan, a dalliance which, according to his personal research, led to my grandfather's birth. My grandfather went to Skye in the early 1900s to speak with people who had known his family and found enough support for the story to convince him of his right to the tartan. Although that bloodline is somewhat diluted in its present incarnation (me), I am proud to be a McLeod (the spelling used in our line), if from the "wrong side of the blanket."

The necessity for sticking close to home has found me digging into my stash of fibers with a critical eye to potential projects. I had on hand a good supply of Caron "Simply Soft" worsted in gold, harvest red and black, having used the colours previously to make ladybug and bee hats for Joppa Flats. Those, or as close as makes no nevermind, are the colours of Clan McLeod. Obviously quite a bit heavier than I would have liked, availability suggested a project to follow the tablecloth: a McLeod shawl. I was able to find the exact sett written in the code unique to tartan weaving, and reinterpreted it to proportions reasonable for the yarn. Admittedly, the width of a shawl only allows for one full repeat flanked by a half-repeat to either side, but at approximately six feet in length, there will be five red intersections. The worsted-weight fiber makes the weaving move very quickly. By yesterday evening, I had woven over two feet even though I had spent very little time at the loom. I suspect the McLeod Project will be done by Tuesday.

Tablecloth In Two Parts

Day 196: I have never had a problem keeping myself amused when alone. I've spent a large portion of my life alone, if perhaps not in quite the isolated state I find myself in lately, but alone nevertheless and sometimes for protracted periods of time. After several days of planning, on April 2, I measured out the warp for a tablecloth to be woven in two panels to be joined side-by-side. The next couple of days were spent dressing the loom, i.e., hanging the warp according to a strict draft and preparing to weave. On April 5, I began the actual weaving.

One of the things I've learned about myself over the years is that I tend to attack a project with great vigour at the beginning, a practice which usually results in burn-out and having to force myself to finish. To combat that, I decided to ration myself to one colour sequence each day. I found myself getting up every morning looking forward to my stint at the loom, and was often tempted to work into the next day's ration in the evening. I only allowed myself that luxury twice when I was particularly furious at some piece of public covidiocy and wanted to work off my frustrations. Of course, this meant that my following day's allotment was cut short, so I busied myself with planning for my next weaving. I finished the panels on April 24, and yesterday wove one final sequence as a sample before removing the tablecloth from the loom. All that remains to finish the piece is to hand-weave the panels together (a tedious process at best, but not one I will postpone for any great length of time).

The fiber I chose for the tablecoth was an 8/2 cotton with a soft finish. Fortunately, I had all the colours on hand. In the upper photo, you can see the unwoven space between the panels at the center of the piece. In order to achieve perfect squares, I had to exercise some restraint in beating the threads into place, stopping to measure every half inch so that I could compensate, or to pick back if absolutely necessary. The squares are 1", in a sequence of seven colours repeating five times across the width. The sample on the left shows the raw fabric, the one on the right shows it after "fulling," i.e., washing it to expand the fibers and then shrinking it by drying. Fulling also resolves any minor gaps left by uneven beating (something even the best weavers can't fully prevent).

As I mentioned a little earlier in this post, I devoted some time between bouts of weaving in planning my next project, a shawl in knitting worsted using the sett for my ancestral tartan, MacLeod of Lewis, also known as "the loud MacLeod." I had the colours on hand, having used them to make bee and ladybug hats: rich yellow, black and red. Before I went to bed last night, I had warped the loom for the shawl and had woven one yellow and one black sequence, and this piece will progress much more rapidly even with careful rationing.

Oniscus Asellus, European Sowbug

Day 195: Inspired by a recent blog post from Mass Audubon Joppa Flats Education Center (you know, the people I make knit hats for!), I went sowbug hunting in my yard with a mind to enlightening my readership with regard to these helpful little crustaceans. Yep, that's your first lesson right there: crustaceans. Sowbugs and Pillbugs (aka Roly-polys) are not insects. In fact, they are more closely akin to crayfish (crawdads) than to insects. They belong to the greater taxonomic Order of Isopoda (isopods). Sowbugs and Pillbugs both belong to the suborder Oniscidea, Sowbugs to the taxonomic family Oniscidae (note the spelling difference in the ending, please) and Pillbugs to Armadillidiidae (proofreader's nightmare, that one). The scientific name of Pillbugs should give you a clue on how to tell them apart. Pillbugs can roll up like an armadillo; Sowbugs cannot. Another physical difference is that Sowbugs have two short tails. Pillbugs have none. Sowbugs also have two pair of antennae, although the second pair is difficult to see without a magnifier. Although many people get "creeped out" at the thought of Roly-polys, they are in fact harmless and helpful. They thrive on decaying plant matter, and do not bite or sting. There are a number of species in each Family, and on this occasion, those I could find seeking cool, moist places under rocks and old wood in my yard all appeared to be an introduced species, Oniscus asellus, the European Sowbug.

White-Crowned Sparrow, Zonotrichia Leucophrys

Day 194: I refer to them as "racing-stripe sparrows" or "the guys with the go-faster stripes." The head of the White-Crowned Sparrow (Zonotrichia leucophrys) is marked by three distinct white stripes, one through each eye and one on the crown which meet at the back of the head, which makes the bird look as if it's wearing a bicycle helmet. When the bird is excited or curious, it may raise its crown feathers. As a species, they are gregarious little critters, often feeding among other birds including juncos and other sparrows. Their primary diet consists of weed and grass seeds, as well as a wide variety of insects and even some small fruits such as elderberries or blackberries. Their feeding habits resemble those of the Spotted Towhee: hop, scratch, hop-back-scratch. This action raises seeds and bugs to the surface where they are more accessible. White-Crowned Sparrows tend to stay in any given area, so their song often shows dialectic differences in different regions. Males which live on the border between two regions may learn to sing two different dialects. The locals can often be heard calling for "more cheezies," one of the mnemonics which can be used to identify this bird by ear.