Fruits Rejected by Robins

Day 345: Military MREs ("Meals Ready to Eat") are often jokingly called "Meals Rejected by Everyone." The avian version of that is FRR, "Fruits Rejected by Robins." Although Mountain-ash berries are a favourite with both the Robins and the Cedar Waxwings, these apparently aren't ready yet. Half a dozen appraisers showed up yesterday, sampled the fare of both trees from top and bottom, and flew off in disgust. They like 'em a bit on the winy side, the little drunks, and we're not there yet. We need a few cold nights to soften the pulp and raise the sugar content before they'll begin to ferment. That said, for the last several years, the Waxwings have failed to show, and currently, the Birdcast Migration Dashboard doesn't show them in the area. I'm sure the robins are up to the task of ensuring that my driveway is berry-free, but I do wish the Waxwings would come. Happy Autumn, folks!

The Turning of the Year

Day 344: It is the turning of the year. Seemingly overnight, the vine maples have gone from quietly suggesting colour to wearing it with flamboyance, hushing the voices of our thousand shades of green with their bold fashion statement. To my way of thinking, autumn in the Pacific Northwest eclipses that of the East where colour is everywhere. Our reds and golds are polka-dots on a fabric of evergreen, shock value in their propensity for showing off. "You think you're something, Doug-fir? Here. Hold my beer!" While the remainder of the deciduous crowd sits on the sidelines in shades of dingy gold and brown, vine maples do their stuff to the awe of the audience. Their only competition for Best of Show is the bright yellow of the tamaracks, but they're in another bar, over the mountains and down the other side. This, I predict, will be an Orange Year. Orange Years are the standard, and delight western Washington leaf-peepers. Red Years are to be treasured, few and far between, coming only when some mysterious combination of temperature and humidity allows. Brown Years, the sad and sorry years, are fairly rare, when the vine maples close up shop early, as if to say, "That's it. Done with this. I'm outta here. 'Bye!" 

Growing the Strange

Day 343: Over time, I've grown some damned strange things in my garden (some with applaudable success, some less so), but none has been quite as strange as the Akebia. The fruits are barely edible (you have to carefully suck a thin pulp off a mass of large black seeds, then spit the seeds out). Nor is it particularly tasty, although one can educate the taste buds to appreciate the light sweetness. They're not particularly ornamental as vines go, however, the flowers have a lovely scent for the brief period they are in bloom. Their one redeeming merit (other than their curious and marginal edibility) is that they are easy to pollinate, and to my way of thinking, therein lies the enjoyment of raising them. This year, I had the great good sense to only pollinate those flowers low on the vine, so I won't have to climb up on a stool to pick the topmost fruits. Oh, yes. I eat them. I'm not sure why, except that it seems like I should garner some reward for my work.

Communication

Day 342: I'd already been nipped on the leg because I was doing something other than what Merry thought I should be doing, but I was busy and not thinking about the daily routine until he followed me in the bathroom and dragged my after-snacks manual toothbrush out of the bowl where it normally lives and dropped it on the floor. He jumped down and began chewing on it. "Hey! That's MINE!" I said. "Yours is in the living room! Oh, I see now. Yes, I had forgotten." His new toothpaste is vanilla-mint flavour, and he likes it a bit too much. It's hard to get the brush in his mouth because he wants to lick it off, and if I put the tube up to his nose, he is allowed one light slurp because "it's medicine, you silly cat, not a treat!" He's also been known to try to steal the tube off the table. Duly admonished, I took him in the living room and brushed his toofies, and then he was happy, having successfully communicated his desires to his rather thick Mama.

Merry's Square

Day 341: Today, I will be installing Merry's square in the quilt, his "signature" (if you will) for all the help he's giving me in constructing it. Tippy and Skunk each appeared in several cat-themed quilts over the years, or at least in representations which looked somewhat like them. The Russian Blue on this print looks very much more like Merry, right down to the thoughtful "You're making this one for me, aren't you?" expression. Of course, finding this square will be one of the "Quilt Game" challenges when it's completed. It's one of a kind, like the black-and-white wedge in my great-grandmother's "Double Wedding Ring" which I could never mate up with another piece. There will be lots of "Quilt Game" puzzles in this one, like "Are any two 9-patch blocks identical?" and "How many times was this print used in the center of a 9-patch?" Some of the puzzles have been deliberately composed; others are random, and up to the imagination. My quilts aren't just for keeping you warm! They're meant to provide intellectual stimulation as well.

Halfway Point

Day 340: On 6 September, I posted that I was four weeks into this project and was almost a third done. I can't count worth beans. Turns out it was three weeks in. Now it has been four and a half weeks, and I just finished adding the piece which brought me up to the halfway point. Halfway done! And entirely hand-stitched! The coloured squares each measure one inch on a side. What utterly boggles my mind is that this quilt is coming together faster than if I had machine-sewn it, and I don't think quite the entire rate of progress can be due to the fact that I hate sewing on the machine. When I think about the time involved in pinning, sewing and pressing each step in the assembly process, I can see why hand-stitching actually goes faster. Here, there is no real need for pressing until the whole top is completed, due to the fact that the pieces are whip-stitched together on the back, essentially locking them into the "pressed" position. Hand-basting the fabrics around cardstock shapes is as fast as pinning, and has the advantage of ensuring accuracy, i.e., no having to do over any imperfect meets. Sewing is slower, of course, but more enjoyable and easier to lay aside. The pattern (Ring Cycles) is a variation on Jack's Chain, and is a definite winner in my book.

Glue Basting

Day 339: I was hesitant at first, but being new to English paper piecing, I was willing to try a technique many more experienced quilters seemed to recommend: glue basting. After researching the internet extensively, I chose to go with the Sewline brand, and bought a package which included a pen and two refills, plus an extra package of six refills, having no idea how long a single stick of the water soluble glue would last. I knew it was going to be too much bother to glue each one-inch square in a 9-patch, so decided to thread-baste those, but on the other hand, the idea of glue-basting the larger pieces (the big hexagon and the triangles) suggested that I'd get a more uniform "stretch" of the fabric than I could effect with thread. As it turned out, the glue goes amazingly far. I'm only on my third refill and am just short of having half the quilt pieced, and I am very pleased with the method. Old dogs can learn new tricks when they're given the right incentives.

Favourite Day

Day 338: Today is my favourite day of the week. It could be Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday and not make a speck of difference. What signifies is that it's Bread Day! Sourdough most frequently is the guest of honour, and today is no exception. It's my go-to bread. I fed the starter yesterday, set the poolish to proof overnight, and this morning started the loaf. The oven is heating up even as I type, and soon the house will be filled with the scent of baking bread. Is there any better smell in the whole wide world? Not in my book! And does anything taste better than homemade bread, freshly and lavishly buttered? I think not. Keep your fancy-schmancy gourmet meals, and just give me the rustic goodness of homemade bread.

Raspberries Comin' On!

Day 337: The raspberries are comin' on! I picked half a dozen each of the two days before yesterday, and then a whole cup. That's just for starters. The vines are loaded as usual because I treat this "everbearing" variety (Heritage) as a fall-bearing one, which is to say that once they're done fruiting in the fall, I mow them flat. That means I don't get a spring fruit, but it also means that the fall yield is mch higher. It also means that I don't have to stare at leafless raspberry vines all winter. You might think I'd freeze these now and make jam or jelly out of them later, but that's not the way I roll. Nope, I sprinkle a little sugar on each picking before putting it in the freezer, and then comes winter and the months when I'm really craving fruit. The raspberries will be there, already lightly sugared, to have as a barely-thawed treat. 

Where the Quilt Goes, There Go I

Day 336: I was getting tired of rolling a cat around while I tried to lay out the next set of 9-patches in the quilt, so I thought, "I could put it on the bread board on the kitchen table. I could at least see enough of it that I wouldn't get prints too close together." Well, you know what they say: "It seemed like a good idea at the time." I laid the bread board (a sheet of formica) on the table, draped the quilt over it, went in the living room to get the bowlful of little clips I use for marking where the next triangles go, and this was what I found upon returning thirty seconds later. I think there's no way I'm winning this debate. And yes, he's going to get to keep this quilt.

Relevant Acknowledgement

Day 335: Many things have changed at the Washington State Fair since I last visited it pre-covid. I had hoped to find the Sheep-to-Shawl demonstration in its old location (I never did find it), but the spot now contained this acknowledgement of previous injustices inflicted on a targeted population by the United States government. I do not know if the display is new this year, but its relevance in current times sent chills up my spine. I thought it was quite daring of Fair management to create the exhibit, especially since I felt a certain degree of apprehension that ICE might make a raid on the Fairgrounds where I heard almost as much Spanish being spoken as I did English, and where there were numerous vendors of food and goods from Mexico and South America. History is not kind to those who rule by fear and oppression.

Arctium Sp.

Day 334: "How'd we miss that on the way up?" I asked. Arnie replied, "Burr, Cocklebur...that's the common name I know it by. You know weeds..." I said, "Burdock. Hang on..." Great digging in the mental archives was causing smoke to come out my ears. "Arctium!" I said at last. "Arctium...it's in there somewhere" (tapping my head) "Arctium...lappa. Arctium minor? Minus? There's two of them, and they're hard to tell apart." At that point, Arnie wrapped his hands around the base, and I could tell he was getting ready to take decisive action. "And they've got a tap root that goes all the way to China!" I warned. There was a loud snap, and Arnie was left holding three stalks which had broken off from the root right at ground level. "Um...the other one is bigger," I pointed at the second plant. He dug down an inch in the soil to reveal where someone had previously cut a 3/4" stem. New growth was coming out from just below the cut. "They're godawful hard to get rid of," I elaborated. "Got one on my Land Trust property that's about ten feet tall." Arnie broke the stems to inhibit photosynthesis, if nothing else, but neither of us had anything to bag them in, so we wound up leaving them behind. Sometimes seeds continue to develop even after the stalk has been cut, but that appeared to be our only option. My trouser pockets were already full of chanterelles, and there are some sacrifices I'm simply not willing to make. Nor was I particularly keen on hiking with burdock burrs in my britches! As it turned out, my pictures aren't good enough to tell if the petioles have ridges, so whether this is Arctium lappa or Arctium minus, I can't say. "Arctium sp." will have to do.

Memories and Mushrooms

Day 333: I seldom think to take pictures of human subjects, and now I'm kicking myself because Merry got to meet a new uncle yesterday, a friend I have not seen for years. Arnie was up from southern Oregon visiting family, and took a day out to make a long detour to spend time with me. The possibility of rain had led us both to think that we wouldn't be able to get in the hike we'd hoped to take, but by noon, the weather looked good enough to chance it. En route to Big Bridge, we picked a handful of early chanterelles, reminding me of one of the last times I'd gone hiking with Arnie in the Park before he retired. We got to Big Bridge, decided to go on a little further, and as these things go when you have two people who don't like to file flight plans, we thought we'd make a loop out of the trip and headed up another trail, hoping to make a connection. As it turned out, the connector was so overgrown that we missed it and kept going, climbing instead of descending, and about three miles in, we both decided that going back was preferable to going on when we had no idea where we might end up. We laughed over our old Park escapades in pursuit of rare and elusive plants: Arnie losing the route, me getting stuck in a bog, and others. It seemed like every time we went out in the field together, there was some Event-with-a-capital-E. Good memories, those! In the end, we covered about six miles, each of us pointing out plants and challenging the other one to remember the names (neither of us is as young as we used to be). We got back to the house, solved several of the world's and the Park's problems vicariously, and Merry got to spend more time with his new uncle. It wasn't until after Arnie left that I realized we hadn't eaten all day! I had a quick bowl of yogurt before going to bed, worn out in a good way and happier than I've been in months.

All-der Smilie

Day 332: Forgive the brevity! This smilie group of alder cones represents how I feel after a long day with a good friend who I haven't seen in years. I'll talk more about our adventures tomorrow!

Fair Dahlias

Day 331: One of the exhibits on my "must-do" list when I attend the Puyallup Fair is the floral exhibit. It is now housed in the same building as the grange displays. Dahlias occupy a full half of its space, the rest being devoted to roses, bonsai and other types of flowers. I do not know what goes into judging florals or what makes a prize-winning dahlia, but it seems to me that there is an inordinate number of blue ribbons here with an equal number of red second-place ribbons hiding behind them. Surely "first place" should be unique, or in case of a hard-to-make decision, a tie for first...not an entire rank of blue-ribbon blooms. Is this a case of "no child (flower) left behind?" And what must those poor second-placers must feel, to have been beat out by dozens...dozens, mind you...of others? I walked away from this exhibit feeling very, very confused.

Record Non-Attendance, Maybe?

Day 330: Don't get me wrong. I am grateful to Kevin and Kelli for taking me to the Fair so that I could see the "Judges' Craftsmanship" ribbon attached to my tartan shawl and a disappointing third-place on my "Friend Evelyn" overshot yardage, but the Fair just ain't what it used to be, and apparently I'm not the only one who feels that way. In years past, this spot would have been so crammed with people lining up to buy scones that you could hardly elbow your way through them. Scones, of course, were 75 cents in those days, not $3 like today (up from $1.75 five years ago), but very few of the vender stalls had customers in them, whether they were selling motorized recliners or cheap Fair trinkets. One of the first things I noticed (besides the absence of people) was that the displays were smaller, even those in the Home Arts Pavilion. Rock and gem clubs had only a 12' x 12' space and two showcases instead of half a room. International and regional photography exhibits were smaller by half, poorly lighted. Animal barns were closed or had only a few critters...a few pens of pygmy goats, no sheep, no poultry, no exotics. The grange displays are in another poorly lit building, but they were moved there several years ago. Perhaps the most shocking symptom of declining attendance was the fact that there were only a handful of people admiring the piglets in the pig palace. Generally, that's a spot where you need sharp elbows to even get close to the pens. As for Home Arts, I don't want to be accused of sour grapes, but I do think we must have a new round of inexperienced judges. I did not enter anything in the spinning category this year, and was stunned to see a skein of lumpy, poorly twisted two-ply grey wool with a first place award when right next to it was a skein of very fine singles done with an expert hand...and no ribbon. At double the prices of previous years, you could buy bubble guns, local honey, a hot tub, shiny fake jewelry, get a quote for insurance or eat, the last option being the one most people seemed to prefer. I had my usual gyros, which was served on the stalest pita I have ever had the misfortune of trying to bite through.

Three Weeks In

Day 329: I'm three weeks into my first English paper piecing quilt, and I'm almost a third done with the top. Operative words in that sentence: "the top." This is not like the hexagon quilts I've zipped through recently. When I'm done with this top, it will have to be backed, batted, bound and hand-quilted, a process which will have it on the quilting frame for at least a couple more months. I've discovered that while I like putting together the 9-patches, sewing them to the center hexagons is less enjoyable. However, sewing the completed blocks into the quilt is very satisfying. The good thing is that this quilt can be assembled one block at a time ("block" being the center hexagon and the six 9-patches and triangles surrounding it) with the addition of a few "filler" triangles to round out the curves where the next block fits in. There are other ways to build the pattern, but this one works best for me. Using this order of assembly, I never have to stitch the apex of a triangle into the bottom of a V-shape. When sewing the longer seams, I tack each junction first to be sure the "meets" stay in place. It's an extra step some might not wish to take, but I find it increases accuracy and saves time in the long run.

Footnote: I originally titled this "Four Weeks In." I can't count. I started it on 16 August, so this would have been THREE weeks in.

Wildcat Smoke

Day 328: The Wildcat Fire is just east of Mount Rainier National Park's eastern boundary (Park is the tan area on the map), but that does not mean it is not affecting me. Although the AQI is still in the "moderate" range where I live, I can smell and taste the smoke. The background photo here should have a Mountain in it. I cannot see even a vague outline. And yes, there have been days when past fires in the area have rendered it significantly worse, to the point even that I could barely see the line of brush in the foreground of the image, when you're having trouble breathing, the numbers really don't count for much. Wildcat started as a lightning strike and seemed manageable at first. Then wind came up and spread it to 5542 acres yesterday. More lightning is in the forecast over the next several days, and although there will be some precipitation, it will be minor. The chance of new fires is high.

Eye of Sauron

Day 327: "Waitaminit...that one even had eyelashes!" I actually backtracked on my climb up the long hill from the Puyallup Fair yesterday to take this photo. Shapes in clouds, smiling rocks, faces in bark generally elude me, but the Eye of Sauron was too obvious, and I couldn't pass it up. The heavy mascara was what made the scene for me, I'm sure, the protruding eye like that of a chameleon staring angrily out at traffic whizzing by. I had the feeling it might rotate to follow a pedestrian who didn't stop to pay due respects, and the longer I looked at it, the creepier it seemed (in an amusing way, of course). In any event, my brief acknowledgement didn't improve the mood, so I moved on, feeling I was being watched as I progressed up the hill.

Pointless Venture

Day 326: Several years ago, the Puyallup Fair (Washington State Fair) announced that it would no longer be open seven days a week through its run. Henceforth, they would not be open on Tuesdays, the day of lowest visitation and, for that reason, the day I usually attended. I was not the only person upset by the decision, but we've learned to live with it. Yesterday being Tuesday, I was anxious for today to arrive so that I could see in person the yellow "Judge's Craftsmanship" award attached to my tartan shawl. A friend had sent me his phone photo, but that's not the same as seeing it for yourself. When this morning dawned, I could hardly wait to get going. I checked the hours of operation and was horrified to see that instead of opening at 9, they wouldn't open until 10:30 on weekdays. I should have read a little further down the page...

Next pictures and story, I parked in the Walmart lot at the top of South Hill, walked the 2 1/4 miles down the steep hill of Meridian, and began noticing that something was amiss just before I got to the freeway underpass. There was no line at the Blue Gate, no cars in the Blue Lot. A couple on the sidewalk seemed as confused as I was, but I walked on to the Gold Gate, only to find an elderly man just leaving in frustration: "They're closed today," he said. I pulled out my phone and called Kevin. "Do me a favour. Go on line and look to see if there's any reason the Fair ought to be closed today." He checked, and yes, there it was: Fair closed on Tuesdays and (rather parenthetically, to my way of thinking) Wednesday, September 3. Back up the steep hill I went, having only paused long enough to spare the breath required for the phone call, and mad as a wet hen.

Other than getting a 4.5 mile pavement walk in today, this was a pointless venture. But that'll teach me to read the whole page, not just the part in big print. Will I try to go back again? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm pretty peeved.

Quilted Word-Play

Day 325: Some of you may have wondered how I incorporate word-play into my quilts. This is an example, and it shows up in almost every quilt I've made over the last decade in some form or another. It was almost accidental the first time I put together a block with this theme. My stash of cotton prints usually includes quite a few pussycats and a small selection of owls, and as I was selecting fabrics for the block, I paired one of each with a chuckle and said, "Ha! An owl and a pussycat! I wonder if I have any pea-green?" Then the challenge was finding something nautical to represent the boat and, if memory serves, that first block had to do without, but the idea was there. I still don't have any boats, but thanks to a friend in New Zealand, I had a tiny crab to represent the sea in this three-inch 9-patch. Of course, you need to be familiar with Edward Lear's nonsense poem to get the joke, but that's part of the magic of the Quilt Game. Different blocks will signify different things to other people.

September Morn 2025

Day 324: A glad, good September Morn to you, my loyal readers! I'm going to postpone my celebration of the day until the Labor Day holidayers have all gone home and the air is less smoky, but my best wishes go out to you and yours. The cornucopia is a symbol of abundance, forever disgorging fruits and nuts no matter how much is drawn from it. If discovered in my garden, its plentitude would be largely gooseberries, blueberries and figs with raspberries and kiwis yet to come. I seem to have found my niche as a grower of fruits, although I fail miserably at vegetables. Still, you can't go wrong with putting fruit by for winter. Those raspberries will be a delicious treat come February.