Max's First Warp

Day 139: First of all, let me explain that I'm working in really tight quarters here. In fact, I was standing INSIDE my old loom to take this photo of Max, who sits at 90 degrees to it with about 12" of space between the two. When the cord for the warp apron finally arrived yesterday and I had mounted it, I discovered why Bergman owners talk about "lowering the jack box." That is the apparatus which holds the harnesses and their myriad heddles. The way Bergman looms are constructed, the jack box has to be lifted off its pegs and dropped to rest on the frame of the loom at normal working height. This clears the pathway for the threads to be wound onto the warp roller which, you may notice is ABOVE the warp as it makes its rounds rather than below. It wasn't long before I figured out how much easier this makes several steps of the warping process. Go Bergman! Once the warp has been beamed onto the roller, the jack box is returned to its working position on the top of the loom (as shown in the photo), and threading the heddles may begin. Another marvelous feature of these looms is that they are foldable even when a project is in progress. Mine folds down to a mere 19" back-to-front. This also means that things which would normally get in your way or be awkward to work around can be removed and set aside. On my old loom, I always felt like I was breaking ribs as I stretched over the breast beam to retrieve threads from the lease sticks. Not with the Bergman! I simply remove the breast beam, put my little stool inside the loom frame and sit there merrily threading. When I'm done, I'll reinstall the breast beam and beater bar, thread the reed, bring the cloth apron (as opposed to the warp apron) up and around the breast beam, and tie the warp ends to its rod. After a few (I hope) adjustments to the tie-up, I should be ready to weave a twill colour gamp for Max's official baptism.

Spacers And Chasers

Day 138: This one is going to be fun! Many historic/traditional Scandinavian bands were made with multiple patterns occurring in the same piece, sometimes without repeating at all. I wanted to make a trim for the outer edges of the "Scandinavian Favourite" crackle-weave tablecloth and decided to put my own twist on the principle by using identical spacers in between short motifs. Since my initial plan for a holiday tablecloth turned into the King's Flower coverlet, I also chose to incorporate some green into this band to give it Christmas-y feel. I have warped thirty feet and will be using both traditional and original motifs in as many variations as I can manage with 11 pattern threads. I'm calling it "Spacers and Chasers."

Mind The Multiplier

Day 137: "Let's see," I said to myself as I was planning this band, "the placemats are 20" x 16", so that's one yard (and a smidgen for turning corners) times two to go all the way around. Two yards and about six inches per placemat. That's what I need." And then I went off and did something else requiring keen focus, like retrieving the warping board from the Loom Room. "Four yards," I said as I sat down to wind warp, "Times two for two placemats. And a little bit for the Pope." Anybody see the problem here? Yep, I doubled my doubled measurement in that brief thirty seconds I was gone. When did I realize what I'd done? When I took the band off the loom yesterday and found that I had MILES of it, way more than I needed for two little placemats. No wonder it took me so long to weave. Mind the multiplier, Crow. Mind the multiplier.

Peltigera Britannica

Day 136: Peltigera britannica is fairly easy to distinguish from other similar lichen species in the field when it is fruiting. Its cephalodia (layman's term: "little black spots") are easily detached. In fact, they are so easily detached that a good rainstorm can complicate identification by removing them. Each cephalodium is capable of reproducing another lichen, and large masses of Peltigera are not uncommon where conditions are ideal. This lichen attaches to its substrate by means of rhizines which, although they resemble roots, do not absorb nutrients. They serve solely to hold the lichen in place on rock, tree trunks or soil. The same species can exhibit a brown upper surface, many times growing side-by-side with a spring-green companion.

On The Tip Of My Tongue

Day 135: Oemleria cerasiformis is one of the first shrubs to come into bloom in the spring here in the Pacific Northwest. "Oemleria cerasiformis," I said to myself as I passed the first one, "Oemleria...it's on the tip of my tongue...hang on...I know it...it'll come to me...WHAT THE HELL IS THE COMMON NAME?" I gave it another quarter mile of think before I started going through the alphabet. I was pretty sure there was an i-vowel sound in it. "Ia..ib...ic...id. That rings a bell. Ie...if...ig..." and in another quarter of a mile, I'd hit "in" which, coupled with "id" made me yell "INDIAN PLUM!" to an otherwise empty (thank heavens!) forest. After a relatively botany-free winter, it always takes me a while to get the synapses to snap into place. I used to have trouble with Cardamine every year (another early bloomer) until I put it into storage as "something to do with 'heart,'" but it has never been in my mental database as "bittercress." In late summer, Indian Plum (the Oemleria under discussion) makes small oval fruits consisting primarily of a large seed and a little skin. That said, they were used as a foodstuff by native peoples here which, under analysis for calories vs. effort gives one a much greater appreciation of how tough it is to survive as a hunter-gatherer.

My Guide

Day 134: We have this in common, my little guide and I: we have a song to sing, but we prefer to remain unseen as we give it voice. Pacific Wren (Troglodytes pacificus) is adept at staying out of sight, concealing himself in piles of brush so well that all anyone passing may see is a flash of motion in the corner of their eye. His song is long and varied, more music in his breast than one would think a small bird could hold, unless of course one understands the physiology of the syrinx which permits it. As we try to spot him in the dark places of the forest, we look vainly (there...no, there...or there, perhaps?) as his talent for ventriloquy deceives us. And then the melody falls upon us from immediately aside in a cascade of tinkling trills and arpeggios and, if fortunate, we catch a glimpse of drab, brown agitation, gone again in an instant. Where least expected, the song rises again repeatedly amid the stillness of the trees, acknowledging the interloper in the territory of the singer.

Cladonia Macilenta

Day 133: Cladonia macilenta is one of the few Cladonias I can identify with any degree of certainty without playing with dangerous chemicals in my kitchen. It is one of a very few "red-headed" species, and is often mis-identified as Cladonia cristatella by people who have come here from the eastern part of the country. These are not "British Soldiers" (cristatella), although I have heard the common name "Toy Soldiers" applied to them, creating further confusion with the similarity. Cladonia macilenta is fairly common in the Pacific Northwest and can be identified by the relatively smooth surface of its podetia (stalks). Our other common "red-head" is Cladonia bellidiflora, which exhibits small leafy scales on its stalks, generally in copious abundance. This particular specimen is out of its natural plumb, obviously having been laid on a horizontal surface (not by me) so it could be photographed. I took advantage of the situation for a photo of my own while thinking that the person who had laid it there would probably mis-identify the species when they tried to sort it out.

Packin' It In

Day 132: When I left home this morning, I had no clear plan other than to go for a hike after picking up some screws for Max at the hardware store. Several options presented themselves: Bud Blancher Trail, Nisqually-Mashel State Park, Pack Forest, or any of the lesser-known trails in the area. As I drove past the trailhead at Bud Blancher, I said, "Nah, boring...boring and mostly flat. That's not what I want. I think I'll go to Pack." Shopping for screws was a five-minute job requiring focus on the task at hand, so I had still not made a determination as to which trail I'd take until I was again on the road. It's only a few miles to the entrance of Pack, and by the time I'd got to the gate, I'd decided on a loop which would take me over a section I haven't hiked in several years, i.e., up the 1000 Rd to the 1400, up 1400 and thence down the Hugo Peak trail to the gate, and back up the paved road to parking for a grand total in the neighbourhood of three miles. At least that was the Plan when I shouldered my pack, but as Kevin would tell you, I'm not one for sticking to a Plan. I was feeling quite perky and invigorated when I reached the 1400, and what was left ahead of me seemed too short for my energy level. Standing there at the junction with the 1400, I said, "Screw it, I'm going up Hugo." From there, I came down the regular trail, did the short section back to the gate (which I seldom cover), and then back up the paved road to parking. Five miles and a thousand feet elevation gain spent in almost total silence but for a Pacific Wren or two, the occasional airplane overhead and one insistent mosquito in my ear satisfied a longing to be out and about which has been plaguing me all winter. Bits of botanical and natural history interest will surface over the next few days. These photos are just to give you an overview of what it's like to pack Pack.

Winter Residents

Day 131: Homo sap. as a species thinks of itself as the cream of creation. We have opposable thumbs. We have incredibly versatile brains. We have created technology to help us create more technology. We have imagined such concepts as "time" and "money," and we are constantly battling to come out on top of the other guy. Admirable traits? I think not. All of the above have done little except cause us grief, and would do nothing to help us survive in the same "real world" of those creatures we refer to inappropriately as "lesser." Many of the physical adaptations on which we pride ourselves are nothing to write home about when compared, for example, to a hummingbird whose countercurrent circulatory system and ability to enter a state of torpor allow it to survive sub-freezing temperatures. Would we survive with 60-70% of our cells frozen solid? Not hardly, but some frogs can, and so can many plants. The fact that I can grip a hammer, embrace a conspiracy theory, make a phone call to speak to an AI interface, race to meet a deadline, buy unimaginable numbers of things no sensible being needs, and stomp my opponents into the mud means nothing compared to a hummingbird's remarkable ability to endure despite all Nature throws at it.

Thrum Ball

Day 130: The subject of thrums and what to do with them came up in discussion this morning, reminding me that my jar of them was getting pretty full. The Thrum Jar is similar to the Rug Strip Box in that when it gets full, the issue needs addressing. Both rug strips and thrums tend to accumulate with astonishing alacrity, and unless they're taken care of promptly, can become burdensome. Yes, you could just throw your thrums (and old t-shirts) out, but my innate Scottish thriftiness will not allow that. Therefore, I need to find creative ways to use them up. In the past, I've crocheted them into potholders, doubling the threads and changing colours when I came to the end of any given thread. The potholder pattern I use folds in on itself to double the layers as well, resulting in thick, highly insulative pads. At this stage of the game, however, I have more potholders in my kitchen than I really need. So what do I do with the thrums?

Some time ago, I came across another idea: tie them together as I do for potholders, but instead of tucking the tails to the inside, leave the tails projecting for a textural effect in towels. I thought the finished product was cute, but never got around to tying thrums together and rolling them into a ball, thence to be wound on a shuttle. It was easier to "tie as you go" while making potholders. This morning, I said to myself, "Today is a good day to tie," (the weaver's equivalent of a popular Klingon saying), and I'm halfway through the greens. I had very little in the way of blues, so I'm adding them in occasionally for accent, and will be weaving them on a rigid heddle as a "living room project" while taking a break from the large loom.

Make Sail, Ye Scurvy Dogs!

Day 129: Although Capt. Morgan Corbye has not been seen for some time, the infamous pirate from a fabulous (in the sense of "fable") world which rather strongly smacks of the Pacific Northwest is still alive and well. Today, her talents were brought to bear in making sail for a loom rather than on a ship. The cloth is cotton duck (a heavy canvas) and this morning, when I had finished making a warp apron for Max, I discovered to my delight that between previous leftovers and a new remnant, I had enough to stitch together so that I could replace the old and rather musty cloth apron as well. I still have to mount them on the loom, but with every passing day, I'm getting closer to anchoring that multicoloured warp and then taking him out for his maiden voyage.

The Weaving Weekend

Day 128: The photo is entirely irrelevant to the subject matter of this post, but it is already late in the day and I am delightedly worn out. I have had a tendency to forget that my friend Ed, although an accomplished band-weaver, has never woven on a shafted loom. After refinishing Max, he came into possession of an eight-shaft Bergman, and Max came to live at my house without Ed having even threaded a heddle. Meanwhile, Ed set to work refurbishing the eight-shaft and finally reached the point where he was ready to weave. He read books. He watched videos. He asked questions, both of me and of members in an assortment of weaving groups, but Friday evening, I suggested that he come up for the weekend for a "weaving intensive" designed to acquaint him with the process of dressing a loom with warp, telling him that there was no better way of learning than "hands on." He arrived yesterday afternoon, and we immediately set to work loading a warp I had pre-measured in a heavy cotton suitable for placemats. With only a short break for dinner, the warping process was complete by 10 PM, well past either of our normal bedtimes. Today, even before breakfast, he began the actual weaving. I was pleased to see that his experience band-weaving gave him good control over the selvedges, one of the more difficult weaving skills to truly master. By the time he left, he had roughly nine inches of a nice twill completed. He's taken my table loom home with him so he can do his "homework," i.e., completing at least two placemats. For me, it was absolutely wonderful to have a student who was quick to grasp concepts, and to take to weaving like a fish to water even if I am ready for a good, solid nap.

Bobbin' Along

Day 127: I'm no red, red robin, but I'm bob-bob-bobbin' along with a wide assortment of implements on which thread/cord/yarn can be wound. Spinning takes bobbins, as do weaving, embroidery, sewing and sometimes also knitting and crocheting, but the queen of all bobbin projects is bobbin lace. Not only are there different types of bobbins used in the various styles of bobbin lace, even a small piece (say an inch wide) may take two dozen or more to create. I once saw a woman working on an edging roughly three inches wide with over 200 bobbins spread out across the pillow. The most I've ever managed was a little over fifty. Some types of bobbin can be wound with a physical aid. Others have to be loaded by hand (a tedious task, believe me). I'm sure I've missed a few which could have been in this array, but this needed to be a short post because this weekend, I'll be occupied with delivering a hands-on lesson in how to warp a loom.

To Be Bound

Day 126: I've finished sewing together the three panels of the King's Flower coverlet, and I have to admit that it's not the best job of stitching I've ever done, but there were extenuating circumstances. As you may recall, this warp was originally supposed to be used to create a holiday tablecloth, but I was not happy with the way it was working out. The judgment call came after I had already woven 18", so rather than unweaving (a tedious job), I simply cut it off the loom. The drastic shortening of the warp meant that I no longer had enough left for the tablecloth, so I decided to weave something else entirely. The result was this piece. Unfortunately, the floating selvedge threads couldn't be changed out, and the colour was far from a match. In sewing up the seams, I was faced with having to conceal the non-matching threads; pulling them was out of the question since it would have disrupted the overshot at the edges. The too-obvious seams won't matter to me or to Tippy, who simply loves the coverlet and thinks I made it especially for him. That said, it's not done yet. I intend to weave a wide binding for at least two of the four sides to give the piece a bit more length, making up for that 18" section I cut off the original warp. Sometimes, you just have to resort to extreme measures to salvage a project which doesn't want to proceed according to plan. Even if it's not of a quality I'd put in the State Fair, it'll keep us warm o'nights.

Colour Play

Day 125: While I never need an excuse to play with bright colours, Max has provided a perfect excuse to go hog-wild. You may recall that a couple of months back, I wove a pattern gamp using multiple threadings and treadlings in combination. It gave me a visual catalog of possibilities for future projects, a handy reference for patterns I might like to use together. A colour gamp works in much the same manner, demonstrating how colours interact with one another where weft crosses warp. I've been promising myself to weave one for years, but the idea was invariably back-burnered by something else. Max needs a fairly simple project for his inauguration since adjustments will need to be made to balance the shafts, so I thought, "Why not weave a twill colour gamp?" I'm making it wide enough to be towels (very colourful towels, mind you) with 16 threads each of 15 different colours. I will cycle the weft through the same sequence every 16 throws in a pattern called "vertical herringbone." The optical effect should be dazzling, blinding, verging on psychedelic, and just a whole heck of a lot of fun for a colour lover like me.

My Fuzzy Valentine

Day 124: Cats are notoriously reluctant to pose for the soul-stealer, but I caught my fuzzy Valentine in an obliging moment. He trusts his mama not to do anything too wicked to him (baths notwithstanding), but no cat is fully comfortable in the glaring eye of the lens. My Tippy is almost sixteen, and a more loving and gentle little person I have never known. Even when we're rough-housing, I do not have to worry about teeth or claws rending skin, and there's nothing he enjoys more than being chased and tickled, and then chasing me in return. What greater love is there than that shared between a companion animal and its human? Don't forget to give your Valentine a scratch under the chin or behind the ears.

Lions In The Grass

Day 123: Four sequential haiku upon the less pleasant side of the growing season:

Lions in the grass!
Mowing season comes too fast.
The gardener tills

And toils at growing
Fruits and veg, but loses ground
To damn-de-lions.

Weeds win the battle
For root space in weary soil,
Exhausted by them.

Go on safari!
Hunt them into extinction!
Damn-all-de-lions!

A Passion For Weaving

Day 122: My grandmother set me on my fiberarts journey before I was old enough to attend kindergarten. She started me off with stem-stitch embroidery (oddly, not cross-stitch), and put me to work on pillowcases and linen handkerchiefs with the admonition, "Over four threads and back two." It was a lot to ask of a four-year old child and, although I couldn't achieve her level of expertise at that age, I was inspired by her own exquisite work to try. In the following years, she taught me to knit and crochet and to expand on my embroidery. By the time I was seven, I had made at least one knit sweater, multiple crocheted potholders and doilies, several embroidered dresser scarves, and I had gone on to explore needlepoint and crewel. Still, knitting was what drew me most, and by the time I was in my teens, it was my primary craft. After leaving high school, one of my first jobs was as an art-needlework consultant for a fabric store chain. It was there that I learned to tat. But I had only just cast off from the dock as far as the seas of textile construction were concerned, and the farther I paddled from the shores of its more commonplace forms, the deeper the waters became. At some point in my twenties, I reached the island of weaving, and was so taken with the plentiful fruits thereon that I established myself firmly in its community, having found my true home. Oh, I still visit all those other places: bobbin lace, smocking, macramé, marlinespike work, kumihimo, or anything which can be executed in thread, yarn or cord, but it is weaving which is my primary passion: passing a shuttle to and fro, watching a cloth develop beneath my hands, entranced by the simple, magical act of taking one thread across another to become fabric.

Ghost Of Christmas Past

Day 121: I have never been able to determine what triggers the second flush of blooms on my "Christmas" cacti, nor the timing or quality of it. Sometimes it comes in early January, sometimes well into February, and sometimes not at all. The one thing which seems to be consistent is that if the second round of flowers is scant on one plant, it will be scant on the others. Likewise, if it is abundant on one, the others will likely also have more blossoms. This is a good year. In fact, both White and Picotee have more buds than they had in December. When they decide to go on parade, I relocate them to the place of honour on the mantel, although these days, I'm spending more time in the Loom Room than I am in the living room.

Gung Hay Fat Choy

Day 120: Gung hay fat choy! If you were born in the Year of the Dragon, you may be intelligent and strong, but those characteristics can also make you pushy or aggresive. You do not get along with Dogs, Goats or Oxen, but you are compatible with Monkeys and Rats. For those who don't know, the Chinese Zodiac is different from the western zodiac in that it is divided into a twelve-year cycle rather than twelve month-long periods. The sequence begins with the Year of the Mouse. Dragon is the fifth year in the cycle, and includes 2024, 2012, 2000, 1988, etc. Each year has an associated "heavenly" element, in this case wood (yang). The lucky colour for this Wood Dragon year is gold, representing wealth and prosperity. May it come your way!

Cream Puffs

Day 119: When Ed came up to deliver Max, the countermarche loom, he also brought a sizeable number of foodstuffs I consider luxury items: fruit, fresh veg, pecans and a small bottle of whipping cream to put in his tea. He left the things we didn't eat with me, and I have been delighting in broccoli and cauliflower in cheese sauce, apples, oranges and salami. The whipping cream presented a puzzle. I was certainly not going to waste a drop of it because it's probably been fifty years since I had any of it in the house, but what was the best use? Then it hit me: cream puffs.

Now when I was in high school, "Home Economics" was a mandatory subject. I despised it almost as passionately as I despised History. It didn't help that the teacher didn't like me because I refused to wear a girdle and nylons and, consequently, my grades were very poor. Possibly the only benefit I got from that class was that I learned to make cream puffs, never mind that I couldn't boil water without burning it, but I have probably only made them half a dozen times in the half century which followed. I'm pleased to say that I haven't lost my touch for lack of practice, and Ed's whipping cream is almost gone.

String Heddles

Day 118: One of the things I have to do before Max is fully functional is to make more string heddles. Yesterday, you saw my improvised jig (the cribbage board). So far, I have tied 125 new heddles to supplement those already on the loom. My old loom has roughly 200 per shaft, and on one notable occasion, I ran out while I was threading and had to shift some from a different shaft without losing what threading I had already done (about 3/4 of a large project). I'll spare you the details. Just suffice to say that I had to remove screws from the upper inner sides of some shafts while keeping other shafts elevated, then lower them to remove the corresponding screws at the bottom of the frame, thread on new heddles and then reverse the process to put it all back together again. The job required every single one of my father's tractor-starting words as well as some new ones I made up along the way. The takeaway from the experience was that you should always count first. In any event, my goal is to have 300 heddles on each shaft. Max came equipped with 100 per shaft, therefore for four shafts, I need to tie 800 total. I can do a smaller project for his christening and undoubtedly will do exactly that, but I'll keep pecking away at heddle-tying until I reach the finish line.

The Cribbage Jig

Day 117: Sometimes, I'm absolutely brilliant. Max still requires several things before he's fully operational. Certainly, I needed to order canvas for an apron for the warp roller and suitable cord for his tie-up, but while I'm waiting for those to arrive, I decided to tie more string heddles because there were only 100 on each shaft. You really need a jig of some sort to tie heddles uniformly, and I was running through all sorts of options for building one, but I didn't want to have to break out the bolt cutters to bite the heads off nails. Then it hit me: I had a fully adjustable jig in my closet...a cribbage board! I took one of the existing heddles, staked it out between pegs to set the proper distance for the length and placement of the eye, and I was in business. I tied 25 last night as a test and mounted them on one of Max's shafts. Perfecto! It's working so well that I may eventually replace all of the old heddles as well.

A Loom In The Hand

Day 116: "A bird in the hand..." No, wait. That's "a loom in the hand," in this case, a "Turtle Loom" designed for weaving hexagons from fingering/fine sock yarn. It's something I can do with a cat in my lap, much to Tippy's delight. Sometimes when I've spent too much time in the Loom Room, he comes looking for me, complaining in his soft "Mirrl?" that I've been out of his sight too long. Weaving on the Turtle is done with a continuous thread, not like those "looper looms" we made potholders on when we were kids. The weft triangles at top and bottom are woven as the warp threads are installed. When warping is complete, a specific length of yarn is measured off and needle-woven to fill in the center portion. The hexagons are lightweight when complete as opposed to those made by knitting or crocheting, and can be stitched together to makes scarves, shawls or even a light afghan. Rather than quilting "Grandmother's Flower Garden," let's weave it!

Max

Day 115: Say hello to Max, my "new" four-shaft countermarch Bergman loom, est. construction date 1940-50. Max is a hand-me-down from my weaving buddy Ed, who restored the loom but never had the opportunity to weave anything on it before inheriting an eight-shaft loom of the same make. We spent yesterday putting this one together, all but the tie-ups which are rather more complicated on a countermarch. I'm clear on the principle and will be working on that part of the set-up as soon as I'm thoroughly rested. I also need to tie more string heddles, although there are enough on the shafts for a small project already. Why "Max?" Because he MAXimized the available work space in the Loom Room, cramped in between my old floor loom (currently loaded with a project which will take about a month to complete) and craft cupboards, leaving just enough open floor for me to set a bench in front. It won't always be this tight. My old floor loom goes to a new weaver who I will be teaching to use it, and Max will shift into the spot it presently occupies. We're playing "musical looms" here, and from what I've seen, the weaving community works that way. That's why so many of these old guys are still around.

Raggin' It

Day 112: After completing a second rag rug from t-shirt strips, I weighed what was remaining in the bucket and decided that it would be better to save what was left rather than making a 6" shorter rug. I had a pretty good stash of denim strips as well, and am almost done with a third, heavier rug. I'm nearing the end of my usable warp, so after this one is complete, I'll be retiring the table loom temporarily to make way for...sit down, hold onto something...a "new" floor loom! My weaving buddy Ed is handing down his newly refurbished Bergman four-shaft countermarch, and will be delivering it tonight. Once the "Scandinavian Favourite" is off my present loom, it will be moving to a new home, simply because there is not enough room in my house for two floor looms. The Bergman may need more heddles, and I'm not sure my reeds will fit it, so it may be a while before I have it up and running. Of course, it will also be a while before I'm done with the "Scandinavian Favourite" because I'm only halfway on the first of three panels. Slowly but surely, this will all come together.

The Underbelly Of The Omega-13

Day 113: As a big fan of the movie "Galaxy Quest," I always refer to this view as "the underbelly of the Omega-13." If you don't have a clue, you really need to watch the film, especially if you love "Star Trek." And if you are a "Star Trek" aficionado who is also a weaver, you'll understand when I say that this is what happens after you enhance the dilithium matrix in/on the warp core. If you are still in the dark here, just go away. You're using up valuable oxygen.

What you see here is the reverse side of the "Scandinavian Favourite" crackle-weave tablecloth I'm currently weaving. Note that I say "reverse," because there is no actual "wrong" or "right" side to this particular fabric. The "back" has red diamonds on a white ground solely because that's the way I threaded it. The "front" has white diamonds on a red ground, exactly opposite to this. When the tablecloth is complete, I'll be able to use either side as the mood strikes me. This pattern is proving to be rather demanding with respect to keeping the motifs the same size along the length. Several times, I've had to unweave half a diamond and replace it in order to stay within the acceptable tolerance of "two inches plus one throw." Measurement is critical when you're weaving patterned panels. Small variations can be eased as the panels are sewn together, but only within certain limits. And because we weavers are human, not Vulcan, we beat irregularly depending on our emotional state.

The Snowdrops Know

Day 112: The Groundhog has been known to be wrong. I place far more trust in the Snowdrops' prognostications. They are telling me that winter is fading, yielding to the life force beneath the surface of the soil. Their enthusiasm is undeniable, undeterred by a layer of ice or snow as they push their way through frozen ground. "Delicate," some call them, or "dainty," but I see them as determined and unstoppable, the advance guard of a wave of blooms which will progress steadily into summer. Earlier even than crocuses and daffodils, Snowdrops proclaim the Spring.

The Grig Cats

Day 111: A few days ago, a friend mentioned having found some precious old family photos in an unexpected location which reminded me of my own discovery several years back of these cat caricatures. They came from a set of note cards, and I thought the designs were so cute that I had saved one of each. After repeated moves and being stored in multiple locations, they went missing and I presumed they were gone forever. My favourite was "The Growler" (top center), which I copied in oils in a much larger size, but that painting also disappeared in the various shuffles. When the internet became a thing, I thought I'd see if I could hunt down copies on eBay or elsewhere, but even though I had the artist's last name, nothing like them came up when I searched for "Grig cats." One day, I was out in my unheated, damp garage searching for something else, and dragged down a small box from a top shelf. Inside it, wrapped in newsprint, were the six original cats. Apparently, they had at some point fallen into my mother's possession. She had framed them, and when I moved her and all her belongings here in a rush due to her declining health, I did not open the box to see what was inside. Despite the less than ideal storage conditions, they were still in good shape: a little faded with time, but otherwise intact. I do not recall their titles, except for the delightful, grumpy Growler and the Schemer, who contemplates a goldfish dinner in the upper right.

Footnote: I just discovered the artist's real name: Girard Goodenow. The signature is "Gig," not "Grig" as I had thought it read, and copies of these and other sketches/paintings do occasionally crop up on Etsy and elsewhere.