Our rusty hay rake, by the old tobacco shed on the ridge, has been there so long, it's grown into the brush. A grapevine threaded itself through the rake and grew to large diameter, anchoring it to the ground, a relic, attesting to the distant past of our hay making days. Still, my good friend and neighbor Jean, who persists in farming sheep and a few head of cattle, needed to make some hay, and something had happened to their rake. Her husband and another farmer remembered our rusty rake, managed to extricate it, grease up the jack, and replace a tire. A hot afternoon of applied mechanics got the contraption moving, and it raked the hay. It was thought to be a New Holland rake, though there was no trace of paint or sign to prove it. I've since heard that it's back in the repair shop, but not in our field! Hurray. The hay was made, and a spoon was hand carved from the vine that grew through the rake, by Jean's husband, who carves spoons while he walks their dog! A spoon with a story.
I've decided to order and sell Swedish spoon carving knives in the store. I'd like to try making a spoon.
I finally mixed up my two solutions of cyanotype and printed a little bit of cotton. All in all, a pretty