One reason is as a quiet form of protest. This morning I found something that reminded me of that. It's from Rebecca Solnit and I found it via Keri Smith's Blog.
The article is about how our culture is being changed by electronics. The part that especially resonated with me is:
"The real point about the slow food movement was often missed. It wasn't food. It was about doing something from scratch, with pleasure, all the way through, in the old methodical way we used to do things. That didn't merely produce better food; it produced a better relationship to materials, processes and labour, notably your own, before the spoon reached your mouth. It produced pleasure in production as well as consumption. It made whole what is broken.
Some of the young have taken up gardening and knitting and a host of other things that involve working with their hands, making things from scratch and other doing things the old way. It is a slow everything movement in need of a manifesto that would explain what vinyl records and homemade bread have in common. We won't overthrow corporations by knitting - but understanding the pleasures of knitting or weeding or making pickles might articulate the value of that world outside electronic chatter and distraction, and inside a more stately sense of time."
I've been inside most of the day. Knitting, reading, thinking, napping, cooking. Cleaning house.
Enough rain for a flood watch, enough wind for a high wind warning. I'm posting a mud puddle in front of the gate warning.
The next row of the blanket, multi-colored. Big enough to be a warm layer now as I knit.
The last two peaches for the year were better cooked. Peach clafoutis (the idea from The French Market Cookbook by Clotilde Dusoulier, but the recipe from Cooking at Home on Rue Tatin by Susan Herrmann Loomis as I didn't have almond flour and I knew I liked this version). It was so good I had to remind myself that I like it better cold.
Garden and reading:
I had a gift certificate for my favorite book store. A good choice. I don't really consider myself a "beginner," and it still had some new things I want to try.
The quince is from the garden. I dashed out to pick them between rain showers. My best crop yet. About 20 pounds. The cores of quince (with the pips-the seeds) can be cooked down for a syrup for sore throats. Something I learned from Deborah Madison's book Local Flavors.
This spring I decided to try coneflower one more time. Instead of putting it directly in the ground, I planted it in a clay pot with the intention of putting it in the ground this fall. Did the same thing with some small lavenders and rosemary too.
Hoping that next weekend is drier so I can plant.
Thinking about resiliency as being prepared for whatever storms come our way.
The seat on my swing finally gave out so I am weaving a seat across the metal frame. A skill left over from weaving ring nets (ring nets are used to catch dungeness crab around here). Something I did through my teen years and through college during vacations.
I will sew a cushion to go across the top of the seat. Something easy to bring in and out depending on the weather.
Thinking about how a variety of skills are a part of being resilient.