Tis the Season. . .

 

'Tis the season for knitting, books, and Very chilly hikes. I just finished these socks for John, and then found out that I had changed the pattern on the second sock, which made it too small, so it's frogging and re-knitting for me. Ack. Still. These will be warm and soft and not-too-bulky for years to come, so they're worth the effort.

And frustration is the new joy, right? Ha.

The weather has been strange. Very cold (though not into negative numbers yet), and very dry. We still have patches of snow, but nothing fresh, and any liquid is solidly frozen. We saw folks skating on Johnson Pond at Colby College yesterday. It made John and I think about buying some ice skates!

Ice Needles have formed all along the wooded trails, mostly in the duff. They crunch outrageously underfoot. This is not a great image, but it gives you an idea. Jasper is largely unfazed by the cold weather, but I do check the temperature of his feet periodically when we're out for more than 45 minutes or so.

I'll close with an image from the top of Mt. Phillip. It's hard to see, but the ice on the lake is coalescing into a whole from plates. Another wonder of physics whose cause eludes me. Need to seriously consider those skates. . .

Christmas Snow

There is no rational reason for snow to delight me when it comes on Christmas Eve, but it still does. The light in the house changes, the dog cavorts (as much as he can at 14), paths are plowed and opened, and everything is covered in. . .what is it? Beauty. 

Ok. That happens whenever it snows, but the White Christmas thing, as cheesy as it can be, is still a part of my cultural heritage.

Best wishes to all for a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, a Happy Hanuka, and whatever other lighting-the-dark holidays there are in the world.
 

Three to Flee . . .and back again

View from El Eperon trail

Here it is, a week plus after Thanksgiving, and I'm just getting around to posting this. We three fled to Quebec City for Thanksgiving. . . it had been long planned, and it is a wonderful city. It is also a very dog friendly city, with fabulous restaurants that are all open on Thanksgiving day. I had thought that leaving the U.S. for even that short time (4 nights) might be a bit of a balm for recent events, but it really wasn't. The pain of it travels.

 

C3 Hotel Art de vivre

But. We stayed in a beautiful old world hotel that was across from the National Beaux Arts Museum of the Arts, Quebec, which fronted the Plains of Abraham Park. Think Central Park in New York. The park has some very manicured areas, but also some wilder areas where Jasper could roam off leash without annoying anyone. There was also a trendy commercial district with all sorts of shopping, including chocolate, groceries and spirits. Voila. I've decided I want to spend a bit more time with the French language before I come here next year. I should say "if", because this sort of travel is harder and harder on Jasper. 

A dog and his man

He is an absolute trouper, don't get me wrong, but he is also such a creature of routine. And we are all getting older. I can't quite say "old"yet. . .

On Thanksgiving day, we drove to Jacques Cartier National Forest and hiked, as per our newly established tradition last year. Also, as last year, there was about 6" of new snow on the ground. The paintbrush of beauty that snow paints over already beautiful places is breathtaking. One can, indeed, gild the lily.

Last year the hike was tough due to my knee and John's heart. Both of those were "fixed" this past summer, and it was still a tough hike! 1000 feet of elevation, and some pretty slippery areas as well. The views were well worth it, and we brought a small picnic (flash of wine and snacks) for the finish. . . sitting in the open back hatch of Shadow, watching the snow drift down, eating biscuits (dog and other wise) and reflecting on our mortality. Ha. Isn't that what Thanksgiving is for?

Another view, El Eperon

We had a reservation at Le Sam's at the Frontenac for dinner.The Frontenac is an amazing castle-like hotel. It was designed as a hotel. . .something I found surprising, because it looks like a fortress, and Quebec was initially a walled city. But it was designed as the trans Canadian Railway was being built. It abuts the historic Old Quebec, and a tourist and park area that is at once charming and extensive.

The Frontenac Hotel

 

 

 

The Canadians always impress me with their extensive parks and outdoor areas. They seem to value these public outdoor spaces on a federal level, and it shows. There were public skating rinks in several towns that we passed through, and the area around the Frontenac and Old Quebec also have a lot of open space, as well as a sled run, and miles of board walk that run through forest with views of the St. Lawrence.

Leading up the The Frontenac

The architecture in the area where we stayed was also astonishing. . .a bit soup to nuts in some places where more contemporary looking buildings have been built adjacent to older ones.

Directly across from our hotel was a cathedral reminiscent of some we've seen in England. I love these beautiful old buildings, but I can't help but wonder how our world would look if we put as much energy and thought into people as we put into God. 

Cathedral

Quebec cityscape

We arrived home on Friday to a power outage. This caused some tooth gnashing and scrambling, since it was cold, snowy, and our solar panels/battery weren't working as foretold. Grr. Still. Between helpful neighbors and the solar battery in our EV, we toughed it out for another couple of days. Water was the only real issue, and we resorted to bringing in pots of snow and melting it on the propane stove. We're not ready to go off grid at this point, but it was good to know both the weak spots in our system, and that we could pull off a couple of days without serious damage.

Worthy of note on the home front, the poinsettia images here are from a couple that a friend who was traveling dropped by my house 2 years ago. They respond perfectly to the shortening days of winter, producing these gorgeous bracts.

And! Notice the graceful natural form they've grown into. Poinsettias have had the unfortunate gift of popularity. They are grown by the thousands and treated with plant growth regulators (similar to mammalian hormones) to keep a compact shape. Given a couple of years, a normal amount of attention, and handmade pots, they have come into their own. This, they say, is who I am. Behold. Smile.

As a Last Shot, I give you the Christmas Hares on our front porch. Last year I made Elizabethan collars for them. This year we're going with a more Druidic look. I love their "don't mess with me" stance, even with tiaras of berries in place.

 

A perspective shift

This Honeysuckle vine just can't give up. She always flowers early, and is the last to give up in the winter. A metaphor? Maybe. But maybe just a distraction toward beauty too. And persistence.

The world has not ended, and time is slowly slowly working its on-with-it magic. Or maybe it's just putting some distance between the acute pain and the chronic.

It is again unseasonably warm today, reminding of me how much we have already lost. But I also have a bunch of glazing to do, a meeting to get an agenda out on, and planning for gatherings of friends. There have been some wonderful essays circulating in this internet universe. I'll share a couple that have been sent to me by friends.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=BaCEtZnXWdY 

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/11/opinion/against-panic-a-survival-kit.html?unlocked_article_code=1.ZE4.qsMQ.qHU8bgK38DjG&smid=url-share 

 

And here's one of Jasper and I on a fall day at The Quarry's Dock. 

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/kessJOCGGTw

All the leaves are brown. . .

. . . and the sky is gray. Remember that song? Well here we are. Just before a pivotal moment in history, trying to stay positive. Isn't it just realistic to think that we will make a choice that will lead us to curb Climate Change, reinforce the rights of all of us (women, people with more pigment in their skin,) find solutions to all of the very tough problems that face us?

Maybe that's asking too much.

But the sky IS gray today. The leaves have faded to brown, though most of them here are oak leaves, which are mostly brown in the fall anyway.

 

The next day. So much can change in a day. It was over quickly. While I'd like to suspect a rigged election, it just isn't hard to believe that the American people are this ignorant. Or is it racist and misogynistic? Nope. Ignorance wins. But as it was 75F today on November 6 in the middle of Maine, we can expect a huge increase in climate disasters, species extinctions (maybe our own), and civilization collapse. I have long felt that we were seeing the slow implosion of our civilizations via the lost of trust in our institutions. This will just hasten it. It fills me with despair, but my pragmatic self assures me that civilizations rise and fall as a matter of course. We just happen to be in this one. What now? We support each other, as a friend said. Or perhaps follow my daughter's suggestion. Today the jam, tomorrow the revolution.

Below Freezing: A short note

Patient impatiens

This is a first. My two containers of impatiens went ballistic this year, and they just keep blooming. I don't think I've ever had them during peak leaf fall. The hares have moved to the porch for the winter, and we are almost battened down.

However. Temperatures dipped well below freezing last night, and the leaves are suddenly almost all on the ground. Jasper and I had a wonderful walk along Flowalonski, which winds along the Messalonskee Stream. 

Jasper in Fall

It is so much easier to enjoy weather that is a bit too cold than it is when it's a bit too hot. Some of it may be psychological; knowing that the planet, and Maine, is warming in a threatening way. But the other part is that you can always put on another layer. Wind and ice complicate that, but we had neither today. Lucky us.

And Jasper, freshly bathed yesterday. Handsome boy with those now strictly cosmetic ears. 

Warm Weather, Extended

Porcelain Mug, Cala lily

It's hard not to enjoy the return from the cold we've had for the past week or so. It's been extremely dry, but also throw-open-the-doors warm. Jasper is happy. And it's hard not to enjoy it, especially knowing that winter is on its way.

Still. It is unseasonable, and one can't help but wonder what lies ahead. There was a time when I reveled in weather. Oh sure, I could always find something to complain about. That's what people who take growing things seriously do. But now contemplating what's next in our forecast is accompanied by a twinge of anxiety. It used to be that a big storm was somehow reassuring. It made me feel like humans weren't in control as much as we pretend to be. 

 

Porcelain mug, Dogwood-ish

But now? It feels more deadly. Not only personally, or species wise, but ALL species wise. Our beautiful trees, ferns. All of it.

But as usual, I digress. I didn't do a lot of studio work this past summer, but just got a batch of work glazed and photographed. I'm not sure why I go to the trouble now, except that it's habit, and I like seeing it on paper. Much of the work was in porcelain. I'm still using applique with botanical motifs, but I feel that urge fading. [Though to be fair, my very favorite mug is still one of the green/brown Cala mugs. . ]

Porcelain Bowl with spoon cutout

Another method I've been working on is slip-trailing. It's particularly handsome on porcelain, I think, though I'm always hesitant to glaze that bright beautiful white. The bowl on the left is only glazed with clear glaze on the inside. The vitrified unglazed outside has such a tactile feel. Some people hate it, but I really like it's rough smoothness

Small Porcelain bowl

 

Below is a smaller bowl that I glazed inside and out, then rimmed it in Emeraude. . .my favorite glaze (along with the old Ancient Jasper) for running; or in this case creeping.

Porcelain mug, left hand side

 

 

Finally, my favorite porcelain in the batch. Again, this mug is only glazed on the inside. I've been drinking from it, and the jury's out. It's a good size, the handle feels just right, but I'm afraid that the unglazed outside may stain with heavy use. It shouldn't, since it's fully vitrified, but it has that feeling. 

Porcelain mug, right hand side

It's interesting on all sides, and unlike the botanical mugs above, it's a right-and-left handed mug, since the slip trailing is really low to the surface. I also smoothed the "dots" of slip trailing on this one so there wouldn't be too much relief. Too much relief, as we all know, can just be annoying. Smile.

The buttons below are part of my maker self too. I just finished a linen dress ("Mom-green", my younger daughter calls the color), and needed buttons. I have so many choices now, but decided I wanted metal, not enameled, instead of ceramic. I found a package of Precious Metal Clay, and voila. 

 

Fine silver buttons

 Buttons for the dress. Fine silver. Who else has such amazing details in their life? Not that anyone ever notices. But still. As I used to tell my clients: You know it's there. It's like wearing really lovely underwear. (Though we will not go there.) Lucky me.

Peak Leaf color. . .

We headed North late this week to hike along Little Moose Pond, close to Moosehead Lake and surrounds. Moosehead Lake is the headwater of the Kennebec River, so it's a pretty big deal. In truth, we're a little past peak leaf color. You can see in the photo to the left that there are a few deciduous trees that have already defoliated, but there it still plenty of color. These photos are not touched up, by the way.

The "pond" (they would call this a Lake in the West) is completely surrounded by the Appalachians. . .a wonderful mix of deciduous and coniferous trees. 

Even underfoot the color is remarkable. 

The color isn't limited to our excursions, though. Our backyard is full of color as well. . . I wake up to the image below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also spent a little time in the garden this morning, tying back the raspberry canes to avoid lodging in the snow. . .premature, I know, but not THAT premature. . .

And I was able to harvest this small bouquet. The hydrangeas keep giving, and the hardier herbs, and even some basil, remain as gifts for the taking. The vase is a new design. I must have seen one like this somewhere (2 circles bowed out, with the top and the bottom slightly truncated), but I have no idea where.  And I just realized that I never photographed it for my collection. 

The highbush blueberries are a blazing red, and the surprise was that two of the small Korean lilacs also put on a show of red in the fall. Nice.

The temperatures have cooled considerably now. Mornings find us waking up snuggled under 2 extra wool blankets, and hurrying out of bed to slip on layers. I love it. For now, at least. Walks smell wonderfully fall (makes me think of walking around my old neighborhood at Halloween), and while I look forward to our first snow, I'm also feeling great ambivalence toward the weather. The climate. When we moved to Boise in 2000, we started looking forward to winter. We had just learned to ski, and it was a new Fun Thing. Now, as climate is giving us the extreme weather evens we deserve, I think of those folks in Florida without power. . .some likely for weeks. If I impose our version of wild weather. . . ice storms. . .over that, it's a grim picture indeed. We like to think we're prepared, but I know that if it's extreme, we're not. I have never chosen to live my life afraid, but this feeling is hard to shake. Stay warm.

Early October

 

I've finished harvesting raspberries now, but I thought this parting shot was worth documenting. The chipmunks harvest the raspberries too, and have them as a meal on the stone steps that are between the two raspberry cultivars. I think it's incredibly cute that they leave the seeds behind for me. We've got several patches of these on the 5 stone steps. I'm glad we can share, and not lose the crop.

Last week I hiked with friends along Salmon Lake. The leaves were coloring, but they're at full color now. . .just 5 days later.

Maine is full of these hidden gems of hikes. We have a wonderful series of trails in back of our house, but there are woods everywhere. You have to know about them, though, and the best way to do that is to "know a guy".

One of my hiking friends is always assessing the various lakes' condition, particularly as pertains to erosion, and/or land owner education. It is a battle to fight against ruining these lakes with too many people doing things that erode the shore, pollute the water, add invasive species, etc.

I love these rocks along the shore. We have an abundance of rocks and roots on just about any trail.

And of course, Jasper is ever present. Lending support to the ongoing mission of enjoying life, and trying to be worthy of our many riches.

Red is the color. . .

 

Well, maybe more orange in this case? John took this photo while he was working on the Messalonskee Trail. It is very large. . .8" in diameter at least. He was told it's a Honey Mushroom, and then directed how to cook and eat it. But we're not that hungry, and probably not that bold. It also seems a little selfish to take it when it can be enjoyed by anyone who cares to look right where it is.

Speaking of art. . . this leaf is from a tree along our driveway. I picked it to see if it is from a Sugar Maple, but it turns out that it's from a Red Maple. Score for accurate naming.

The Summer Leaf Series

 

I didn't spend much time in the studio this summer. . .between recovery (No Potting For You!) and the business of the growing season, there just wasn't much time. But as usual, I couldn't resist picking up leaves, twigs, and other bits as I walked with Jasper, and they somehow, in small moments, transform themselves into little bowls.

This technique isn't as easy as it looks. There are a lot of details, and of course glazing is always an issue for me.

I glazed the second grape leaf bowl with a combination of a matt and an iridescent green glaze. Also a sweet piece. A nice surprise that even without feet added to the bottom, these are really quite stable. They are 6-7: from rim to rim, so they're a nice size for serving small delights.

I found this huge oak leaf in our driveway, prematurely downed, though the leaves are really starting to both color and fall now. I think it makes a nice, if not conventional, dish.

I thought this was a leaf from a striped maple, but in fact, since it's from a shrubbery, it's more likely a viburnum. You'd think that someone with my education would know for sure! Anyway, it's the largest of those listed above, and again, makes for a sweet bowl. I'm not terribly happy with the glaze on this one, but the veins are nicely emphasized.

Above is another rhubarb leaf platter. . .my third. Unfortunately, early successes are are often hard to repeat. You can see a nasty split  along the middle vein where the clay separated when fired. You bake some and you burn some. I'm thinking of having a wall of despair that showcases these abject failures. . .

And to the right is the last of my summer work. A thrown mug that I slip-trailed. Again, the glaze doesn't thrill me, but the slip trailing is way fun, and allows for all sorts of decorative additions, much like applique. "Decorative" is the worst thing a fine arts major can call an object, but I'll own it. Smile.

Rain

 We usually avoid the Rotary Trail, which runs alongside the Kennebec River on an old railroad bed. It's lovely. . . wide and flat. . .but often so peopled that I need to keep Jasper on his leash. He doesn't complain about that, but we both do our best work Off Leash. Smile. 

Dogs are so accommodating. I don't ever want to take that for granted. Anyway, the rain staved off the people (the parking lot was empty at 9am), and we had a lovely drizzly walk. We paused to photograph the extreme damage done by last winters storms. We're trying to figure out how to pay to fix the damage. Ack.

The Kennebec River is fairly wide here. In typical mid-Maine style, there are areas that seem completely isolated, and others where you can see a factory across the river. . .or houses. I used to feel like these man-made things like old mills, (some abandoned, some functioning) were eyesores, but I've come to see this mix of the natural and the man-made as a testament to what has gone before. And perhaps potential for the future. Too Pollyanna? Maybe.

I didn't walk out to the garden a single time today. That's the surest sign that fall is here. I remember wishing that water would fall from the sky in Boise. At 12"/year, it was not a common occurrence, and no one tried to grow anything without irrigation. Maine is different, of course, at 45"/year, though I had cause to appreciate the trickle irrigation we installed 2 years ago. We had had 2 summers of drought, and a lot of hand-watering. While most of the summer had ample precipitation this year, we ran into a 2-3 week period with no rain just prior to today. 

Perennial plants don't look like they're doing much this time of year, but they are. They need resources, (water, light, some warmth) to prepare for the winter, shuttling carbohydrates down to their roots as their leaves senesce and fall. It's actually a pretty important time of year if you want them to come back in the spring.

A couple of last shots of Jasper on the trail. Clearing predicted tomorrow, and the last of the apples will be harvested.