Having a Firkin Purpose

When you see firkins listed for sale, they are most frequently described as a "sugar bucket" or just "bucket." Sometimes (especially ones which have been artistically painted), you'll see them called "sewing boxes." It is rare to see one correctly described as to its purpose as a butter keeper, because for the most part, the original insulative lining is not present. I picked mine up at a yard sale for a whopping $5 and was surprised to find the liner intact, not even cracked with age. I'm sure many of them must have been put to use as sugar buckets when their liners deteriorated, hence the misconception. Mine is serving its firkin purpose as a cat-proof needlework stash. Critter would love to get the lid off, but so far, he hasn't figured out how it works.

Snowdrops in the Rain

Spring is coming. The Snowdrops herald the opening days. Other than the Hellebores, Snowdrops are the first to flower in my garden every year. The daffodils are only about four inches tall at this point, although some are already beginning to form buds, and the species tulips will be right behind them. Snowflakes (not to be confused with Snowdrops) will follow in the outsized flower pot they share with Chocolate Lilies. This year, I will not be starting seedlings indoors. The last several years have been almost complete failures in that regard, even though the plants were healthy when I put them outside. It's been alternately too hot or too cold, or alternated between both in quick succession, and they have not been able to survive despite my best efforts. I may pick up some starts at the garden store, but the hassle of having trays of seedlings in every cat-safe spot in the house is simply not worth it when the yield for last year was one single painted daisy. Or maybe it's that my mojo has changed gears. Where once I couldn't grow anything edible to save my soul while flowers loved me, last year, I got both figs and kiwis. I think that's a fair trade-off.

Slipper Socks in Nålbinding

I seem to be on a nålbinding jag lately, and since I had never attempted to make a turned heel, I grabbed a ball of leftover yarn, mindful that it might not be sufficient to make a pair. The heels go in separately after the foot and cuff have been completed, so if I ran out, I figured I could use a different colour for them. Nålbinding patterns are not rigid instructions by any stretch of the imagination. They're guidelines, and it's up to the stitcher to adapt them to the yarn at hand (nålbinding is traditionally done with handspun, in which there is necessarily a lot of variation). Because this was an experiment of sorts, I used commercial acrylic DK weight, and my stitch count for the first row was roughly 25% greater than that of the example in the book. I kept meticulous notes and made the socks side-by-side, doing a row on one, then on the other until I was done with increases. With the finer yarn, more rows were required to reach the desired length of the foot. In the end, I wound up having about six feet of yarn left, and while these slipper socks are not perfect, they fit my feet, and I know where to make corrections on the next pair. The heels were much easier to turn than anticipated.

Big Doug's Hellebore

Several years ago, I cleared out a space under Big Doug, intending to fill it with shade-tolerant species. To that end, I solicited root cuttings from my botany partners' garden, and they brought me a bucketful of Hellebores. Only one has survived, but I can now say that it is on its way to becoming a major feature. Whether I'll live long enough to see it as big as the ones in my main flower bed remains to be seen! Also in Big Doug's shady nook are some unhappy Hostas, but any fern I tried to plant there has withered and died. As with all my gardening pursuits, the philosophy is that if something likes the conditions I can provide, I'll plant more. If it refuses to grow for me without much effort on my part, I'll give it a pass. The Hellebore has apparently decided in my favour.

Colour Gradient Socks

I've been under a self-imposed geas to finish up all my 2025 projects, and this pair of colour gradient socks was the last one on the list. I'd completed the cuffs and heels of both of them, as well as five rows of each foot, so the majority of the work was done. Still, the yarn was unpleasant to work with, so they migrated to the bottom of my workbasket and languished there for the better part of the year. Once my other "hanging" projects were done, I had no choice. It was time to finish the socks. That was four days ago. The thing is, I knew it would only take a few days to finish them up. I can usually force myself through unpleasant tasks by saying, "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner it won't be on your mind," but in this case, that philosophy wasn't working. Well, they're done now...and they're comfy and warm and as nice as wool socks could be, but I'm in no rush to start another project with the remaining yarn.

Northern Flicker, Colaptes Auratus

Northern Flicker. Red-Shafted Flicker. Colaptes Auratus. Call 'em what you will. In my book, they're "Polka-dotted 'Peckers," and I love 'em, except for when they're drilling on the posts holding up my carport to remind me that I haven't put a suet cake out lately. The Golden-Shafted race lives on the other side of the Cascades, but where the ranges intersect, they occasionally interbreed. I had a cross here a few years ago which threw me for a loop. It didn't look right, and it took some research to figure out why it didn't fit the profile for Red-Shafted. Crosses play hob with identification! But this one is the classic figure of a male with its red "moustaches." The red feather shafts which once led scientists to classify it as a different species are clearly visible along the margin of the wing.

Getting It Done

The last of my 2025 "hanging projects" is nearing completion. This pair of socks moved to the bottom of the barrel with the cuffs and heels of both done, as well as five rows on each foot. I was so annoyed with the quality of the yarn (a Herrschner's sale special, not something they usually carry) that I was close to tearing out all my work to use the yarn for something else. It is very loosely spun, splits with almost every stitch, but the fiber content makes it desirable for socks: superwash wool and polyamide. Despite the splitting of the plies, the socks will be durable. Yesterday, I made significant progress, working almost to the toe of one. It usually only takes me about a week to turn out a pair of socks with fingering yarn, so I am ashamed to admit that while finishing these up is easily within the range of a few days, I just couldn't bring myself to work on them until they were the last "incomplete" on my list.