Ancient History

It's done. As of today, Kevin and I are both officially retired, he from his paid position and I from volunteering. Although I don't have as many years of service to my credit because there was a large gap between my days at Carbon River and my time at Longmire, I got my start with Park Service quite a bit earlier than he did. In total, I volunteered for a little over 15 years, and recently received a new "Meritorious Service" award. I will probably continue to work on volunteer projects such as the annual geocaching CITO event, but as a member of the public. Kevin plans to volunteer as well. And the Park and my Parkie family will be a part of my heart forever.

Having a Firkin Purpose

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

Snowdrops in the Rain

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

Slipper Socks in Nålbinding

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

Big Doug's Hellebore

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

Colour Gradient Socks

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

Northern Flicker, Colaptes Auratus

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

Getting It Done

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

Second Fall

This marks the second time I've had snow on the ground this winter. The first was in late November, if memory serves, and it was only about a third as much as what you see here. Kinda pitiful, ain't it? Nor has it been particularly cold, other than a week when nighttime temps were in the low 20s, but I won't complain on that point. Snow, however, is another matter. Many native plants (especially alpine species) require a period of absolute darkness to flourish. When snowpack is low, light can penetrate the cover and affect the plants' natural cycles even though it occurs in minimal amounts. The growing period which follows may see fewer blooms and diminished seed setting and/or viability.

That's the End of T'at!

The good side to internet outages is that I'm catching up on old projects. This tatted doily had migrated to the bottom of a tin with the outer row of rosettes only just begun, neglected for the better part of a year. With a week of no computer followed by two days of dead internet, I was able to finish it up on Valentine's Day. Other than a pair of socks which I'm having trouble sticking with because the yarn is such poor quality, I believe this polishes off all my old projects. Time to start some new ones! I get bored easily, so I like to have a variety of things to work on, tatting here, embroidering there, weaving, etc., hands never idle unless they're occupied with cuddling Merry. It's amazing how much you can get done when you don't have distractions like internet (and it should be noted, I haven't had television for forty years).

Nidula Niveotomentosa

For Valentine's Day, I went for a "hike" of roughly four miles on the Bud Blancher Trail. I put that word in quotes because it wasn't that long ago that 14-16 miles was an "average" hike for me, with anything under 10 not being worth a term stronger than "a walk." There were those days in my 50s when I'd cover 20-21 miles as a "long" day-hike, and even one which measured out at 29 miles and 7000' cumulative elevation gain and largely off trail when I was nearly 60. Ah, how the mighty have fallen! But that said, I still enjoy getting out there, especially when there are little gems like Nidula niveotomentosa to find. This "bird's-nest" fungus is characterized by its creamy white tomentose cup ("fuzzy") and its dark, free-floating peridioles (the "eggs"). It is fairly common in the Pacific Northwest, and should not be confused with the larger Nidula candida which has pale periodioles.

Merry Valentine's Day!

Equal parts love and mischief, although on any given day, one may outweigh the other, but of course that's what keeps me entertained. He's pure love when he's in the mood, but when he's feeling rambunctious, I tell him, "You are such a little tick!" No cupboard is safe if it can be opened with a paw, not even the ones above the washing machine. No ankle is immune to attack. And when you've searched the house without being able to locate the cat and have just gone down on your knees to look under the lowest furniture, you don't have time to save yourself between the first sounds of galloping and seventeen pounds landing with force between your shoulder blades. I love my kid. He keeps me laughing, keeps me from taking life too seriously. The cuddles are exquisite, the great rumbly purr a treasure, the soft pussyfoot laid in my hand more precious than gold. I hope your Valentine's Day is as "Merry" as mine.

Minimizing Loom Waste

When starting a piece of weaving, most people use spacers of cardboard, yarn, even toilet paper to spread out the warp threads. This takes up several inches of the warp. I don't like having that much wastage, so I use "slicky cord" (my name for it) instead. Simply put, slicky cord is nylon cord of a size close to matching that of the warp. In this case, I used 0.5mm yellow cord because I couldn't find the length of green 1mm I'd ordinarily have paired with 8/2 cotton, but as they say, it was "close enough for gov'mint work." There are numerous advantages to using slicky cord, the first being that it can be pulled to adjust the width. The second is that it is easy to withdraw, so after I have woven the first few inches of my piece, I pull out a few rows and do the hemstitching, then remove the slicky cord entirely. The third advantage is that it allows you to use inches of warp you'd otherwise have consigned to loom waste. I usually weave 6-10 throws of slicky cord before beginning the actual weaving, but as I mentioned, I couldn't find the longer green bit I usually use, so had to make do with three throws with the thinner yellow. Predictably, when I went to put the yellow back in the box, I discovered the green had been right there in front of me the whole time.

Warpsy-Daisy

With all that's been going on lately, this warp has been waiting to be strung for over a week, Daisy standing empty and reproaching my conscience every time I looked up. It's unusual for me to leave my primary loom idle for more than 24 hours, so I hope she'll forgive me. This project will be an experiment in colour or, as I put it to my weaving buddy Ed, "Read, 'I didn't have enough of the light grey for both warp and tabby, so I'll be using a pale blue weft against a dark blue for the pattern threads.'" The draft will be Bertha Gray Hayes' "Cornerstones" which, although she calls it a miniature overshot, that description looks to me like it could be refined to call it a summer-and-winter (technically, summer-and-winter is a type of overshot). I'll be weaving two panels roughly 22" wide and 64" long, to finish as a lap throw 44" x 56". I wound the warp on yesterday and threaded half the 399 heddles before bed. I only have to thread the remaining half of the reed (quick) before I can begin weaving.

Taking Up Slack

Even with my revised warping system using bag clips to ease out slack, I still wound up with quite a bit at the end of this band, particularly in the green pattern threads. Fortunately, it was possible to work it back toward where it was tied on, so there were no issues in the structure of the band itself, but had the warp been any longer, the threads would probably have become hopelessly tangled. X-ty-x Scandinavians have used Leksand-style looms over the years without difficulty, so it must be something I'm doing wrong. With that thought in mind, I have had an insight I'll be trying as my next experiment.

Flowers of Filbert

 

As far as cultivated plants go, the flowers of the Contorted Filbert (Corylus avellana) are my favourite. Those are millimeters showing on the ruler in front of the bright pink female blossoms. The catkins (dangly bits) are the males. If pollinated, the females will form a "hazelnut." In the past, I've managed to protect a few of them from the birds and squirrels until they were mature, and yes, they held tiny, rather flat nutmeats. There are some who claim they are edible and I do not doubt that, but at the same time, you'd be hard put to collect enough of them to fill a tablespoon. That's never an issue here. The varmints eat them long before they are fully formed, sometimes even when they're in the budding stage shown here. And that's what my yard is about, anyway: providing habitat and food for the critters who so amuse me.

Nalbinding Hats

 

When I was hit by an unexpected cyber-vacation (i.e., my computer turned up its metaphorical toes and died without significant preamble), I shifted my focus to finishing old projects and starting some new ones. It was while I was making a red nålbinding "resistance" hat in the "cat hat" style that I remembered having started another one ages ago using wool from one of my first sheep. There was only one place I could have put it (in the cedar chest to keep the moths out of the wool), but a perfunctory initial search didn't turn it up, nor did a subsequent deeper dive. There was nothing for it but to take everything out until I either hit bottom or found the hat. Fortunately, it was only about halfway down, nested in a bag which should have been obvious. I finished the cat hat (not to be confused with a "pussy hat," but it does have corners which look like ears, hence the name of the style), and then settled in to completing the cloche. I found nålbinding to be an exercise in "mindfulness" this time around, and noticed that during the enforced cyber-vacation, my stress levels dropped to nearly normal instead of running at a fevered pitch. Sigh. But good things seldom last, and here I am again, back with a new computer...and two new hats. Henceforth, I won't be numbering these posts because of the lapse.