bee creative

remember

"Remember what you love."  From Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit. 

Naturally dyed fabric plus a bit of Deb Lacativa's fabric. 

something we can do

For January, February, and March the local farmer's market is once a month.

Today was the day!

The weather has been so mild up until this week that there were still things like radishes and lettuce (hoop/green house grown though). I'll use some of the radicchio for a salad with oranges.

In the garden I still have celery growing in my little hoop house. I used some of it on top of my lunch today.

Yes, I almost burnt the cashews.

The recipe I followed (more closely than usual) was one for "Sticky cauliflower with cashews," from The Secret of Cooking by Bee Wilson.  I've been wanting to try it for quite awhile and will definitely make it again.

I mention going to the farmer's market frequently, that I try to choose local as much as possible.  It's important to me for many reasons, but mostly because it is a way I can participate in my local economy. To be clear, this isn't about valuing local over global, but about valuing both.  And this brings me back to my current reading...

I am only about half way through Rebecca Solnit's book A Paradise Built in Hell, but would say that a major take away is about the importance of building community and of knowing your neighbors. Ideally before a disaster hits, but definitely afterwards. 

(For those who have read Parable of the Sower, consider how Lauren keeps building communities.) 

This bit from Solnit's book has me thinking:

The religious language of awakening suggests we are ordinarily sleepers, unaware of each other and of our true circumstances and selves.  Disaster shocks us out of slumber, but only skillful effort keeps us awake." 

Staying awake...staying curious, noticing, being present, participating when we can.

Those things seem like something we can do, something that I think many of us are already doing. 

That gives me hope.

community and cloth

This year I decided to join The Studio for Playful Inquiry.  Honestly, with a name like that, how could I not? Two of my favorite words roll around in that title, play and curiosity.

It's going to show up here I am sure, so a little background...

There are classes on offer to support those who work with children (they hosted a class I took this summer), but other things too...including the approach of being a study group and a community to explore some big ideas. It seems like something I have deeply needed in relation to my work.

This month the conversation is about resilience, Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower and Rebecca Solnit's A Paradise Built in Hell.  I am not reading Parable again but am reading Solnit.  It's a hard read right now given the news...

Resiliency is something that I have considered important for a long time.

I went back to listen to an "On Being" conversation with Andrew Zolli.  There is so much that rings true in this conversation including:

"I think the first premise is all things fail. And in fact not only do all things fail, but failure is intrinsic, healthy, normal, and necessary to most complex systems.

Then the question is, if that’s true, how can we weather such failures? And a big part of that story is about emboldening the local. Because we’ve so tightly connected all of these systems, it’s important that we have redundancy. It’s important that we have spare capacity. It’s important that we have the right kinds of social networks, so that we can share with each other. It’s important that we have a shared wisdom, a body of knowledge that helps us be more locally self-reliant."

When I think of the best of social media, blogging, or however we reach out on the internet...I think of the ability to share knowledge and support.  The global community has so much knowledge and experience collectively. 

Resiliency is part of why I make things, on both a practical and emotional level.

It's part of my "Good Enough" quilt for sure...looking at the blocks yesterday morning I thought about how they lean into each other. 

a wishing star, threadcrumbs from Jude

I also thought about where the fabric came from and the community it represents. 

Fabric gifted from my grandmother and aunt, Jude, Grace, Hazel, Nancy, and my mother.  Fabrics from the stash that are still crisp and fabrics from worn clothing or other blankets, soft and supple. 

There is also so much emotional energy from the thoughts and support that came from so many others throughout its making beginning during Covid. Every time I look at the skinniest strips I think of Liz.

Here's another part of the conversation with Zolli:

"There’s no way we can steer around these storms; we had better build a better boat."

Most of the back of the quilt is made up of the orange fabric with boats. I knew it was perfect when I found it.

Thinking about life boats again and that we need more blankets.

Thinking it's too early for blossoms like this on this blueberry plant and that it is a good thing I have other varieties.

 

 

 

words

Yesterday on the way to work I discovered that my phone and car system would sync to play the library app I have to listen to audio books. On came The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. (John Koenig)

I am listening to it for the second time.

It was foggy and I felt like I was driving through a dream time.

Foggy on the way home too.

One of the words that caught my attention given that I am filling in gaps on “Good Enough…”

"ameneurosis n. The half-forlorn, half-escapist ache of a train whistle howling in the distance at night.

From amen, “so be it” + neurosis, an anxious state + amanuensis, an assistant who helps transcribe newly composed music. A train whistle is the sound of air being forced across a gap, which serves as a poignant reminder of all the gaps in your life. Pronounced 'ah-men-nyoo-roh-sis.'”

Adding more fabric to fill in the gaps. Not completely sure this is the solution.

Words have so much power.

(I might stitch ameneurosis to the quilt somewhere.)

Even though I don’t really believe in resolutions tied to a “new year,” I do love choosing a word for the year.

(I believe we use years to organize ourselves, but really every day is an opportunity to start or finish something. Or just continue.)

My word for the year:

 

 

 

at the end of December

Widget this morning.

She was my Christmas kitten who arrived a few days before the end of the year four years ago. 

She is a bit mythic to my friends and family who come to visit as she hides and won't come out. 

And...

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December

A magical thing

And sweet to remember.

 

"We are nearer to spring

Than we were in September,"

I heard a bird sing

In the Dark of December.

-Oliver Herford

And...

I will be setting my alarm not to wake up so that I can "ring the New Year in," but rather in hopes of seeing the Aurora Borealis... Wouldn't that be amazing?

Happy New Year! 

more from the garden

Yesterday's weather was eventful.

The windstorm replenished my supply of Douglas fir cones.

These are soaking right now.  I'm going to follow the suggestions I have for dyeing with branches to see if that will create more color.

And then today was a glorious day for gardening! 

After picking up branches and cleaning up things that blew out of place, I remembered to check on the walnuts I had stashed away so that the squirrels couldn't steal them. 

Surprise, I had ink! 

The walnuts had been composting and there was enough moisture that some of the liquid in the the husks precipitated and gathered in the bottom of the container.  I was able to collect about an ounce of ink, as easy as that!

There are lot of little birds in the garden right now.  I especially love the Kinglet that has been visiting. 

Bird ornaments have always been a favorite of mine. 

I decided I really wanted some, despite the cats, after reading a few of the passages in The Children of Green Knowe.  Birds are an important part of the story.  They fly in and out of the windows of the house and have trees to roost in the children's bedrooms. 

Hopefully these origami birds will work.  I think the trick is to not have things that dangle.

Time will tell...

 

gift from the garden

Ink experiments:  The rose hip ink was successful but the douglas fir was not...at least not yet. 

I love that it is from my garden. 

That rose hips offer so much...color, food, health. 

That the rose provides shelter for the little birds.

That I can think of these things as I use this ink. 

The brownish-pink is the rose hip ink dried. 

This morning I finished reading Robin Wall Kimmerer's new book, The Serviceberry.  So much in such a small book!  It is a book that holds hope, a practical hope, something I think so many of us need.  It's making me think of "home economics" again.  What we mean by that, or could mean by that. 

I also finished The Children of Green Knowe by Lucy M. Boston.  This is a children's book I was unfamiliar with and it is delightful (there is a magical garden).  Here's one of my favorite passages,

"He tossed his notes up, like a juggler tossing balls, with careless pleasure.  He could feel the building round him alive and trembling with sound.  'I call, I call, I call (he sang) Gabriel! Gabriel! Gabriel!'  He stopped to listen. It was as if the notes went up like rocket stars, hovered a second and burst into sparklets. The shivered echo multiplied itself by thousands.  One would have thought ever stone in the building stirred and murmured."

There is another passage that I loved, more about that later...

 

 

listening and making

Getting ready to put the tree up. 

I want to wrap a few more of the branches with beads.  It's definitely the best way to add some color and not have to worry about the cats.

While working, I am listening to a 1968 production of The Hobbit done by the BBC.

It's a little spooky and a lot of fun. 

 

delights

I was at the bookstore to pick up a copy of The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer (haven't started yet) and Jackie Morris' book The Unwinding and Other Dreams caught my eye.  I love her illustrations... this one is perfect for winter reading and dreaming. 

Other delights...

a walk in the sunshine on lunch break,

a sliver of moon and stars in the night sky,

the perfect orange, just sweet enough but with a little tang. 

and

and...it's part of the alphabet too and seems to call for a few randomly beautiful things. 

Roses blooming in November...it happens sometimes.

and

A few weeks ago when I went down the Shelfmarks rabbit hole I discovered a new poet...Eavan Boland.  The poem that caught my attention is called "Limits"

"The old monks made the alphabet wild: they dipped iron into azure and indigo."

I love the rest of the poem too.

and

"The Poetics of Textiles," a lecture given by Tim McLaughlin/Maiwa. It's all wonderful but this bit...this, this I want to keep track of:

"Why do you make when it takes time, effort and expense?   Because all acts are creative acts.  We make and we tune our making as we go along, like tuning a violin string, tightening it so much, maybe a little more... and if our judgement is off and the string should snap, we restring the instrument, we begin to dream of creating one.  Shearing hard woods, mixing varnish, designing the smooth lines that will let the music out.  We make because it is what hand have always done, because life is a creative act, and because the only meaning that truly exists is the one we make for ourselves."