Masks

Day 18: It goes without saying that I enjoy costuming, and I'll take almost any excuse to get dressed up. I've always garbed for the trick-or-treaters, but out here, you don't open your door after dark even on Hallowe'en and the kids would rather make the rounds in town where they're assured enough candy to keep them sick until Easter. However, in pre-covid times, friends would occasionally throw parties, and I could always be counted on to show up in something elaborate and homemade. That said, I don't usually put on a mask because I wear glasses. These three are cushioned with foam at the forehead to keep them away from my lenses. Generally, my costuming efforts involve quite a bit of make-up, and on one notable occasion, I had started the process of applying prosthetics fairly early in the day, knowing that I had a two-hour drive ahead of me to get to a gathering in Seattle. Hunting season had opened, and some dimwit had decided to try to shoot an elk from the highway despite the fact that the animal was on private property. Someone called the sheriff, and because I had gotten the license number and a description of the vehicle involved, the deputy wanted to interview me. I had forgotten I was partially costumed when I stepped out to talk to him and to his credit, he never said a word about my Vulcan ears.

Spinning Blueberries

Day 17: Blueberries turned up in a different discussion this morning, reminding me that I haven't shown my readers the latest project on my spinning wheel. The wool is commercially combed and dyed, and the colourway is called "blueberry." I don't have space or energy to delve into dyeing fibers myself, but even if that was an option, I generally prefer to keep to natural colours in my handspun. This delicious purply-blue was too tempting to pass by, so I bought a pound, not really enough for a major project by itself, but more than enough for something like a hat or neck warmer, or it could be used to add a pattern or a stripe to a sweater. However, the longer I work on it, the idea of adding a bit of sparkle when it's time to ply it asserts itself, and I just happen to have some shimmery vintage Nomis filament in an appropriate shade. What do you think? Should I go for the glitz?

Nalbinding With Handspun

Day 16: You might imagine that my home would be filled with handcrafts and examples of fiber arts, given the volume I produce, but you would be mistaken. Oh, there are towels in the cupboard and rugs on the floor, two quilts and the occasional piece of art, but for the most part, the things I create are given as gifts. That said, it's nice to be able to make something for yourself now and then instead of shopping for it, or maybe just because you think it would be fun. I don't really need another winter hat, but I've had nalbinding on my mind, so I decided it was time to use up some of my handspun. This greyish-brown (brownish-grey?) wool came from my ram. It was one of the few skeins I've spun at a bulky weight and consequently wouldn't match gauge with any other yarn in the cedar chest. Although there's enough to make more than one hat, a scarf would be out of the question unless I put another wool with it. I'm using the Oslo stitch, a relatively simple nalbinding stitch to make a typically Scandinavian-style "cat hat" with a turned-up brim, essentially a rectangle worked in the round. Two corners stick up as "ears" and may be worn positioned as such, but alternately, the points can be set on the head toward the front and back like a garrison cap.

Working Up An Experiment

Day 15: Ah, these words shall live in infamy: "It seemed like a good idea at the time." I had a bright idea for a pick-up pattern, intending to work it on the "bonker loom" (the Glimakra band loom), so I set up roughly five feet of warp as a backstrap project for a test. I was only a few inches into it when I realized that as a "bonker band," it was going to be way more nuisance than it was worth to pick up some threads while dropping others in the same shed. While the principle is easy on an inkle loom, the weaver sits at 90 degrees to the direction of the warp on the bonker. I may feel differently about the idea once I get more experience under my (hand-woven!) belt, but for now, it was obvious that I needed to change horses in mid-stream. This is precisely why I like to work up an experimental piece using the simplest method and a short warp. At worst, I wouldn't lose much fiber if I decided to throw the whole thing in the bin. However, this one was easily convertible to a different design. Someone is likely to find it tied around their Christmas gift so that it serves a useful purpose.

Chlorociboria Stick Report

Day 14: A month ago, I reported that the Joe Stick was developing a few scattered dots of Chlorociboria aeruginascens. Even though it was early in its season, I thought it looked a bit feeble, and I wondered if it had suffered from the hot spell we had in June. First of all, I'm surprised that I was able to provide it with proper habitat. Second, I have no idea what its life expectancy may be, although I'm sure it will eventually deplete the nutrient supply in the Stick. I don't check it often, not wanting to disturb its environment, but today I pulled it out from under the overhanging ferns, removed a decaying hosta leaf and got quite a surprise when I flipped it over. The fungus grows on the bottomside of the stick where it touches the ground. The full 18" length showed Chlorociboria discs, with this dense patch in the middle. Funny how we each have our own definition of "simple pleasures." Just give me a fungusy stick, and I'll be happy as Larry.

Hippies

Day 13: We've been down this road before, but because you are still here reading my posts, I assume that you are at least to some degree intrigued by language and word origins, if perhaps not at quite the same level as I am. "Hip" has always fascinated me. The word evolved from a different root than "hip" in the sense we use it to describe our physical attributes or a particular type of roof construction. "Hip" as it relates to roses grew from Old English via Scandinavia as "heope,"the term for a bramble. On the other hand, our physical hips were subject to some "hype," Old English morphing through "hepe" and "hippe" to arrive at its present form. "Heopes" are rich in vitamin-C, and can be used to make tea or a delightfully fragrant jelly, but I would suggest gathering them before excessive moisture initiates the process of decay which, of course, liberates the harder seeds contained in the pulp and guarantees that hippies will endure forever. Or almost.

After The Storm

Day 12: Bombogenesis (or more correctly, "explosive cyclogenesis") is the term used when a mid-latitude cyclone intensifies rapidly and the barometer drops at least 24 millibars over a period of 24 hours. The phrase we heard bandied about was "bomb cyclone," and it set most of us to battening down the hatches and otherwise preparing for the blow. The incoming storm was supposed to be record-breaking, and indeed it was, but just not in my yard. My weather station recorded a peak gust of 23 and a mere .38" of rain. We had a couple of wall-ratting but distant thunderclaps yesterday and the power went out overnight, but "storm" is too strong a word for the breezy, moderately wet conditions which prevailed at my house. It was nothing compared to the Columbus Day Storm of 1962 when gusts to 100 MPH were recorded in the western Washington interior and to 160 MPH in the Willapa Hills. The radar station at Mt. Hebo (Oregon) logged a peak of 176 MPH. Storm? That was a real storm, not just a bit of bluster and blow like yesterday's activity. The "bomb cyclone" didn't even knock all the leaves off the dogwood or my Japanese maple. Let's not dignify it by calling it a "storm."

Captive Drops

Day 11: Moss and other bryophytes are non-vascular plants. What does that mean, exactly? Unlike vascular plants which have a structure of xylem vessels to assist in the internal transport of water, mosses are comprised of specialized but simpler tissues which absorb water by osmosis. It therefore behooves the plant to husband available moisture whenever possible. Mosses can survive prolonged dry spells because of their ability to utilize even minimal amounts of atmospheric moisture. Mosses do not have true roots. They attach to their substrate by means of fine rhizines similar to those found in some lichens. These rhizines do not absorb moisture or transport nutrients as true roots do; they simply anchor the moss to a surface. While most species reproduce by solely by sporulation (the production of spores), others are known to clone themselves by means of asexual reproduction. Although primitive in nature, mosses have derived a solid survival strategy which has allowed them to be present on the Earth for at least 300 million years in forms similar to those we see today.

Praying Mantis, Mantis Religiosa

Day 10: Had it not been for needing to pick up some work from Kevin which must be completed by Monday, I would not have met his little friend, Mantis religiosa. I have a vague recollection of having seen Praying Mantises as well as Walking-sticks when I was in my early twenties and lived briefly on the east coast, but even though the species was introduced in the Pacific Northwest, I had never seen one here. Thus, this may or may not be a Bucket List critter for me, but as they say, "It's close enough for gov'mint work." Kevin, who has more experience with the insect from other locations, assures me that the shape and size of the abdominal segments indicate that it is a female. I have to wonder if it's the full-grown adult of the little green one he spotted a few years ago, or perhaps one of its kin. Roughly two and a half inches long, she didn't view me as a particular threat, although she turned her head toward the camera as I maneuvered into position to photograph her. What a beauty!

Leicester Lustre

Day 9: Breeds of sheep are generally separated into two categories: those raised for wool and those destined for the meat locker. There is some latitude in those definitions, and some people raise cross-breeds which offer both options at the cost of excelling in neither. When I had sheep, I raised a Romney-Suffolk or Romney-Corriedale cross from which I generally got two adult fleeces from each animal as well as a lot of lamb-burger and chunks of mutton destined to become my favourite soup, Scotch broth. The wool from both was good for "every day," but not particularly silky or lustrous. Recently a friend offered me a pound of Blue-Faced Leicester fleece which, after surveying my fiber stash, I accepted gratefully. I've never spun BFL, but when I opened the parcel and saw the crimp and sheen of the wool, I knew I was going to love it. BFL is a long-staple fiber, and although the breed is primarily raised for meat, the wool is popular with handspinners for its length and softness. Thanks, Shelby!

Fall Flowers

Day 8: A mile or so in, something stoplight-red caught my eye in the distance. My first thought was that I'd found a new location for Ramaria araiospora, an uncommon coral fungus which I've only previously observed inside Mount Rainier National Park. As I got closer, I thought I could see its tips emerging from a thickened base. "Young one," I thought. "That's why it's so bright." And then the pin of truth pierced the balloon of hope as I realized I'd been led down the path by a fraud. The "fungus" turned out to be an artificial flower, gone astray from some bouquet. Then continuing my hike, I'd gone another mile and a half before spotting a distinctly unnatural blue at trailside. A short distance away, hot-pink petals stood out against the grey-brown debris, presumably from someone's idea of a fitting memorial for their dearly departed. This begs the question as to how anyone could hike a state-park trail unobserved with a bouquet large enough that they wouldn't notice it was shedding fairly large pieces. This is not the first "flower fall" I've encountered on this trail, either, although it may have been the freshest. And before I go off on a rant about completely unnecessary hydrocarbon-based products, I'll close.

Stropharia Ambigua

Day 7: I can offer two hypotheses as to why Stropharia ambigua is commonly called the "Questionable Stropharia," the first being that it has been moved from one taxon to another several times. The second theory is more likely: that there are differing opinions on its edibility, with some authorities claiming that it is, while others say that it is poisonous like many other Stropharias. In any event, this mushroom is endemic to the Pacific Northwest, and is fairly common in our forests. It is a beautiful thing with its scale-covered stipe, vestiges of the veil which often ornaments the edge of the cap like lace on a petticoat. These two growing in my yard beneath Big Doug were such textbook examples that I simply had to photograph them. A shorter, stockier cousin (S. hornemannii) has a slightly darker cap and is more often found growing on rotting wood than in forest detritus.

Egg Hunt

Day 6: While attempting to confirm that the big, floppy mushrooms which spring up in my yard so prodigiously at this time of year were indeed Suillus caerulescens, I made a tissue slice which captured perfectly an ovoid form which I believe to be an insect egg. It is far too large to be a spore, which of course was what I was hoping to find. Although considered edible, Suillus flesh is generally too full of bugs to be worth the bother, at least in my personal experience. "Wormy" is the word most frequently used to describe the condition, although in fact the little wiggly things are the larvae of minute flies. Were that not enough to put me off eating the bounty at my doorstep, S. caerulescens is one of the blue-staining species which cause abdominal distress in some people but not in others (sidebar: I'm the "one in a million" who always gets the undesirable side effects from prescribed medications, and am unwilling to chance it with mushrooms). S. caerulescens is typified by large, angular pores, a viscid cap, and a preference for growing in Doug-fir detritus. Other Suillus species may be associated with larch or various pines. And for those of you who are trying to get a handle on Latin, "caerulescens" is related to the English word "cerulean," a lovely shade. The root word is "caeruleum," i.e., "blue."

Fall Colour, PNW Style

Day 5: While the Pacific Northwest can't compete with the showy colours autumn brings to the eastern part of the US, we do have our specialties, one of which is Vine Maple (Acer circinatum). This species of small-leaved maple is rather variable in its response to climate conditions, and its displays appear to be affected by some magical formula which includes temperature, water availability, number of cloudy days and perhaps whether or not the full moon occurred on a Tuesday in July. Whatever it is, I have not been able to deduce the complex sequence of events which sometimes results in a "Red Year" as opposed to a brown one. Red Years can be spectacular. The present season is less than optimum, although this view, directly behind my mailbox, lights up even the darkest days of grey October gloom.

Affectionately Known As Fitch

Day 4: Fitch has achieved status alongside Hoya bella as one of my favourite houseplants. Hoya fitchii (affectionately known as "Fitch," as you may have guessed) has put on an even more spectacular display of flowers since I sorted out his watering requirements and lighting needs (north window, drench the pot when the soil becomes dry and light). Hoyas are very individual. Some species bloom only in spring, summer or autumn respectively; others flower in two or three seasons, and still others like Fitch and Bella are "intermittent," meaning they bloom when they damn well feel like it, often surprising their caretakers with repeat appearances of blossom clusters only six weeks after old flowers have dropped. Fitch is just getting bigger and better with each emergence, and those coppery-yellow, waxy petals are stunning. Not all my hoyas are so cooperative. In fact, I have several I've never been able to bring into bloom, but their shortfall is more than balanced by my two "old reliables." Fitch is lightly fragrant, and sometimes while I'm sitting underneath his hanger working on a weaving project, the scent will catch me unawares. "What smells sweet in here?" I'll say, and sure enough, I'll find a cluster of yellow stars hiding on the window side.

Woven On The Bonker Loom

Day 3: Since the acquisition of that lethal-looking implement in the foreground, the Glimakra band loom has earned a new name: the "bonker loom." The band knife is actually blunt-edged, although it has a point you wouldn't want to feel at the small of your back. It is used to beat the weft in place, a process which, in this particular type of weaving, is done with some force. While I was teaching myself the rhythm of the weave as I made these three bands, I kept repeating to myself, "Pass, treadle, bonk...pass, treadle, bonk," referring to the three steps involved. The shuttle is passed through the shed, then any slack is drawn out when the shed is changed and opened, and the throw just made is beaten ("bonked") against the fell with the knife. The left hand controls the shuttle, the right wields the band knife. The treadles, of course, are run by the feet. I must say I find something eminently satisfying about that "bonk," especially since I have been rather peeved at the world of late, and if some of the warp floats seem a bit tighter than others, it may be due to the level of frustration I was experiencing at the moment. It's amazing how therapeutic weaving can be.

Xanthous

Day 2: Hmmm...I might have been lost down the rabbit hole forever, but for a detour it took into certain controlled substances. I was reading up on xanthophyll, the pigment which provides the beautiful yellows revealed in autumn when it is no longer masked by chlorophyll ("xanthous" means "yellow"). I was intrigued to learn that some herbicides target xanthophyll because it protects plants against light toxicity. By destroying the pigment, these herbicides open the plant to light-burning. As I read on, I found myself pondering the significance of xanthophyll and the seasonal reduction of chlorophyll when natural light levels diminish, and the next thing I knew, I struck a whole Google page devoted to suggested reading for commercial growers of a product I'd prefer to see made illegal. You know what they say about not being able to "unsee" something. I may never be able to look at my vining hydrangea in quite the same way again.

Shaggies On The Menu

Day 1: Today, this blog enters its twelfth year of continuous daily publication of essays and photos covering natural history, botany and fiber arts. It has occasionally ventured into other tangential subject matter (including a rant or two for which I hope my readers will forgive me), but primarily, my goal has been to make science less scary, and to inspire creativity and learning among my readership. I always like to start the new "year" with something special, so please join me for a delicious bowl of Shaggymane soup.

Since Columbus Day weekend meant that outdoor enthusiasts from every walk of life were out for a last-gasp hike, I didn't return to Coprinus Corner until yesterday (Tuesday) when I thought I'd have the woods to myself. As soon as I rounded the bend, I saw that many of the nubbins I'd noted on Friday had matured and were already turning to ink. As I got closer, I found quite a few finger-sized specimens in the grassy verge, but the batch which always grows up right smack in the middle of the dirt road had been trampled by horses. I had to remind myself that the presence of horses may have contributed to the Shaggies' preference for this particular spot, but that's another story. In any event, I collected enough for a very large bowl of soup, and left many more behind to ensure the continuing fruitfulness of the patch. This will be the end of the Shaggies for this all-too-fleeting season. Oh, but it was good while it lasted!

A New Skill

Day 365: By the time I was 18, I had mastered enough of the most common fiber-arts that I was hired as the sole needlework consultant by a fabric-store chain on the east coast, but I was always looking to expand my knowledge base. Of course in those days, the internet was not a "thing," and books were the next best option to individual instruction. I did learn to tat from a co-worker, but two other potential skills intrigued me: bobbin lace and netting. I had no idea where to obtain the supplies for either. A few years later, I took a class in bobbin-lace making and found a supplier for bobbins and thread through the instructor. However, I was unable to find netting needles and gauges anywhere, and all thoughts of netting moved to the back shelf of my mind until recently when I stumbled across a video about it on YouTube, never mind that it covered fishing nets as opposed to lace. The principle is the same, but on a much different scale. I bought a cheap kit containing needles, shuttles and gauges and settled down to make my first swatch of net. I'm still quite clumsy at it and keep catching the thrown loop of the "Flying Dutchman" knot around my little finger more often than not, but the squares/diamonds of my net are uniform in size. For now, I'm working with #20 crochet cotton, but will move to finer threads once I'm entirely comfortable with the technique. Or maybe I'll go fishing.

Amanita Muscaria

Day 364: Amanita muscaria is arguably the most recognized mushroom in the world, and its status as such pre-dates the "Mario" games by centuries. It is very distinctive in its textbook morphology: red cap dotted with white spots, a skirt around the stipe and a bulbous base, but as it ages (or in some cases, where soil conditions affect its growth), the cap may be yellowish or tan, leading to possible confusion with other Amanita species. That said, it is poisonous, and those who have experimented with its hallucinogenic properties have undoubtedly done some measure of damage to their livers with the toxins which accumulate there. But it is a beautiful thing, this "toadstool" of faerie tale, especially when caught in its prime. This specimen had only recently popped through the duff and hadn't had a shower to wash away the debris of its birth. Nearby, a few salad-plate sized companions had fully opened, and had tipped over sideways from the sheer weight of their flattened, fading caps.

Western Conifer Seed Bug, Leptoglossus Occidentalis

Day 363: Today's feature could be called "Everything You Wanted to Know About the Western Conifer Seed Bug But Were Afraid to Ask." This 3/4" insect was first noted in the western US where it can cause significant damage to conifer seed crops. Native to our forests, it is particularly fond of Douglas-fir seed which is consumes in large quantities by the adults prior to their retreat into overwintering sites. Nymphs feed on the softer tissues of needles and tender, developing seed during the months of spring and early summer. Adults are most frequently seen in late autumn as they search for suitable shelter which, much to the consternation of human residents, often includes the interior spaces of homes and offices, but other than being a nuisance, these insects pose no danger to people or pets. A true "leaf-footed" bug (Coreidae), the insect's hind legs exhibit a widening of both sides of the tibial area of the hind leg, visible here in the lower left. A similar species demonstrates this flare on only one side of the leg. The insects' range is now known to extend across the northern parts of the US and into Canada.

Calocera Cornea

Day 362: Calocera cornea is distinguished from its cousin Calocera furcata not only by its pointy little fruiting bodies, but by its preference for decaying hardwood over that of conifers. Let's look at the Latin for a second, because in this case, it's descriptive of the growth forms of the two different fungi. "Cornus/cornea" means "horn." The same root word gives us English words like "cornet" and "cornucopia." Likewise, if we say that something is "bifurcated" or "furcated," it means that it divides into points (two or more than two), i.e., it is "forked." Much of the English language is rooted in Latin, and consequently, if we think about scientific names in terms of similar-sounding English words, we can often sort out their meaning and thereby discern some characteristic of the life form we are trying to identify. "Latifolia" describes a leaf with latitude, i.e., a broad leaf; "rotundifolia" refers to round leaves. That said, there is an annoying trend toward naming species after people these days, and had Calocera cornea been called "Calocera lewisia" for example, no such helpful clue would exist unless perhaps we knew that Mr. Lewis dyed his hair orange or furnished his office with oaken chairs.

Unique Well

Day 361: Well, that's unique. Several days ago, I went for a hike in Nisqually-Mashel State Park. My intention was to follow an overgrown logging road until I came to a spur trail where I'd noticed some unusual fungi previously. When I turned off the main track onto the old log road, I was surprised to see it cleared of brush and the soil marked by the passage of some kind of machinery. A little further on, I spotted several pieces of Jersey curb surrounding a pipe. "That looks like a wellhead," I said to the surrounding forest, and sure enough, that's what it was: a "unique well," I might add. This state park is only newly formed and is still being developed for public use. I assume that the well was put in to service a future campground or restroom, but I wondered what made it "unique." As it turns out, that is simply the industry jargon for a particular well and its identifying number, from which reports of water quality, depth, date of installation, etc. can be looked up through the Dept. of Ecology. While all that is very interesting, it was rather disappointing to discover that its uniqueness did not imply any special characteristic of the water table as I had initially (and mistakenly) surmised.

The Best Soup

Day 360: Chanterelles are good for a fry-up. Morels are good on meat. Boletas can be sliced into steaks for frying, but if you want the best mushroom soup ever, you'll want Shaggymanes. I've been scouting my patch every few days for a couple of weeks now, not wanting to miss them. They're fairly short-lived once they come through the ground, turning to ink shortly after the cap loosens from the stipe and begins to flare. They're best at finger-size, but since I only found three as large as the one on the left, I selectively harvested half a cupful of thumb-sized nubbins for the remainder of my lunch. Don't worry! I left plenty behind, and Monday or Tuesday, I'll take another "mushroom walk" to gather another soup's-worth if the rain hasn't beaten them down. I take only enough for immediate use, and that's why this patch has been serving me well for four years now.

Shaggymane Soup (single serving)
Roughly chop 3/4 cup of Shaggymane caps, and fry in a tablespoon of butter with a little garlic powder, but don't overdo it. Cook until most of the liquid disappears. Stir in a heaping tablespoon of flour with salt and pepper and make a roux. Add 3/4 cup of milk. Stir while heating it until the first "boil bubble" comes to the top, and not a minute longer. Your soup is done! Enjoy!

Christmas-Present-To-Self

Day 359: Every year since I have lived alone, I have celebrated the holidays with what I refer to as a "Christmas-present-to-self." Sometimes, it's purchased out of season (a kayak, for example), but usually, I try to have it arrive as close to December 25th as is reasonable. This year, I rather expected that it would have to be shipped from Sweden to a US supplier and then to me, so when I placed my order, I was anticipating an arrival date some time in late November. It showed up on my doorstep four days later! It took an hour and a half to assemble and an equal amount of time to sort out the warping system, but by evening, I was weaving my first ribbon tape on a Glimakra treadle band loom. By the end of the next day, the two-yard warp was fully consumed, and I pulled it off the loom. That first band was no thing of great beauty. Far from it! The selvedges were rough, it widened and narrowed where I hadn't kept even tension on the weft, but I could see a decided improvement from the start of the band to its terminus. A bit braver, I tried a second warping method which required some engineering and a few innovations in order to put a longer warp on the reels, and in short order, I was again weaving, this time on a wider tape. The piece still has a few foibles which reveal my inexperience with this type of loom, although they are levelling out (literally) as my work progresses. The unusual thing about this style loom is that the warp runs crossways to the weaver's position rather than lengthwise. The shuttle/quill/bobbin is controlled by the left hand while the right runs a beater. Since my band knife (the beater) is taking a little longer to get here, I am for the moment using a table knife, beating the weft into place with the blunt side of the blade. The treadles are on a pulley, raising and lowering the sheds as they are depressed by the weaver's feet. The whole process is much faster than band-weaving on an inkle loom, and the reels can hold a much longer warp. Plus, it's just plain fun to do!

A Few Inches To Go

Day 358: Joe and Sharon's quilt is nearly done! I still have about 12 inches of binding to sew down on the back and a label to sew on, and it will be ready to deliver when they're here next a few weeks from now. I didn't know Joe and Sharon when I began cutting out hexagons about forty years ago, but some of these fabrics date back that far. A divorce, a move, a new job and a dangerous illness were just a few of the things pushing the quilt to the back of the closet, there to remain buried so deeply that it took a pandemic to bring it out of hiding. "What the heck is this?" I said when I found the box. Inside, I discovered two pieced blocks and about forty more single hexagons. As it turned out, making blocks is the wrong way to go about assembling a hexagon quilt, so with a little help from YouTube, I cut more fabric and started piecing with one long chain. I was surprised at how easily it went together. In fact, I would have to say that I enjoyed making this quilt more than any other I've ever created. Of course, once it was pieced, the real work began. It has taken eleven months to hand-stitch with shadow-quilting around each hexagon and a narrow border of foliage and "daisies" to acknowledge the wonderful relationship I've had with Joe and Sharon as my botany partners.

Fringe Twister

Day 357: "Gadget," I said to myself when I first saw a fringe twister for sale. "I don't need another gadget." And then I sat down at the loom and wove another shawl, knit another scarf, made some cotton towels, and about halfway through the tedium of licking my fingers, picking up a pair of threads, spinning them 10-12 times, picking up a second pair while holding the first tightly, spinning those, and then allowing the two pairs to twist together, I would say, "Dang, I wish I had a fringe twister." Well, now I have one, and the process of making twisted fringe which would normally have taken half an hour took about five minutes. Sometimes gadgets move to the back of the closet in fairly short order, but sometimes they're good. The fringe twister is brilliant.

Mine has three clips. Some models only have two. Each clip is attached to a small metal crank, and each of those is anchored in a piece of wood with an offset handle. When you rotate the handle, the cranks go 'round on their axes, rotating the clips. Thus, each strand of yarn (or groups of threads) captured in a clip is twisted simultaneously with those caught in the other clips. The handle is rotated in the same direction as the twist of the yarn, and when the yarn is removed from the clips and knotted at the ends, the threads twist back on themselves to form a neat, even fringe. The operator only needs to count revolutions of the handle (20 in this case) to obtain a uniform fringe across the work. This model gives you the option of using two or three groups of threads (or singles). What a time-saver!

Sunset Sheepscape

Day 356: After isolating the sheep motif from a krokbragd pattern in a book, I knew I wanted to turn it into a project of some sort. The book sheep were a bit tall and skinny for my tastes, so I changed up the draft to give them more wool and shorter legs, and as I was working them, an idea began forming which would allow me to use up some of the thrums and shuttle over-winds all weavers seem to accumulate. As I wove along, I added a stream, a forest, snow-capped mountains and a sunset/sunrise fading into a star-flecked sky without graphing out a pattern. Hindsight being clearer than foresight, I should have put more sheep at the bottom to balance the visual weight of the night sky, but I was happy with the way the concept of a "sunset sheepscape" had worked out. Another version is percolating: a whole flock of sheep in a pasture dotted with tiny red and yellow flowers like those in the lower portion of the pasture here. Bear in mind that I am constrained to work with a pattern repeat of only four threads. That doesn't give a lot of latitude for creating a design.

The Joe Stick

Day 355: Roughly two years ago, my botany partner Joe posted a photo of a turquoise-blue fungus which he'd found in the watershed where he works. I was almost at a loss for words. Chlorociboria had been on my Bucket List for years, and I figured I'd never observe it in real life. I said as much to Joe, and a few weeks later, he brought me a stick which seemed to have a slight aqua tinge on one side. I grilled him extensively about the microecology in which he'd found it, and determined that if I was going to talk it into fruiting (a possibility I considered rather remote), the best place would be nestled in under hostas and ferns in a north-side flower bed. I wasn't holding my breath, but when cooler weather settled in during late September 2020, I kept checking on it every few days to see if anything had developed. In early October, I detected the first sign of blue. The fungus developed nicely over the next few weeks and then disappeared. Now the burning question was whether or not it would fruit again in 2021. Here you see the evidence: a healthy population of Chlorociboria aeruginascens on the Joe Stick, demonstrating a colour which is not often found in nature.

Krokbragd Sheep

Day 354: Debby Greenlaw's marvelous book "Krokbragd: How to Design and Weave" contained a draft for sheep which I dearly wanted to try. There was only one problem. It required an 8-harness loom, and both my floor loom and table loom are only 4-harness. I thought I might be able to effect the same thing on the rigid heddle with multiple pick-up sticks, but that proved to be more bothersome and time-consuming than it was worth. The pattern kept rattling around in the back of my head until a few days ago when the light bulb lit: the sheep were only three throws. The additional sheds which necessitated the extra harnesses were there only to weave more green between them! That had bothered me from the get-go. Sheep are not creatures who take well to social distancing, and having them a full sheep's-width apart seemed contrary to their herding nature. By changing the pattern up just a little to eliminate unwanted sheds (weaving sheds, not housing structures), my sheep were compelled to pasture in closer proximity. Satisfied that I could now make sheepie inserts at the ends of towels, I then went on to figure out how to do plain tabby weave on a krokbragd (three-point twill) threading. Yes, it can be done on a rigid heddle (white band at the top), although it leans toward being weft-faced instead of balanced. It's a small trade-off, and one I can accept. Next in my list of experiments-to-be-performed will be to turn the sheep 90 degrees so that I can weave them on the inkle loom: "warp-faced sheep," if you will, a whole new breed engineered for weavers.

White-tailed Robin

Day 353: For the first time ever, I have observed a White-tailed Robin (Turdus albobuttus) in my yard. Of course, I'm pulling your leg a little here. I suspect that this American Robin is showing evidence of age or injury, as opposed to true leucism which arises due to defects in pigment cells, although that's also a possibility. That said, I have noticed more birds across several species this year which exhibit this trait, and generally in tailfeathers or on the top of the head. One notable exception to that was a crow I observed in early spring with a wide white patch on one wing. The other crows regarded it as a social pariah and drove it away. This Robin has a few white flecks on its crown.

Robin Whitebutt showed up with dozens of his relatives and a flock of Cedar Waxwings who set to work stripping my two Mountain-ash trees of berries. The Waxwings showed a marked preference for the native tree and left as soon as they'd polished it off, leaving the nursery cultivar for the less discriminating robins. The robins returned to finish the job the following day, and it was fun to watch them fluttering like hummingbirds while trying to get a fruit loose from the cluster. By the time evening came, even the berries which had dropped to the ground had been gobbled up, and less than a dozen still hung on the tree, apparently too firmly attached for the birds to pull off. Ordinarily, this is a process which occurs over 4-7 days, with Waxwings present most of the time. In this case, the harvest was done and dusted in less than 36 hours, and Whitebutt left with a full tummy.