Skywatch Friday

A picture from the past.

A summer sky in the Similkameen.

More sky pictures from around the world here, at Skywatch Friday.

The Colours of Spring

It is late in the afternoon when I suggest to Charles that we make a foray into Spring and discover how the season progresses down the Valley (where it is a smidgen earlier and where the buttercups and yellowbells first dot the hills).

We turn left at the end of the lane, on to the highway, but at the first opportunity we take a side road that follows the river to Cawston.

We round the corner by the park, where a forsythia bush is glowing in the afternoon sun,

and take the road down to Ginty's Pond.

The sun catches the disintegrating bullrushes with a luminous glow

as if they were held from below as fairy flares.

The road is lined with scarlet willow

until we come to an open patch of meadow on the left,

where the sap is rising sweetly in the shrubs

that border the pond.

As we turn at the end of the road the hills across the river

fold green above us.

and an old gnarled evergreen dominates the pasture beneath it

More gloriously vibrant shrubs align the

bullrushes that clog the water

Great tall trees in the midst of dressing themselves in Spring's tender greenery

and then a radiant grove of birch, smooth as satin

and intertwined with red willow

A last glimpse of the brilliant new growth in the pond

and two nesting Teals

and we turn and follow the road to the Upper Bench

where the peach trees are promising an imminent show of pink blossoms

and the hills are green and verdant.

As we drive through the orchards blocks of apricot trees

are blooming tentatively in the face of a late spring frost.

We go the long way home and stop to watch the calves below us

where the fields are green and the creek snakes along the edge

We turn back to the highway, crossing a small bridge that spans the creek.

The willows that follow its course are as spectacular today

as they were in all their fall finery, and the dried grasses whisper in the spring breeze.

We come home to happy hour and the gold of daffodils

and a lovely hour of piano music provided by

our oldest son, who followed us up the lane!

And full of awe at the stirrings of life and the beauty

that accompanies it.

ABC Wednesday

J is for Jabberwocky.

The poem

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

The Glossary for this 'glorious nonsense' poem which Lewis Carroll included in his tale of Alice, "Through the Looking Glass" can be found here. and more wonderful interpretations of the splendid letter 'J' can be found here at ABC Wednesday, hosted by Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

The full Rainbow as taken by David, our son - a supplement to Skywatch Friday posting.

Do click to enlarge and enjoy.

Making over the Garden or What C.A. and Cam accomplished in one Short Day

Well, it was a sweet, pale sunrise, - nothing spectacular or flashy - just an endearing and demure beginning to what the weatherman promised would be a pleasant day.

We lingered over breakfast, waiting for Cam and Cindy Anne to arrive with their garden gloves and shovels, - a lovely gesture from our oldest granddaughter and her husband.

And when they came what miracles they performed. One forgets how energetic the forties are, - how easy it is to dig and and how speedy it is divide the plants and conquer the coutch grass and the underground Chinese Lantern Subway when the roots of its line show up....

Cindy Anne digs up the Barn Flower

Divides it, and puts it into plastic bags - some to take home,

some to entice other people to plant it in their gardens....

and some Cam and Charles transplanted to other parts of the garden.

After lunch we divided and bagged up some more perennials

to give the garden plants room to expand.

And then we went and gathered up

the two table looms

for C.A. and one of her students,

both of them eager to weave

and me,

so happy to send them where they will be used

and cherished and bring two more weavers

into the fold!!

And the dear girl relieved me of some of the wool stash too!!!

Altogether a most satisfactory day.

I took some pictures of the daffodils and violets and the emerging blooms

on the forsythia

The rest of the eager and vibrant plants

I will put here

In the Garden Diary.

Skywatch Friday

March 19th, 2010

A progressive rainbow in the Similkameen.....

It is a dark day, promising nothing but clouds and rain and wind.

I look up from the sink full of soapy water, off to the north where the sky is lighter than it is in the south, - and there it is.

A lovely bright rainbow hugging the tops of the mountains. By the time I get the camera it has lost some of its brilliance.

This is a catch as catch can show and progressively it gets fainter as the moments pass.

A few hundred yards down the hill our son was able to capture the complete rainbow, stretching close to the horizon across the northern end of the valley.

Lovely way to start the day!

For more interesting skies visit here, at Skywatch Friday.

ABC Wednesday

I is for Inch Worm

Visit ABC Wednesday here to see what else 'I' represents, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

Closing the Circle

I spent a few hours this afternoon out with the looms and the wool stash and all the bits and pieces that weavers need in their business. Shuttles and heddles and ball winders and threaders, beaters and spindles and swifts and books. A goodly shelf of books, and a whole cupboard of Handwoven and Spin-Off magazines.

And the stash, - great huge see through containers and baskets and bags, all stuffed full of thin wool, thick wool, silks and cottons. Cones and thrums and pre-wound warps - and all of them speaking of a half a lifetime of weaving.

I was just past the first flush of family when I became passionate about weaving. The sheep we had were inspiring, and I tied fleeces willingly at shearing time in order to save the longest and finest and prettiest for my new spinning wheel and the dyepot that accompanied it.

I gathered dye materials from the hills and the garden and the grocery store. I experimented with mordents and was fascinated by the gorgeous and varied shades they produced.

I bought an Inkle loom and we made frame looms of different sizes, - I read everything I could get my hands on to learn the intricacies of more advanced weaving, and as I did so I shared the knowledge with others who were full of enthusiasm too. There were no local Weaving Guilds but for a few years there were others who were excited about weaving on primitive looms, and we shared what we knew.

Probably the flower children who worked in our orchard and the turnip field passed along more ways of doing things and more delightful ideas for what to weave and how to do it.

Finally I bought my first table loom, - a LeClerc Dorothy, and then a jack loom that opened the window wide on blankets and scarves and tablecloths and light rugs and I was in my glory....

After we moved from the farm to the village Charles and I bought an eight harness countermarche loom, and he became a very important part of the weaving studio with such wonderful inventiveness and practical wood working. He made sectional beams for both the floor looms and creels and the most ingenious tensioner and a counter for winding bobbins. We had as great room on the lower floor that accommodated both the floor looms and equipment, and a spare bedroom for the ever growing stash of wool.

Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter, - that enormous stash of wool that filled my dreams with plans for projects, - all sorts of intricate patterns and threadings and treadlings and all these yarns would eventually be woven into beautiful weavings.

Alas, time and energy seem to sometimes be at cross purposes with our dreams, and sometimes dreams turn into stress that lies unconscious under all our plans.

And so I have come to this time when I must face reality and share all the yarns (except for some lovely silk that I may take to the grave with me!) with younger, more energetic people who are knitters or weavers or crocheters, but who all cherish the passion for fabric or creating.

I have found an eager home for two table looms and all their accoutrement's. My knees outgrew the countermarche a few years ago when lying on the floor tying up heddles was no longer exciting, but almost impossible. Someone is coming to take away the rug wools and warps, and I know that shoppers at the Bargain Centre will be happy with my other yarn offerings.

I will keep my first Jack Loom - it is warped and anxious to have a lovely weft flying back and forth. And besides, Charles has not yet made that fly shuttle that he planned, just for the satisfaction of creating it....

The circle holds so many memories, and I will close it to where I first started, holding the memories safe and sure and secure within its lovely bounds.

Skywatch Friday

March 10th, 2010

Sunrise in the Similkameen

For more skies from around the world visit here.

ABC Wednesday

H is for Hellebore





These are the Hellebores that live in our garden, and who, as we speak, are preparing themselves for a second night of -5C weather under a star filled sky.

And here are a lot of interesting facts and myths about Hellebores through the ages, - perhaps more than you ever wanted to know, but they are a lovely and welcome flower when winter is coming to an end.

From Wikipedia.......

Hellebores are widely grown in gardens for decorative purposes, as well as for their purported medicinal abilities and uses in witchcraft. They are particularly valued by gardeners for their winter and early spring flowering period; the plants are surprisingly frost-resistant and many are evergreen. Many species of hellebore have green or greenish-purple flowers and are of limited garden value, although Corsican hellebore (H. argutifolius), a robust plant with pale green, cup-shaped flowers and attractive leathery foliage, is widely grown. So is stinking hellebore or setterwort (H. foetidus), which has drooping clusters of small, pale green, bell-shaped flowers, often edged with maroon, which contrast delightfully with its dark evergreen foliage. H. foetidus 'Wester Flisk', with red-flushed flowers and flower stalks, is becoming popular, as are more recent selections with golden-yellow foliage.
The so-called Christmas rose (H. niger), a traditional cottage garden favourite, bears its pure white flowers (which often age to pink) in the depths of winter; large-flowered cultivars are available, as are pink-flowered and double-flowered selections.

The most popular hellebores for garden use, however, are undoubtedly H. orientalis and its colourful hybrids (H. × hybridus). They flower in early spring, around the period of Lent, and are often known as Lenten hellebores, oriental hellebores, or Lenten roses. They are excellent for bringing early colour to shady herbaceous borders and areas between deciduous shrubs and under trees.

In the early days of medicine, two kinds of hellebore were recognized: black hellebore, which included various species of Helleborus, and white hellebore, now known as Veratrum album ("false hellebore"), which belongs to a different plant family, the Melanthiaceae [3]. Although the former plant is highly toxic, containing veratrine and the teratogens cyclopamine and jervine, it is believed to be the "hellebore" used by Hippocrates as a purgative. California corn lily is similar in appearance to V. album and has sometimes been mistaken for it.[citation needed]
"Black hellebore" was used by the ancients in paralysis, gout and other diseases, more particularly in insanity. "Black hellebore" is also toxic, causing tinnitus, vertigo, stupor, thirst, a feeling of suffocation, swelling of the tongue and throat, emesis and catharsis, bradycardia (slowing of the pulse), and finally collapse and death from cardiac arrest.[4] Although Helleborus niger (black hellebore or Christmas rose) contains protoanemonin[5], or ranunculin,[6] which has an acrid taste and can cause burning of the eyes, mouth and throat, oral ulceration, gastroenteritis and hematemesis[7], research in the 1970s showed that its roots do not contain the cardiotoxic compounds helleborin, hellebrin, and helleborein responsible for the lethal reputation of "black hellebore". It seems that earlier studies may have used a commercial preparation containing a mixture of material from other species such as H. viridis, green hellebore.[8]

Several legends surround the hellebore; in witchcraft it is believed to have ties to summoning demons. Helleborus niger is commonly called the Christmas rose, due to an old legend that it sprouted in the snow from the tears of a young girl who had no gift to give the Christ child in Bethlehem.

In Greek mythology, Melampus of Pylos used hellebore to save the daughters of the king of Argos from a madness, induced by Dionysus, that caused them to run naked through the city, crying, weeping, and screaming.

During the Siege of Kirrha in 585 BC, hellebore was reportedly used by the Greek besiegers to poison the city's water supply. The defenders were subsequently so weakened by diarrhea that they were unable to defend the city from assault.
Some historians believe that Alexander the Great died because of a hellebore overdose, when he took it as medication.


For more posts on H visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

Bits and Pieces - A day in March

On nice days, when the sun is shining and the wind is resting in the hills we go out into the garden, knowing full well that March will visit us with cold and blustery days while Spring goes calling elsewhere.

Today was such a day, - nice warm temperature but the wind came in gusts when Caspar and I went out early this morning, blowing his newly shampooed coat in little curly swirls and my hair into wild disarray.



(a windswept dog from Flickr, but he could be Caspar's cousin)



(windswept hair from heaven knows where)

This was definitely not a garden day. After breakfast and a little visit and gossip with our youngest daughter Charles retired to the mud room and his project for the day, whilst I examined some oranges that seemed to be losing some of their freshness and decided on Orange Muffins to cheer up the day in general and coffee time in particular.



It wasn't a 'wash the inside windows' day, either, - mainly because I was tired and not inclined that way. So I read a little bit. Bonnie Burnard's first novel and Giller Prize book 'A Good House'. The Montreal Gazette says of this book "It's the small details, bits of ordinary life, that make this story real. These are the kinds of characters we can't help growing attached to; we wish them well and worry for them-een after we've set Burnard's book aside...Burnard is such an accomplished story-teller that she manages to blur the line between fact and fiction."

I have recently read Burnard's latest novel, "Suddenly" and I found the story and the matter of fact way of telling it equally compelling. She brings her characters to life, and they occasionally reminds you of someone you knew, someone you met or someone you loved.

When my eyes got tired and lost their focus I picked up my knitting. This will be the eighth sock in the Christmas series, - as elegant as a work sock can be in black with white toe and heel and one discreet stripe up near the top.

Charles appeared out of the mudroom some time around twelve, - went to hang on his inversion table (stretches the back) and I made a lazy lunch of toasted mushroom soup sandwiches (deliciously easy, - daughter's recipe).

A little nap, a quick trip to town to get groceries and birdseed, and before one could say Jack Robinson it was happy hour!

When Caspar and I went out again before supper the wind was back in hiding and it was pleasant as we passed the garden, - I was wont to bend over and dislodge a little coutch grass from around the chrysanthemums, but further thought made me decide they were going to have to be dug up, the coutch grass was going to have to be painstakingly removed from the roots and the surrounding soil, and then they could be replanted (the chrysanthemums, - not the coutch grass - although you can bet your bottom dollar that some wee snippets of grass will slip into the pristine soil to start next year's crop).

Will it be this pleasant in the morning? Even if it is, alas it will not be a garden day as The Ladies are coming for lunch - which means it will be just as pleasing and fun besides. The Ladies are all widows and old friends, so Charles' presence at lunch always adds a certain welcome masculinity, and he is ever gallant and ever entertaining. A little spice to the gathering....

A picture of the Lenten roses as the bees buzzed around them today in the sunshine - framed specially to announce the Grand Re-opening of the Garden Diary, noted in the Sidebar. Do come and visit and see how our garden grows.

As an aside from the garden two things I read today that expressed what I have been feeling for quite some time.

Sheila Wray Gregoire in her weekly 'reality check' comments on the changes in society over the last few decades.

"As the idea of objective truth has grown passé, it's been replaced by the ultimate idea that our feelings are the proper arbiter for the goodness or rightness of anything. Truth is what feels right to us.

At one point, people believed in a higher morality, even if they themselves weren't religious. People gave generously, or volunteered, or lent a hand, because it was the right thing to do. They didn't have to be convinced to do it because it would make them feel good about themselves; they did it simply because it was the right thing to do, and doing the right thing mattered.

We no longer believe in "the right thing" as much as we believe in "the right thing for me".


And as I finished the last pages of Alexander McCall Smith's endearing book "The Unbearable Lightness of Scones" one of his characters (Angus Lorde) is remarking in conversation on the importance of rituals and how they lend order to life and a grace to living. He comments on the Sixties, and the resulting chaos when people threw tradition to the wind, tossed their caps into the air and took to the road in search of themselves. And nothing has been the same since, he laments.

I question myself continually as to why I feel that this is so, and I wonder if it is a generational thing - if we weren't Ancient and if the Sixties hadn't turned our ordered life topsy-turvy and if I were one of the flower children, would I believe that the lack of order and rituals (I don't necessarily mean church rituals) and a moral day by day concern for others was necessarily wrong?

And then I think that I generalize far beyond what the actual situation is, and I consider the young people,the middle-aged and the Ancients we know who who cling to honesty and truth and grace and integrity and respect for others (maybe not traditions, she said, ruefully).

Oh well, - what do you think? Are we all going to Hell in a Handcart, or have we just taken a little swerve off the straight and narrow and soon we will all get back on the path and become more civilized again.



Things are quiet and peaceful so far in the garden - we have it looking neat and tidy and orderly, - but when I was digging up some cutch grass today I ran into one of the Chinese Lantern Underground Lines, so trouble is brewing there, as well.

I am off to post some pictures in the Garden Diary....

Skywatch Friday

Not a breath of air and in the stillness Skaha Lake, in the Okanagan, reflects the shoreline, the mountains and the clouds.





Click to enlarge.

More wonderful world wide skies here, at Skywatch Friday.

In my mail today -----

A copy of the Handwoven eNewsletter telling of a planned conference in Peru this coming October where 'we have the opportunity to experience the treasure of the Incas first-hand. Weavers, spinners, and dyers from all over the world will gather in Cusco, Peru, for Encuentro de Tejedores de las Américas, the Gathering of Weavers of the Americas. They will come to celebrate the rich textile heritage and cultures of the Americas; to share techniques, knowledge, and weaving experience; and to build ties of friendship that will enrich the community and the craft.

Off to the side was an information note about weaving in the empire of the Incas which impressed me so much I had to share.

"The website Suite101.com reports that “In Tiwantinsuyu, the empire of the Incas, spindles and looms were just as important as spears and shields. Cloth pervaded every aspect of Inca society, from adolescent rites of passage to major political alliances. The production and exchange of cloth held the Inca realm together just as effectively as the power of the Inca armies.”

According to Hiram Bingham (who some speculate was the inspiration for Indiana Jones): “[The textiles of the Incas] are as worthy of admiration as the finest specimens of Egyptian or Chinese weaving.... We are told that the finest textiles were made in the convents connected with the Temples of the Sun, by the Chosen Women, sometime called the Virgins of the Sun, who were carefully trained in this difficult art. Some of their products are as fine and soft as the finest silk.” If you want to know more about Hiram Bingham and see a crazy, psychedelic animation of an Inca woven tunic, click here.'

Do go and look, - even if you are not a weaver you cannot help but be amazed at the awesome creativity and techniques that were required to produce such gorgeous cloth.

Go further into the site by clicking on weaving in the sidebar and marvel at the intricacies of the designs within designs, - the golden rectangles and triangles in the Inca weaving.

Here is a sample of patterned cloth woven on a backstrap loom, - that is the one where you tie the warp around a tree and weave on the most primitive of looms. It is a different intellect from that which produces the technological marvels of today, but I am equally as appreciative of the concentration and the artistry and intellect that produced this cloth.



I suppose that given the great technological advance of this age it is only natural that there would be some arrogance about our achievements, and not a lot of appreciation of the 'primitive' cultures. But as you get older you get humbler, and you realize more and more that today's wonders are built on the shoulders of the cultures and the art and creativity of yesterday's civilizations.

I think weavers are especially aware of this, - and knitters too!

ABC Wednesday

G is for GINGER





My favourite spice....

'Ginger is a tuber that is consumed whole as a delicacy, medicine, or spice. It is the rhizome of the plant Zingiber officinale. It lends its name to its genus and family (Zingiberaceae). Other notable members of this plant family are turmeric, cardamom, and galangal.
Ginger cultivation began in Asia and has since spread to West Africa and the Caribbean.[2] It is sometimes called root ginger to distinguish it from other things that share the name ginger.'

And for more information from Wikipedia on the wonderful medicinal attributes of ginger, the delicious ways it adds pleasure to the palate, a little of its history and other bits and pieces about this fine tuber, visit here.

A little ginger tea when the tummy is upset....



Here is a recipe - a great soother for sore throats as well.

Ingredients:
• About a 3 inch piece of ginger root
• 6 Cups of water
• Honey
Directions:
1. Grate the ginger as fine as you can get it, leaving the skin on.
2. Put the ginger in the 6 cups of water and bring to a boil
3. Once the water is boiling, simmer it on low for about 15 – 20 min
4. Use a fine strainer and ladle to pour out the tea into a cup, toss the ginger in the strainer back into the pot
5. Add about a teaspoon of honey or to your likeness.
6. Sip slowly and enjoy!

Ginger is said to contribute to the relief of pain and swelling in arthritis and is a strong and wonderful antioxidant.

And when the summer afternoon is hot and humid and you rest, panting, in the shade, what is more appealing that a glass of ginger beer... and perhaps a gingersnap or two.





When the children were all home and the summers in the orchard were hot we used to refresh ourselves in peach picking time with homemade Rootbeer, or Gingerbeer, - whichever we had been energetic to make in the cool of the morning.

Early in the last century the Chinese who helped build the towns in the valley left a legacy of ginger pots. They weren't the elaborate ones that delight the eye, - very ordinary and practical. We have one which Charles found in the old part of town, and it looks something like this, only a little rougherin construction. It sat on the mantel in our last house for years, but is now in a box, stored away when we down-sized.



Ginger adds zest and comfort to life, and it's all too true, a spoonful a day helps keep the medicine man away.

Here is another Ginger, - equally delightful, loved and admired.



For more Gs go here, where Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind friends host the meme ABC Wednesday.