Many years ago, and I do mean many, when we had first moved to our Wisconsin farm, we were the hippies on the block with two different last names painted (in public!) on our mailbox. This always amuses me to remember what scandalous ideas we brought to town. And in those days, we heard about some other "hippies" who had been hunting mushrooms, and the man, after he'd eaten some, began to sweat blood from his forehead! This may have been myth, but if it was true, they must have survived to tell the tale. There were no obits in the paper.
Though I have always loved to hunt mushrooms, and love to eat them, I always remember this cautionary tale. I only eat the tried and true ones. My mushroom book describes quite a few specimens as "death's angel" variety, but many others, more promisingly edible, or, choice and edible. Are there two more succulent sounding words together, "choice, edible"? Joanne says her grandmother loved to cook mushrooms for the family, and relied on the silver dime method. Toss a silver dime into the pan, and if it turns black, don't eat the mushrooms. Interesting, but I wouldn't bet on it, not when there are death's angels out there.
Tape weaving on the leftover long section of warp left on my back beam at the end of a warp, and there is always at least one section inexplicably longer than all the others, is my new weaving obsession.
I've been viewing a photo archive of N. Swedish Sami people, and become fascinated by the
amount and variety of tapes that they wove, to tie bundles, and clothing, and make belts, and to hang implements and mysterious bundles, from the poles of their woven blanket covered tent houses.
I love the idea of weaving thick, stiff, not overly ornamented, rustic tapes, and the wide beater of my old barn loom, or the Cranbrook, are up to that. Though it is a little amusing to see the half inch tape beat in with the 60 inch beater.