something old, something new & some other things

 

Here is a little rag bench rug from the sauna, that I packed with a kitchen fork when I wove it years and years ago, that's still a favorite of mine.  Today I started a fresh scarf on the 22" Norwood loom.  Amy Arnold's summer kids look cute hanging out in the store.  When I cross the creek I stop to dip up water in that red plastic bucket  to pour on the nasturtiums in the flower pots and the gingko tree.  

Today an Amish man with a long gray beard walked in to the store and said he'd been looking around the neighborhood for some hay they could cut, since it's been so droughty. Could they cut in our field?

We haven't cut hay off that old field in years and years, I said. 

It is what it is, he said. 

It kills me when an old white bearded Amish guy says something like, It is what it is.

Wisconsin Troubles (Short Form)

 I'm hanging out my weaving wash, making a laundry list of disappointments.  

We can now definitively say that the Stop Walker button I have been wearing has no magical powers.

Take a deep breath. Take another one. Repeat. 

weaving rags in tick season

Coming home from a walk along the road, to avoid ticks, back to my scrap heap and the long rug.

Heat Wave

It's warm enough today to feel good wearing just a sweater on a walk.  I went to look for some snow or ice, and the best I could find was a little along the banks of the West Fork.  A pleasant swan lit up in a front yard. I like swans, and especially like swan representations in plastic.  It must be the curve of the neck.  All around the hills are curves against the sky. The West Fork stream banks are scalloped.  I've always looked for roads that wind, and meandering streams.  This might explain why  I've always preferred a curvy selvedge!

I picked a new stack of rags to weave with, and considered working in some vintage rags from
an old rag ball.  Oh, the plaids!

Looks

Just purchased, new Japanese cotton/linen fabric, designed by Melody Miller for Kokka.   Just woven, a little red, Rosepath inlay on the loom.  Just wound, 30 paper spools of cotton and cotolin for Rosepath wristwarmers.

White and Black

Today it is clear blue skies, a cool north wind, and dry weather.   I'm looking at rosepath rag and yarn  samples, again, and planning a new black and white warp.  Also, I came home from my favorite fabric shop, Gayfeather, in Madison,  with a yard of a vintage print Liberty Cotton, and several yards of black-and-white check cotton/linen fabric.  Black coffee in my Moomin mug.  Happily, I'm feeling like my old self again.

Rag mad

More we're not out of the woods yet rag and yarn panels, in Rosepath. When I have woven enough of them I plan to sew them,  cushion covers, and a deerskin bottomed sack, probably a back pack. My fascination with thready, raggedy weaves isn't wearing off. I hope I never find my way out of this woods. (On a walk up the road today, I practiced a little skipping, which felt pretty good).

snow days

 

The bee boxes have snow tops, and look like giant petit fours in the snowy yard.  Cardinals, jays, 

titmice, juncos  finches, downies and sap suckers rush the feeders, with whirring feathers.  Every other day it snows a few more inches, and in the middle of the night we sometimes wake to hear Frank, the snowplow guy, clearing our driveways.  

These are good weaving days. I wanted to enter a textile show, and took some pictures for it. The deadline is today,  but I  couldn't manage to burn the cd, which was a frustration. Why am I so dull when it comes to this stuff?  I'm still weaving the little cuff alpaca wristwarmers, and rag, linen and cotton panels to sew into soft furnishings. The title of this weave series is We're Not Out of the Woods Yet. I made some good coffee and wove for a little while, and felt much better.  January is my new favorite month.

uphill

The wild clematis is a little garland of puffs along the hill road. The woods on the side hill of the valley is not so leafy now, but the Witch Hazel is in bloom with its small yellow starry flowers.
I wish my weaving could merge into the rough fissured bark of the century (at least) white pine. I don't try to copy what I see. It's usually after I've woven something, that I see what I have been looking at.

Late Bus

Dusk happens suddenly these days. I walk up the hill after the late school bus comes through Avalanche. The woods is settling down, a few birds call, a cardinal chip-chip-chips. Two deer run across the road in front of me, their white tails flagging. There is a bow hunter in the woods.

My bench cushions are woven and shipped now.  Still some pillows to make and  sew together tomorrow.  But now, there are a few of my Hen-of-the-Woods mushrooms leftover, and some red wine, suppertime.