Waiting For Waxwings

Day 291: Many plants and animals and undergoing phenologic shifts due to the changing climate, and because some are drifting toward earlier seasons and others to later ones, this can be critical. We are seeing wildflower blooms before the arrival of species-specific pollinators, with the consequence that the wildflower species do not set seed and the pollinators go hungry if they cannot adapt to other food sources (and many are not biologically equipped to do so). Another glaring example of radical phenologic divergence is taking place right in my own yard. For the last several years, the fruits on my Sitka Mountain-ash (Sorbus sitchensis) have been ripening earlier and earlier. Now almost a month ahead of its original period, the fruit is colouring while the Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) are still far to the north where food is plentiful. At the same time, the Waxwings have been arriving here later and later, and last year, the berries had already begun to fall from the Mountain-ash before they showed up in late October. This native tree is one of their primary food sources during the autumn migration. If the berries are gone when the Waxwings arrive, many will not survive their southward journey. In the long term, this may lead to a change in the Waxwings' range, extending it northward and reducing it to the south. However, the operative word in the last sentence is "may." If the Waxwings and Sitka Mountain-ash fail to perform in parallel, one or both may not survive as species.

Summer-and-Winter Blues

Day 290: Yesterday was one of Those Days. The mind tends to wander while performing the mechanics of weaving, and I was lost in planning my next project, of which you will read more momentarily. I had nearly reached the end of the solid motif when something caught my eye. Immediately after the fourth or fifth coloured throw in the block, there were two white tabby threads crossing the same warps near the selvedge. "Dammit!" I said. "Mistake!" Fixing it would mean 10-15 minutes of back-picking, but in my opinion and practice, mistakes are not to be tolerated. With much further profane language, I set about unweaving my morning's work. When I reached the offending throw, I was surprised when the shuttle came entirely free from the cloth, the thread end dangling. Then I realized that my "mistake" had not been a mistake at all. Rather, it was where I had joined a new thread and the wefts overlapped. The fact that it was at the selvedge should have clued me in, but I had been wool-gathering. I had to laugh at myself even though I spouted a new geyser of profanity at that moment. After all, I had once made a sampler for my husband showing "The Faceter's Cuss-Code." One of the lines read, "Fixed a mistake that wasn't a mistake." Now back on track, I am halfway through the fourth towel, and the last to be worked in blue. Next up: red.

For my next project, I will be doing something I've never done before: weaving an item with the specific purpose of putting it in the Puyallup Fair next year. I will be using the same draft (it's a favourite), but expanded and with a colour change in the warp to accommodate joining three panels for a coverlet. The coloured pattern thread will be heavier, 3/2 against an 8/2 tabby. It will require 22 feet of warp, only six feet longer than what is on the loom presently. Given that I've only been working on these towels for two weeks and am almost two-thirds of the way done, the coverlet should only take a month or so to make. It won't be ready for this year's Fair, but I have plenty of time to get it done for next year.

Apprentice Pruners

Day 289: My regular pruner brought two apprentices with her this morning, and immediately the three of them set to work. They bypassed the raspberries in favour of the kiwi vine tendrils on the outside of the chicken-wire fence, but I do believe I have my work cut out for me from now until harvest time. I'd been wondering why the water level in the bird bath kept dropping overnight. In fact, I even checked to see if the glass was cracked. Now I understand. The Berry Pen is fenced, and almost everything in it is caged by tomato towers, not so much for support as for a cervid deterrent. There's not much room to land if one of these critters was of a mind to jump the fence, and they're smart enough to realize it. Likewise, the raspberries are protected by chicken wire except where the vines poke through the holes (and for the most part, I train them to stay within the confines). Still, it looks like it's time to stock up on appropriately-sized rocks for my slingshot. I did not sign a contract with Bambi and Co. for pruning services.

UAP

Day 288: UAPs (Unidentified Aerial/Anomalous Phenomena) seem to be taking over the news these days, as if we didn't need something else to worry about. People are seizing on snatches of rhetoric, building them into vast coverups and conspiracy theories without giving any thought to what the words might actually mean. Let's take "non-human biologics" for an example. If you're old enough to remember when our exploration of space began, you might remember Laika, the Russian dog sent up in the second Sputnik. Laika died in space and her satellite disintegrated upon re-entry into the atmosphere, but had it come back to Earth, "non-human biologics" would have been found in the capsule. "Non-human biologics" does not mean "alien bodies." Some people have testified to seeing things which were "very disturbing" in connection with UAPs/UFOs. As a young person in the dawning Space Era, I found images of monkeys with electrodes fitted to their exposed brains to be very disturbing. Today, of course, we have more consideration for the living beings on which we conduct scientific experiments, or at least that's what we are led to believe by our government. However, other governments may not embrace the same ethic. Were I to see a monkey strapped into a space capsule, pinioned by its arms and legs, wired up to monitors and medical equipment, I would find it very disturbing indeed. "Disturbing" does not necessarily correlate with "alien." As for whether or not we've been visited by Greys or ET's cousins, I will say this: although I am a firm believer in the statistical probability of there being myriads of other life forms in the Universe, I can hardly believe they'd bother with humans. We're just not all that special, unless perhaps as a renewable food source.

Refrigerator Pickles

Day 287: Got veg? Let's make refrigerator pickles! I don't know how I've lived all these years without coming across this simple way to pickle almost any vegetable without canning or a lengthy period of soaking in brine. Refrigerator pickles are quick to make, and quick to be gobbled up. They can be stored in the fridge for up to two weeks, but trust me, they won't last that long.

You'll need a couple of clean quart jars with lids for this recipe. They don't need to be sterilized. And of course you'll need veg. You can use cauliflower, cucumber, onion, carrots, broccoli, peppers...just about any firm vegetable. Cut or break them into bite-sized pieces. Cucumbers and carrots should be cut into slices no more than 1/4" thick.

First make the brine and allow it to cool to room temp. For this, combine
1 1/4 cup white sugar
1 cup white vinegar
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1 1/2 tsp mustard seed    
1/2 tsp celery seed
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp kosher salt
a few red chili flakes if desired

Bring the brine to a boil, then remove it from the stove and allow it to cool. Meanwhile, pack the raw veg into the jars. Fit them in fairly snugly, but don't press them down too hard. When the brine is cool, pour it over the veg, being sure that they're completely covered. Put the lids on the jars, stick them in the fridge and...hard part here!...wait 3-4 days before eating them. Feel free to change up the spices to suit your own tastes. If you'd like to make smaller or larger batches, just reduce or increase the amount of brine, keeping the proportions the same.

Fading Phantom

Day 286: Better late than never, I suppose. Because my botany partners were unavailable until next week when the temperatures are due to rise again, I went alone today on the annual pilgrimage to Cephalanthera austiniae, the Phantom Orchid. The five stems were well past their prime, in one case entirely bare of flowers or pods. I gave the area a thorough search in the hopes of turning up more, but to no avail. I think perhaps Phantom is going into hiding again. It can stay dormant for up to 25 years. Another conclusion can be drawn from this morning's exploit: I'm getting too old to heave myself over one log, just to have to belly-crawl under the next one. Unlike Cephalanthera, I don't think I'd benefit from dormancy.

Diamonds

Day 285: Diamonds. Or perhaps more precious than. In the last twenty-four hours, my pluviometer registered a little more than a quarter inch of rain, the first which has fallen since June 21st. That may not seem significant to those of you who live in drier climates, but to a Pacific Northwesterner, the absence of rain for such a protracted period is something worthy of remark. By now, the moss on car bumpers has dried up, the green nothern faces of our homes have turned brown, and we've all invested in several gallons of skin moisturizer. We're worried about forest fires, grass fires, idiot-fool campers' campfires because we are surrounded by timber/tinder. But taking a broader view sends cold winter chills up our spines as the rest of the country is withering in unprecedented heat. Diamonds, precious diamonds are scattered in my yard.

Finishing With Hemstitch

Day 284: I have come to the end of the second summer-and-winter towel. Now it's time to hemstitch. The advantage to finishing with hemstitch while the work is still on the loom is that when the entire warp has been used up, the pieces can simply be cut free from each other, the fringe trimmed evenly, and then you're ready to throw them straight into the wash. While twisted fringes do have their place, I much prefer a hemstitched finish. Hemstitching prevents unravelling by binding the last rows weaving to themselves. The needle is brought up between warp threads (in this case, four threads to the left of the starting point), then wrapped back around the same threads, bringing the point out a few rows into the cloth directly below (in this case, two threads into the cloth). This creates a bundle of threads at the terminus of the woven cloth. This process is continued across the warp until all threads have been secured. The loose end can then be needle-woven into the cloth, and voila! The "hem" is finished. Now the warp can be advanced. After weaving an inch or so on the next towel, it can be hemstitched in the same manner. Space should be left between the pieces (towels) to allow for fringe. Alternately, the hemstitched edge can be folded under and hemmed again in the traditional manner if a fringe isn't desired.

Kiwi Culture

Day 283: While I am certainly not going to get the bushels of kiwi berries I thought my vines might produce this year, I do believe the road to horticultural success is beginning to smooth out. I've learned some things: kiwi fruit need sunlight to ripen, the vines should be pruned three times a year, fruit comes on year-old wood. Pruning correctly is essential to a good crop, and that's where I've fallen down on the job. This winter, my vines will get a serious haircut to open them out, and then in the spring, I'll clip back branches which shade out the flowers. Once the fruit has set, more maintenance will be in order to expose the berries to the sun. Sometimes manuals tell you all you need to know. Other times, horticulture is a matter of experiment. After all, it took me almost ten years to figure out how to get a successful rooting from a slip of my contorted filbert.

Bella And Fitch

Day 282: Hoyas bella (left) and fitchii (right) weren't quite in bloom simultaneously, but they only missed by a day or two. Both bloom intermittently throughout the year with the heaviest flowering period coming during the summer. Hoyas come in a fairly wide variety of colour combinations in the warm shades, although I have yet to bring a yellow one into bloom. Bella and Fitch are the most prolific of the seven species I grow. Ilagiorum (red) is moving up rapidly in the competition.

S And Z

Day 281: I spent a large part of yesterday pacing a U-shaped path as I ran individual warp threads from the back beam to a post roughly 12 feet away, around it and up the other side to the cloth beam, then repeating my route in the opposite direction. This is the process known as "direct warping," i.e., dressing the loom strand by strand, as opposed to measuring threads on a warping board and then transferring the whole warp to the loom. It is a technique common to rigid-heddle weavers, but used less often when weaving on a floor loom because of the space required. After a period of trial and error, I decided that direct warping worked best for the Leksand loom even though the threads must follow that U-shaped path. By evening, I felt like I'd taken a 15-mile hike, back and forth, back and forth, and was almost too tired to finish tying on so I could begin weaving. However, I was anxious to get started, so after I'd had a rest and dinner, I finished the job. Here, I have used doubled warp threads for the light green S-and-Z pattern with single strands in the coloured border, both in 8/2 weight. The dark green background threads are slightly finer at 10/2. The photo doesn't do the vibrancy of the colours justice. The band is 1.5" wide.

At The End Of All Things

Day 280: "I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things," said Frodo, and while not as cataclysmic, I have reached the end of one thing with far greater success than expected. Achieving even tension has been an issue when I've warped my Leksand loom in the past, with the pattern threads becoming more loose than the background threads every time I advanced the warp. As a rule, I prefer long warps so that I can create pieces which can be cut to size, but I was beginning to think it wasn't possible to warp more than three or four yards on the Leksand. Then I discovered Louise Ström's twisting method, and decided to go out on a limb with a warp stretched twice across my living room (i.e., down and back). I am happy to say that even tension was maintained throughout roughly 25-28' of weaving. I found that as I advanced the warp, I could work any irregularities back into the twisted portion. I expected to have them all piled up when I got to the end, and was pleasantly surprised when they all balanced out instead. I have two more repeats to weave on this band. For my next project, I will remember to double the pattern threads for a more solid look.

We Have An Accord

Day 279: I've been waiting for Arnie's assessment for several days now, and it would seem we are in agreement regarding a species of Orchid not previously recorded in Mount Rainier National Park: Platanthera ephemerantha. That's harder to say than "Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae." We were put onto this lovely and tiny creature by another botanist who had seen it before it was in bloom. He thought it might be P. unalascensis, and asked me if I could check on it when it was flowering. We visited it on our way home from the abortive aurora mission, and as it turns out, it was the crown jewel of the day. I sent pictures to Arnie, but forgot to include the pertinent details as to how I keyed it out with Hitchcock. Here's our exchange so you can see what goes into determining the identity of a plant. There are a few missing pieces to the puzzle, but enough of them have come together to confirm Platanthera ephemerantha.

*****

From Arnie:
Okay, well, here we go.  To start off, I don't have experience with Platanthera ephemerantha, so here is my full reading of the Plantanthera key in Hitchcock.  Your photos are very good... but, this is a genus where you need to carefully measure flower parts, so need a ruler, or that penny you sometimes have in photos for scale.

Couplet

Leaves all on the lower 1/3 of the stem, often strictly basal, OR, leaves all cauline.

---Should have photo of entire plant to show entire stem.

---The leaves in photo all on lower 1/3 of stem, and my guess is that there are no more leaves higher on stem.

Couplet

Spur 0.7-1.3 mm, OR, spur 2-27 mm.

---This can be difficult to measure by looking at a photo with no ruler or scale bar.

---But 2 mm is just a little nub of a spur and these spurs are well developed, so I assume >2 mm

Then we come to this monster couplet:

a) sepals 3-several nerved, OR, b) sepals 1-nerved.  I can’t determine from photo. Sometimes if I can’t find the veins I guess at there only being 1, so slight possibility of b)

a) leaves 1-2, OR, b) leaves 2-5.  Well, in photo leaves are 2.  So not helpful.

a) leaves less than 5 times as long as broad, OR, b) leaves at least 5 times as long as broad.  It is awkward to measure leaves at an angle in photo, but I estimate leaves are about 6 times as long as broad, so b)

a) leaves basal, OR, b) leaves borne close together on lower 1/3 of stem but not all basal.  You know, the leaves attach above ground level (higher on stem than as seen in dandelion leaves) yet I usually think of cauline leaves as going higher on stem.  I can imagine different “experts” going either way and I don’t know Hitchcock’s criterium.  But since I see leaves on a stem, I lean towards b)

a) leaves not withering by anthesis (flowering), OR, b) leaves tending to wither by anthesis.  Clearly these leaves are not withered, but that “tending” to wither is ambiguous.  Note couplet b) takes you to P. ephemerantha which has leaves while in flower.

a) lip 5-20 mm, OR, b) lip 2-7 mm.  I estimate the lip (lowest petal) as around 5-7 mm, so this is not clear.

a) plants of mesic to wet areas, OR, b) plants mostly of dry areas.  Hmmm. Not a wet area, could be dry-ish.  I lean towards b)

Summary, I lean towards b)

Couplet

Spur 1.5-5.5 mm and less than or equal to lip, OR, spur 7-15 mm and much greater than lip.

---Spur is less than or equal to lip, which takes us to P. ephemerantha.  Can’t measure length better than to estimate it is within the range of 5 to 7 mm.

Platanthera ephemerantha

Sepals and petals bright white—yes.

Upper 2 petals +/- falcate (curved like a hawk’s beak), often converging—yes.

Lip becoming recurved towards spur by late anthesis (full flowering)—yes.

Inflorescence +/- loosely-flowered—well, yeah.

So this species is possible.

Platanthera elegans

Sepals and petals bright white—yes.

Upper 2 petals +/- straight and the tips generally diverging—no.

Inflorescence generally densely-flowered—no.

Not as good a fit.

 

I have never seen P. ephemerantha.  Congratulations!!!  Add another gold star after your name.

My reply:

Okay, I should have included some details which helped me key it out.

Leaves all on lower 1/3 of stem.

Spur roughly 7 mm.

Leaves at least 5 times as long as broad, closer to 6 as you surmised.

I'd have described the leaves as basal, having two plants in observation. I think the lower portion in the one photo had been disturbed and was therefore showing when it wouldn't have been otherwise.

Second specimen had leaves and was in full flower.

Lip equal to spur, i.e., 7 mm.

BONE-DRY area!

Summer Or Winter

Day 278: Which side is up? Front? Back? Which is which? Summer-and-winter weave is wonderfully reversible even though the patterns created by the coloured floats are not exact reversals of each other. One side of the cloth is dark, the other light: summer or winter, your choice. The first of the towels is done in a mere four days of weaving two blocks per day, and I should get six from this warp, although in a moment of mental lapse I forgot to note the length I wound off. Assuming I used the same amount I usually allow for towels, that would have been 18', accommodating space between towels for fringe and the standard loom waste of roughly 4' plus "wiggle room." Better to have too much than too little! Thrums can always be crocheted into potholders, and of course I like to weave a small sample to include my weaving file. The shuttle is still loaded with green, so the next towel will be identical to this one. After that? Well, who knows? I have two shelves full of options.

Aspidotis Densa

Day 277: Aspidotis densa had not been known to occur in Mount Rainier National Park until my botany partners and I discovered it last year. We didn't know what it was when we first saw it, but as always, I took many photos of it from all angles to show all its field identification points, and looked it up as soon as I got home. Since there was no prior record of it, we were asked to obtain voucher specimens for the Park and the WTU Herbarium (Burke) if the population was sufficient to support doing so, but by the time we could get back to it, Washington had been hit with 100-degree temperatures. We were unable to locate plants showing both the narrow fertile and broad sterile fronds (see photo above). Unfortunately, the sterile fronds had withered in the blistering heat due to their greater surface area. One of our goals for Saturday's trip was to collect sterile fronds to round out the vouchers, and we were successful. Score two for Botany Day!

Lathyrus Torreyi

Day 276: At the extreme upper end of its range, there exists a small patch of rare and endangered Torrey's peavine (Lathyrus torreyi). When my botany partners and I first observed it in 2020, it covered a plot roughly 12" x 20". During the peak pandemic years, I made only one trip to check on it, and found that by 2022, it had doubled in size. This year, our goal was first to find it in bloom, and second, to take voucher specimens for the Park and the WTU Herbarium, if and only if the population met specific requirements for number of plants. We were delighted to find that the patch had again doubled in size, and now covers an area which measures approximately 30 sq. ft. It was in bloom, so we obtained the requisite three specimens which went immediately into my plant press. With one success under our belts, our botany day had just begun.

But No Aurora

Day 275: For the first time in at least 15 years, I was away from home overnight, sitting in a parking lot at 6000' with my botany partners Joe and Sharon in the hopes of witnessing the aurora borealis. To make a long story short, it failed to appear, but we were rewarded with a spectacular display of alpenglow at sunrise from Sunrise. Yes, you read that right, and there were a ton of people who had come to Sunrise Point with the same vain expectations. After full light, we began the botanical portion of the expedition, collecting herbarium specimens for two species, checked our Mystery Plant for flowers (none) and locating an uncommon/rare orchid. Once our tasks were done, they dropped me off at home where I am now trying to make amends with a little Boy who is rather upset at having been left alone.

Winter Side Up

Day 274: And here we go! These first two motifs are shown "winter side up," and are woven on one of my favourite summer-and-winter threadings. "Winter" is the dark side where the floats are more visible. I prefer weaving "winter side up" because it's easier to see treadling errors than on the lighter "summer" side. As I've mentioned before, the two sides are not exact opposites of each other. This is due to the fact that in the weft, the tabby threads separating the coloured pattern threads are the same colour as the warp. However, the pattern which emerges on the back is almost (almost, but not quite!) opposite: light blocks separated by dark bands. When laundered, the fibers plump up and the pattern becomes more pronounced as the long floats expand to conceal the tabby ground.

Summer-and-winter weave was very popular in Colonial America, and as a general rule, linen or cotton was used as the warp and tabby, with a heavier wool thread for the overshot pattern. The technique experienced a return to popularity during the mid-1900s, and I came to love it as a child while nestled under the blue and white coverlet on my bed. I was intrigued by the not-quite-reverse character of the weave. Blankets such as mine were fairly common by then, woven entirely of cotton in the traditional blue or red on a white ground. Mine had a sailboat worked into the design. Today, I prefer to work summer-and-winter with cotton threads of equal weight whether I'm making tea towels like these or a full-sized throw.

Ready To Weave

Day 273: An empty loom is a sad and lonely thing, and cannot be left to mope for long. Mine seldom stands bare for more than a few days, and in this case, I had a measured warp already waiting. Yesterday, I mounted it on the back beam, and had threaded the heddles and half the reed before I turned in for the night. Threading the heddles is the most demanding part of the process, or rather, the one which requires the most mental focus. The warp threads must be loaded in a precise sequence to achieve a particular pattern. Any mistakes will show up as soon as weaving begins. On the other hand, threading the reed is relatively simple. Each thread passes through a slot, following the order in which they come through the heddles, one after another. In other words, the heddles set the pattern and the reed controls the spacing. For these towels, I am using a 15-dent reed, i.e., 15 threads to the inch. The pattern will be my favourite summer-and-winter "plaid," worked with a cream tabby and whatever colour strikes my fancy. With two shelves full of options, this should be fun.

Variations On A Boring Theme

Day 272: The floor loom is finally empty, and I can't recall when it took me longer to get through six towels. Although the weave is summer-and-winter and should have been something I'd enjoy, the fact that there was virtually no way to change it up other than making the pattern areas larger or smaller made it one of the most boring weaving exercises in my long history at the loom. Much (most) summer-and-winter is done on a single-coloured warp with the tabby ground (plain weave) being the same. The pattern threads (floats) are where the fun comes in, creating an almost-but-not-quite-reverse colour scheme on the back side. That's where the name comes from: summer (light) on one side, winter (dark) on the other. While the patterns of these towels do reverse, the yellow never predominates. It's "autumn" on both sides. Switching to a yellow weft made the weave unattractive, so I was stuck using two shuttles of burgundy throughout the whole project. Technically, the weave was summer-and-winter, but it lacked the character which is the main appeal of the pattern. My next project will be "true" summer-and-winter: cream warp and tabby alternating with whatever colour strikes my fancy as I move from one towel to the next. I've had the warp measured for months, waiting in the wings as I struggled, inch by inch, to get this off the loom.

Hypericum HIndsight

Day 271: Oh, those infamous words, "It seemed like a good idea at the time!" Had I known then what I know now, I would not have pilfered a slip of Hypericum calycinum from K-Mart's parking lot planting over thirty years ago, but as the plant is showy and relatively common in landscape installations here in the Pacific Northwest, I thought it would be a quick way to add some colour to my yard. At the time, I was desperate. There was nothing here except for the yew hedge, a Whatzit Tree (an abundantly floral weeping unidentifiable), Big Doug and a straggly lilac, hardly sufficient habitat for the birds I hoped to invite. I was looking for freebies, and K-Mart's Hypericum pinged my radar. Armed with a hand trowel, I managed to sever the tough stolons and brought home three or four slips which, once they established, began to spread with unparalleled vigor. I took to mowing the excess to keep the growth in check. This, as I understand it, is a viable solution to the plant's tendency toward invasiveness. Although not classified as an invasive by reason of being fairly easy to confine, Hypericum calycinum would take over the world, given enough opportunity. The bees love the flowers, and I have to admit that those huge yellow blossoms still appeal to me, so I maintain a patch under the rail fence, limiting its potential explosion with judicious use of the weed-whacker.

Sittin' On The Cat

Day 270: This silly occupation is known as "sittin' on the cat," and begins with Tippy inviting me to follow him to the bedroom doorway and then back to the middle of the living room where he then stops, expecting me to perform my role in the game. I step so that my feet are on either side of his midsection, then kneel down, letting a small part of my weight rest on his hindquarters as he lies down on the carpet. He starts purring even before I begin rubbing his chest and throat, and I often bend forward so that we can touch noses. "I'm sittin' on the cat," I say. "You're such a silly little Boy." Skunk also enjoyed the same routine when she was still with us, although Tippy only began requesting my participation over the last year or so. That said, both he and Skunk would grab my ankle if I tried to walk away before they'd had enough. My Boy is about to celebrate his 15th birthday, still a silly kitten full of love.

Hoya Ilagiorum In Encore

Day 269: Hoya ilagiorum is giving an encore performance with a single dense cluster of flowers which seem to be getting redder with each successive blooming period. An intermittent bloomer, it's been six weeks since the plant was in flower, a schedule it will probably keep for at least one more early autumn display. Once the summer flush is complete, it will enter a rest period for a few months. Many Hoyas have a specific seasonal bloom schedule, but my three favourites (H. ilagiorum, H. fitchii and H. bella) flower several times each year. Reputed to be almost indestructible, I have managed to kill one or two over the years as have a few of my friends, but generally speaking, Hoyas are tolerant of neglectful conditions and even benefit from their planting medium being allowed to dry out. In any event, ilagiorum is thriving under my somewhat casual care, and I would recommend it for anyone who wants a Hoya of a different colour.

Deptford Pink, Dianthus Armeria

Day 268: Pink or not, I love Dianthus armeria, the Deptford Pink, and I very nearly eliminated them from the Barren Wasteland by overzealously collecting the seed to share with friends. I neglected to consider that they are an annual, and as such, need to re-sow themselves as their primary means of reproduction. But like many plants, they also have a backup plan. The roots sometimes form additional basal rosettes, so although the plant you see today may be dead and gone in the space of a few years, its clones may persist to form genetically identical offshoots of their own. The species was introduced to North America so long ago that it is now considered naturalized. Although the stems may grow to two feet in height, they are thready and thin. The freckled flowers appear at the tips and are relatively small, measuring only half an inch at maximum. They close in late afternoon or early evening.

Shadow On The Sky

Day 267: Several conditions have to align for the Mountain to throw a shadow against the sky, and I've been missing the event by minutes on these last few hazy mornings. Today, though, I threw back the curtains at exactly the right moment and, pausing only long enough to appreciate the bonus of fog in the foreground, ran across the road with camera in hand. As the sun crept nearer to the horizon, the shadow began to fade and was nearly gone by the time I'd snapped half a dozen photos. The haze is due to an inversion layer, not the Canadian wildfires. There is some smoke in it from local vegetation fires (Fourth of July fireworks delivered quite a few of those), but nothing like the conditions being experienced in the eastern part of the country. Still, it's been hot and dry with daytime temps in the 90s and no sign of precipitation in the forecast. Fire season is upon us. Please be careful.

Cultural Appropriation

Day 266: A recent fascination with the Japanese style of embroidery known as sashiko (translated as "little stabs") and its related craft of boro has raised a question in my mind. In poring over YouTube videos, I encountered one from a Japanese needleworker saying that they felt it was time to speak out about cultural appropriation. I was rather shocked, because as a fiber artist, I use techniques from numerous different cultures without giving thought to the traditions behind them, although I try to mention their origins when I write about them. Nevertheless, I have not felt the need to explain that knitting and crocheting come from the Middle East, or that weaving is an Egyptian art. It would never have occurred to me to think of them as having been culturally appropriated from those sources. However, in pursuing the two distinctively Japanese crafts of sashiko and boro (particularly the latter), I began to wonder where the line might be drawn. To the best of my limited knowledge, nothing resembling boro is found in any other culture. Sashiko has "cousins" in cross-stitch, blackwork/whitework, and chicken-scratch (the latter almost certainly a purely American invention), but none of them has been coupled with patching/darning in the way sashiko has been used to create the unique look of boro. The closest "relative" I can think of would be crazy-quilting when the patches are held down by ornamental embroidery stitches. On the other hand, sashiko is comprised solely of running stitches. Although the way they are placed defines the style as Japanese, the stitch itself is universal.

The Barren Wasteland

Day 265: If you've been following along for any length of time, you'll have heard me talk about the Barren Wasteland, the ten-foot wide strip between the south wall of my house and the north wall of my garage. In the first few years after I moved here, all my attempts at growing veg or flowers in it failed miserably. The soil was simply too poor to support anything but the toughest grasses and other undesirables. I was on the verge of throwing in the towel when I hit on the idea of planting a wildflower mix, thinking that surely some native would take root. I'm smarter now than I was then, largely because the most successful of the species were California poppies, Ox-eye daisies and yarrow, all of which are considered "weeds" in western Washington. It's been impossible to get rid of them entirely, although they are largely overwhelmed by another success: Rudbeckia. Today, the Barren Wasteland is a riot of colour, but keeps its name in memory of my struggle to get something...anything!...to grow here.

Celebrate Gooseberries!

Day 264: The first picking of the season! Admittedly, it was only a cup once they were topped, tailed and cut in two, but the first fruits for a batch of my favourite jam are in the freezer. I don't think I'll have enough for a double batch this time around, but there are still a couple of jars left from last year. I'm surprised more people don't grow gooseberries. I suppose it's because prepping them for pie or jam is a lot of work. "Topping and tailing" means slicing off both the stem end and the blossom end with a sharp knife, a rather tedious process when you have a large number of berries. Done a few at a time (two cups at most) and on a daily basis as the fruit ripens, it's not such a bad chore. The berries can be kept frozen and processed during cooler weather, a boon for those of us who don't care to slave over a hot stove when it's 90 degrees out. The jam is tart-sweet, tangy and flavourful, and utterly delicious on homemade sourdough bread, but mind the thorns when you're harvesting. Many people wear welder's gloves when picking gooseberries, but I find that a little care and caution is all you really need. The birds will pick them if you allow them to ripen fully, so get them when they first begin to "give" when pinched gently.

Young Purple Finch

Day 263: Friends joke that my birds have me trained well. If I am working on the computer, they perch on the shepherd's-hook directly outside the window and stare at me until they get their point across: the feeder is empty, and we're hungry. If I'm sitting with my back to the window, they'll fly carefully forward so that they can flutter their wings against the glass until they've drawn my attention. And because I am so well-trained, I lay down whatever project is in my hands to go and deliver another round of black-oil sunflower seed. The Grosbeaks (especially the Black-Headed Grosbeaks) are the most likely to make demands in this way, although other species do it as well, including the Purple Finches (Carpodacus purpureus, above) are adept at it as well. I've even had a Northern Flicker communicate in this way when there was no more suet in the wire basket! The Chickadees land on the seed can (or my head) as soon as I step out the door. The Nuthatch isn't quite that brave, but often has to be told to move over so I can refill the tray. But as any good trainer knows, there must be some reward, and this is mine: little feathered friends posing for portraits, cute as they can be.

All Foliage, No Flowers

Day 262: The two readers who supplied me with seeds will undoubtedly recognize this plant from the foliage, and perhaps one of them can give me a clue as to why it comes back year after year but never blooms. It is milkweed, and until an inflorescence appears, I will be unable to confirm the exact species (presumably Asclepias syriaca). The plants appear quite healthy otherwise. The tallest is currently about 3', but of the dozen or so stalks, not a one has ever shown any inclination to flower. Nor have they ever exhibited signs of insect damage, presumably due to the absence of flowers which would attract bugs. I did not expect Monarchs, no. They are rarely found in western Washington. However, their flyway crosses eastern Washington where milkweed plants are abundant.

Caveat Emptor

Day 261: Caveat emptor: "let the buyer beware." When I first moved here over thirty years ago, I set about trying to find something which would grow in the space which later became known as the Barren Wasteland for good reason. A ten-foot wide area between the back wall of my house and the side of the garage resisted all my attempts to turn it into a vegetable garden or a flower bed, rejecting every effort I made to enrich the soil with compost, fertilizer or other amendments. Eventually, I hit upon the idea of getting a "regional" wildflower mix to broadcast in the hopes that at least one species would find the conditions acceptable and, innocent that I was, I bought a large container which claimed to be "for the northwest." Today, with a bit more experience behind me, I would have read the label more carefully. What I planted...and what had the greatest success at establishing...were what I would now call "weeds." Over the years, I've managed to get rid of most of the undesirables, but two which persist are yarrow and California poppies. The Barren Wasteland is now a riot of colour and variety, but very little of that "northwest mix" still exists, having been pulled up by the roots and disposed of without further ceremony or regret.