After a 50+ year hiatus. . .

 I was lucky enough to take 3 years of woodworking in high school.  Charles W. Woodward High School no longer exists due to a decreasing high-school aged population in the northern Washington D.C. suburbs, but I was one of the first classes to graduate from that school in 1972. Our wood shop was state of the art, but when I entered 10th grade it was inconceivable that a girl would want to take a class in it. After some humiliation, and my Dad's intervention, I was allowed in. 

At my tenth high school reunion, the teachers of that class told me how they had dreaded my taking the class. They also told me how wrong they had been. I, of course, was completely unaware of all of that. I just wanted to Make Things, and up until that point, I had been limited to things that were acceptable for girls to do. Paint. Draw, Sew, Knit. My father had always included me in his projects, appreciating that I had hands small enough to help him extract the spark plugs of his Karmann Ghia. But these interests were not common for girls. They were unbecoming.

That experience of wood shop. . .being instructed on the safe use of tools, including the table saw, band saw, radial arm saw, router, joiner, planer, and of course, the lathe. . .was pivotal for me. I loved the tools. Loved them. I loved what they enabled me to do, to build, to make. They also enabled me to dream of what I could make in a completely new way. 

It's been over 50 years since I saw a functional wood shop. So when Mark Wheeler, (see 10/29 post,) suggested that I turn a bowl in his shop, how could I refuse? The fear of failure, or worse, embarrassment, always lurks, but still. How could I not try? Mark is a competent and patient guide. I originally was going to call this post "The Power of Yes", but I'm pretty sure I'd be stealing that phrase from my youngest daughter. It remains true, though. While my current sensible self certainly questioned this particular "yes", I am so glad I risked this particular failure, to take this small path out of my comfort zone and the opportunity to work with another artisan who has the ability to understand a life that compels Making.

Unexpected Beech Leaves

Here's something I've noticed for the 4 autumns we've lived here. The beech trees, especially the smaller/younger ones, hold on to their leaves long after they are useful to them. Lots of trees do this. . . we had a Pin Oak in Idaho that didn't drop her leaves until spring. Delayed abscission in horticultural parlance. 

But the beeches are different this year. In past years, the leaves that hang on became a translucent white. We call them "ghost trees". They are a special kind of beautiful. This year, the leaves just turned brown. I'm wondering if the extreme drought is responsible for this? Then, the Plant Physiologist in me wonders if there are implications for their cold hardiness as a result of this lack-of-transition. Have they failed to shuttle down as many carbohydrates for wintering?

Well. We'll see. I am looking forward to the first snow, though the pragmatist in me says to be more circumspect. Ha. 

I had a Jasper Memorial hike this morning. The sky is blueblueblue, and the air was cold and still. My favorite kind of weather.

As in the grocery store, I like to pause for a minute or two, and contemplate my surroundings. The images don't do these middle-aged White Pines justice, but just looking up at them makes me realize how truly marvelous they are. What a gift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Hemlock (turn right at the Hemlock) is like a dressed up ingenue, ready for the dance.

 And the grocery store? A construct that is so easy to take for granted. . .but once you start thinking about how many products, vendors, places of origin, sources of produce, and the management of it all; you quickly realize what a miracle of civilization our common grocery stores are.  

And just like that. . .

It feels like winter is here. We've put out the Christmas lights early because of an event that we're hosting this week, and I brought in a bunch of the hardier herbs, because even they will be challenged once it's below 28F or so.

Tuscan white beans, rustic bread, my garlic keeper and rescued sprigs of rosemary from the garden. We had a dusting of snow today. That was unexpected. But as I said to a friend, the first snow is magic. . .the last, not-so-much.

 My throwing has been way off here lately. I once again threatened to get rid of the wheel and all of its attendant tools. But I reviewed a Bill Van Guilder class that I had purchased (for the 4th time), and threw a tall pot today with almost 4 pounds of clay. I've destroyed the first three, but this one is not an embarrassment. Maybe for me, the fourth time's the charm. Images soon!  

Studio inspiration

For some reason, I wanted to go to a Fine Craft show in Brunswick this past weekend. Once there, I realized why. I have no contact with other people who are as compelled to Make Things as I am. It was a delight to talk to other such people. The covered vessel in the image above is prettily seated between a couple of my old pieces from the Botanically Correct series. This piece was made by an artist named Mark Wheeler, and it is a wonder. Made from maple, he turned it, then carved it A Lot, and then colored the work. I can't tell you exactly why I was so taken with this piece. Maybe it was the number of processes employed, as well as the aesthetics of it. . .and certainly the maker to maker conversation was much appreciated.

I haven't been doing much in the studio, though I am taking an online workshop on Throwing Large. Sort of like living large but different. My first attempt to follow Bill McGibben's techniques was an abject failure, but that's not surprising. Among other things, I knew going in that my clay was likely too wet for this endeavor. So I'll go back to the video, dry out some clay (no easy task to get it just right), and then try again. Failure breeds learning. Learning breeds less failure. Ha. Always the optimist. 

In the meantime, here are a couple of my latest pieces. I'm thinking a lot about metalsmithing and enameling these days. . .tempted to retreat to that which I know best. (!)

No doubt

This summer and early fall has gone by so quickly that I've been somewhat reluctant to admit that it truly is fall, and winter truly is coming. But there can be no doubt now. From the leaves under my feet to the view of our forest from any window in the house, leaves are coloring and falling, drought be damned. 

The bean plants are in the compost, as are the indigo plants, which I was loath to pull because they have been such a delightful curiosity. The maples range from fiery red to orange to yellow, and while many predicted less vibrant colors this year due to the drought, I'm not sure I saw it. The colors did seem to be timed differently, and now they're almost done.

I drained and stored two of  our three hoses yesterday, and John blew out the irrigation lines. The patio is sealed, and the outdoor furniture stowed safely in my studio. 

 

 

We're almost ready for the freezing weather, at least physically. Psychologically, I find I am not looking forward to winter and snow as much as I usually do. It might be Jasper's absence. I've been taking our old usual hikes, and when I'm alone I can almost see him with me. . . waiting at a fork in the trail to make sure I'm OK; his intelligent face making sure I'm still with him, and then heading up the trail with renewed energy. It is amazing to be loved by a dog, but I was especially privileged to have him in my life.

 

Late Harvest

 

One never knows, but this may be our last harvest. It will surely be the last of the basil, since 30F is predicted for tonight. Basil gets insulted by anything under 35. 

The beans are still beautiful and tasty, and I don't remember how well they'll tolerate a freeze. Not well, I suspect. And why did I harvest green tomatoes? I have made several green tomato things in the past (chutney, mock mincemeat), and they are fine but unnecessary. I also tend to forget I have them, and then initiate a forehead slap in April or so. I have enough of those without green tomato chutney.

I do love these first chilly days, though. Yesterday's rain eased a good bit of stress (plant and human), and the rituals of the fall give a sense of preparation. Even control. Re-stain the patio furniture, bring all of the furniture to it's winter home (in my studio), drain, clean and  bring in the fountains, and of course, bring the English Hares to the front steps to guard us there, rather than in the garden. All good. It is nice to feel like we have modest control over these things, while the world spins unpredictably.
 

Fall and getting back to the studio

It is an odd fall. It's so dry. . . the experts say that we need 12" of rain to get out of this "extreme drought", and that's not likely to happen before the ground freezes. Weather is so squirrely, though, (not a word the experts use) that it's harder than usual to predict. I am deeply concerned for our forests. Ok. I'm deeply concerned on any number of topics.

I have finally gotten back to the studio post Jasper. I'm not making anything new or exciting, just exercising the technical muscles. I was inspired by a dress that I made. . .a trip to a Scarborough fabric store inspired the dress. . .all of which was behavior to try to distract me/us from our grief. And distract it did. But then I needed 9 buttons. Nine! That's a good number of buttons, and corresponding button holes. So I made them out of porcelain. They're ok, but for some reason my Coyote Green Matt glaze is no longer matt. It's still a lovely color, but I don't get why it's no longer matt. Maybe it's the combination of glazes that's freaking it out? Ah the vagaries of glazes.

It's not a great image, but you get the idea. I really like using Nichrome shanks and not having holes in the buttons. 

I also made a couple of bowls, and really like the glaze on these. Did I actually say that out loud? I like a glaze? Maybe I should just do everything with these glazes from now on. 

 

 

I also made a slip-trailed mug, but while I have loved this combination of glazes in the past, I'm not so impressed with it on this mug. It's just ok.

Finally, I brought some plant material in from the garden. . .just for show, as a Gary Larsen character once said. The hydrangeas outdid themselves this year, and I always love adding some asparagus ferns and other sundry plant material from the yard. They will all be gone in a month, so best enjoy them while we can.

The potatoes are harvested and stored, now and the pumpkins are mostly harvested, and displayed on the porch with the impatiens planters. There is such a bittersweet quality to fall. I have always loved it, but it all seems to be going by so quickly. The reality of winter's approach gives pause as it didn't when I was younger. It's a metaphor for too many things to contemplate right now. It is sobering.

Friends visit and a trip to Quebec City

Umbrellas, cafes and a palace

We were lucky enough to host friends visiting from Boise this past week. After a few days in our home, we moved on to Quebec City to share some adventures. This image of a street where we settled for a lunch of wine, pizza, salad and amazing coffee featured umbrellas with a view of the Frontenac hotel. A palace, really. 

The leaves were close to full color, and unlike previous visits to Quebec, the plethora of public gardens still could be enjoyed with live plants. Some of them were still blooming, but the mixture of plant bloom, leaf colors and textures, and the sheer overwhelming abundance of these plants (with no visible weeds) was astonishing, even to a seasoned horticulturist like myself. Wow. That was a long sentence.

I tried to take some pictures of the gardens as a whole, but the camera just can't do justice to what the eye can see. So I'll settle for showing you an image of a hibiscus in bloom.

Hibiscus flower

In previous trips to QC, we had seen a coffee shop in the Plains of Abraham, a huge park in the center of the city. We wandered back on day one, and had most excellent coffee, croissants, and a table on the patio. At said table, we were entertained by a trio of penguins to the sounds of a rushing fountain. Amazing.

and the band played on. . .

It was a nice trip. . . a great interlude to all of the national nonsense, and a great opportunity to support the Canadians. 

Thanks especially to M and A, who made the long trip across the country to visit us and things Maine and Quebecois. 

So now it's back to the garden, the beautiful fall weather, and a substantial rainfall that is staving off the drought, however temporarily.

Today's heist and a breakfast of champions. . .

In spite of cool night temperatures, harvest continues. The raspberries have been especially fruitful, and the beans continue daily. The last eggplant was harvested today, and I removed the eggplant plants. There is no hope of further reproduction from them, and they were crowding the tomatoes and the indigo. 

I don't intend to do any future dying with the indigo, but the bees absolutely love the flowers, so they're worth keeping around until nature takes them out.

 

And of course, some of the apples became a pie yesterday. I interrupted my weekly ritual of bran cereal for breakfast to have a slice of apple pie with sharp cheddar melted on it. Seemed a fair trade. 

I feel like we always eat well, but this time of year it goes beyond that. It's food for the body and the soul. And there is no more pleasant task than making an apple pie. 

Because I didn't know what Indigo looked like prior to this year, I'm including an  image of it in bloom. According the internet sources, the dye is less concentrated once the plant starts flowering, which makes sense when you consider what an energy-expensive process reproduction is. But these flowers make an excellent counterpoint to larger blooms like hydrangeas in arrangements.  

The plants are extremely vigorous in full sun, and the stems have a bamboo-ish look. I'm hoping I haven't unleashed a monster in my garden.

Apples

Small harvest

Our apple harvest was pretty sad this year. Only the McIntosh tree  bore any fruit, which was a bit surprising. I had intended to remove the tree because it had a trunk injury predating our move here. But the other two trees barely bloomed owing to a large crop last year. At least that's my hypothesis. We still have 2 large fruit hanging on what I think is a Macoun tree. A treat for later. They are not ripe yet.

I had hoped to delay harvesting these apples until after our company left, but the tree had other ideas. She dropped one apple this morning, I tasted it, and realized that these would not wait for 10 days. So in they came.

They are small but very tasty. I would not plant a McIntosh tree myself, not only because of the fruit size, but because they don't store well. They are great when picked, good a week later, and mush a month later. Well, "mush" is harsh. . . but you get the idea. Mealy is the term, I guess. They do make an excellent pie, and several of those are in our future.

These Boots are Made for Annoying

Tomatoes continue to come in, as do the beans. I blanched and froze another package of Kentucky Wonders today, and will continue to harvest until our guests arrive on Thursday. Then the rest of the beans will be let go to be collected for next year's seed. 

Fall is definitely upon us. The summer seemed shorter than usual, and we are once again in a seemingly interminable dry spell. I'll need to water the "lawn" tomorrow. And make a pie.

Retreat to an old friend

I still haven't made it back to working in clay. I don't know what's holding me back, but I do know that it's to do with losing Jasper. I had a couple of half-baked ideas sitting on my metals bench, so I retreated to that as my making medium. This photo isn't great, since you can't tell that the tube-set stone is a blue topaz. But you get the idea. It's a departure from my older work. . .more contemporary looking. 

I'm still a reliable metalsmith. I'm not such a reliable ceramicist. The throwing has improved vastly, and my hand building is something I can be proud of. But the glazing. . .that final opportunity to screw up. . . remains a nemesis. So back to what is easy. Known.

I had made a blank for this anticlastic cuff when I was thinking about a piece for the Citizens' Climate Lobby silent auction. I ended up donating 2 pieces of pottery instead, so this piece of copper sat on my bench for a few months. So back to it: Annealing, hammering, annealing, hammering, repeat. It is a known  process, if a little tough on the hands. I love the shadow in the first image, but the second gives a better ideal of who she is.

 

 

I also had some PMC that I've had since before we moved to Maine. It's at least 5 years old, but was so well packaged that it was still usable. For the unfamiliar, PMC is precious metal clay. It's fine silver that has been suspended in a Fimo-like base, so it can be worked like that plastic clay. But you fire it according to directions, and the base fires out, and you're left with fine silver, which is easy to solder, patina,etc. 

My photography setup isn't fabulous, but my little Nikon Coolpix does a decent job with these small items. Both of these are post earrings, fine silver and sterling, and on the right those are garnet cabochons. 

The garden continues, but we're down to tomatoes, beans, kale and raspberries for harvesting. Potatoes, pumpkins and apples will come at the end of September if all goes as it has so far. The summer seems shorter than usual this year. I'm thinking it's because we lost 6 weeks or so with Jasper being ill and then grieving for him. I still think of him many times every day. Mostly good thoughts.

Fall bits

The regular tomatoes have decided to give it their all, but my poor cherry tomatoes were so unhappy this year. I definitely won't have my many jars of Roasted Cherry Tomato sauce to get us through the winter, though the larger tomatoes promise to keep going for a while. So there will be lots of soup with tomatoes in it. The Kentucky Wonders continue to give me about a handful a day, which results in a meal in about 3 days (today!), and a box of frozen beans in about 6 days. The raspberries continue to gear up, and if we don't have an early frost, we'll be loaded with them. JoanJ, the primocane cultivar, has exceeded my expectations both in quality and quantity. And of course there is eggplant, even if the zucchini have suffered. 

I am at the time of year where I'm a little bit tired of Caprese Salad, though the Margherita Pizzas are still much appreciated.

And of course, I am still missing Jasper. His memory, perhaps his ghost, is with me. I hope I can remember him clearly as I age so gracelessly. Smile.

 

Good news not great news

 

The good news is that we got a terrific rain storm. A series of storms, really. 1.81 inches, total. That is pretty huge. The earth rejoices, and I expect that the weeds will too. Always the optimist.

And I guess it's good news that I finally found homes for all of those peaches. I encouraged party-goers to take them (almost begged), and then canned the rest. A ripe peach waits for No One. Just 4 pints, which I may regret this winter, and only a half pint of roasted cherry tomato sauce. If it warms up, there will be more of the sauce, but it's been pretty cold today. Weather. 

On top of French Mountain in June 2025

I've been thinking a lot about Jasper. It's more reflection than outright grief, though it still comes at me at odd times. The water in his bowl had completely evaporated, so I cleaned it and put it away. I also cleaned up his toys. . .washed and dried a lot of tennis balls and cloth Frisbees, and put them all in a box for the Shelter. By the way, washing those balls really spruced them up. I wish I'd thought of it earlier.

I'm not ready to move his main floor beds just yet, though there are 2 in the basement that he didn't use toward the end. Steps between floors were not his favorites as his arthritis worsened, even though it sometimes meant being a floor away from us. Of course, that still leaves us with 4 lovely dog beds. Another day.

Beans to harvest. I found out that my zucchini are not the only ones that are shy bearing this year. It's apparently a "bad zucchini" year. Who knew such a thing existed?

 

Small vs large

"Peaches more peaches. I'll stack 'em to Heaven. I want 'bout six thousand five hundred and seven. . . " What? That's a revised quotation from Yertle the Turtle, a favorite Dr. Seuss short story. It's a pretty arcane reference. Sorry about that.

But. Most of our peaches from our one little tree are in now. When I looked out the window at the tree this morning, no fewer than 6 were on the ground. Not good. Between the crows and the turkeys. . .and then the secondary infestation of yellow jackets, I needed to get out there pronto. So I have this lovely counter full of highly perishable fruit. I'm hoping my sister-in-law will take some of the peaches.  

You can also see that the JoanJ primocane fruit red raspberries are just starting, and the Kentucky Wonder green beans are yielding well. I don't have more than 10 feet of any of these crops. And the harvest of a given day doesn't look like much, but when you harvest 3 times a week, pretty soon you're talking a lot of food. And for me, a big responsibility to not let any of it go to waste.

We visited a good friend yesterday who has, conservatively, an acre in garden crops. They are decently but not meticulously cared for. It makes me think about our reasons for gardening, and in particular, for growing food. Our friends are pretty overwhelmed with the fruits of their labor, and I think give a good bit of their produce to the food bank. That's great, but it is a lot to manage, and waste is inevitable. 

I have always had a "think small" mind set. I have no idea why. If I had to guess, I would say it's genetically programmed. Even my artwork is small. . .a ceramic bowl is huge for me. Jewelry-size metalsmithing is just my speed. John laughed at me when I thought our Ford Ranger truck was huge. Give me an escort or a Prius any day. Ah. That "Escort" dates me as well. . . probably soon to be yet another arcane reference.

I don't feel at all superior about any of this. I just find it interesting that something like scale of work would be innate, and not learned. Then again, my father favored a Karmann Ghia. It was a very cool car. Maybe I did learn that preference. . .
 

Let the games begin. . .

 

The rain came last night. It wasn't enough to ease everyone's mind about The Dry, but we got .48 inches here, which was a lot more than we had expected. A lot more. I thought we were only going to get a brief shower, which we did, but it was followed by a long slow soaking rain. Maybe not long enough, but what a relief. I am so grateful.

The peaches, and their level of ripeness, was a bit of a surprise. The birds (crows, I think) let me know. They had, in their usual delicate way, hurled several to the ground and ravished them. When I looked back in my gardening journal, I found that mid-August is when these peaches have historically ripened. They did sneak up on me for obvious reasons.

I accidentally picked a few that still had greenish ground color, but most of these were quite ready. And this is only half of them, from that little tree. They are smaller than expected, which surprised me because I thinned them hard this year. Maybe this is just a small cultivar. It IS a particularly tasty cultivar, which outranks size any day in my book. And they'll be perfect for canning.

I am trying to get myself to go back into the studio, so I figure by talking about these pots I made just before Jasper left us, I might be able to inspire myself.

These flower pots and saucers are made out of terracotta that is dug locally by Sheffield Clay, in Massachusetts. Wheel thrown, low fired, and slightly embellished. No glaze required, thank Dog. I love making these things that I will see every day in my very ordinary life. It is true that nobody else ever notices them, like the hand-made fine silver buttons on my dresses. But as I used to tell my jewelry customers about the fine work on the back of a brooch or pendant. . . it's like wearing really great underwear. It gives a calm kind of confidence that nothing else can impart. Smile.

The rain has brought some relief to my grief. . .at least the grief that wears itself on my outside. I can't really explain why. John thinks that the drought was a terrible stressor for all of us, but especially for me because of my past work in commercial agriculture. I can see a point in the future where people are starving due to our idiocy regarding climate change. It could be drought, too much rain, new insect and/or disease pests, or simply an inability to get a crop harvested due to lack of labor. Most folks have no idea what it takes to plant, care for, harvest and market a crop of anything. 

But. The rain has come, so today is a good day to Not think about the apocalypse!


 

Drought in the time of grieving

 

I expect you're all tired of hearing about Jasper at this point. I apologize. It's amazing how I keep trying to push beyond the brain fog and forgetfulness, and then I have a knee jerk reaction. . .to all sorts of innocuous stimuli. And down she goes. My brain, I mean. My heart.

Still, life does plow through, we we're doing the same. We are in a terrible drought right now. The longest in Maine  history, if I'm not mistaken. We are pumping from our well for the trickle irrigation, which is on all of our beds. . .most importantly our food crops. But the "lawn" (it's a poly-culture, so not exactly the all-grass cliche of a lawn) is crispy crackly. I've spot watered as I can, but am starting to worry about our well. John tells me that it's 130 foot well that over flows in the spring, so there's nothing to worry about, but this instinct I have against The Dry is powerful.

 And so much suffering. Forests, crops, homeless folks, folks without air conditioning (there are still a lot in Maine). It adds sadness to sadness to sadness.  

Muddling through. . .

We've been muddling through. I weed, organize photos and recipes, but can't bring myself to work in the studio or play the violin. 

Oddly, the garden moves forward as if nothing has happened. We made a conscious decision to not remove all evidence of Jasper. His beds and water dish remain, though I did manage to get foodstuffs to the Humane society. Crying involved. 

Even with his beds in place, there so much empty space in this house and in us. We three, pack of three. Down to two. We both dread walking downstairs after watching some intentionally mindless something, because we used to look forward to greeting Jasper. To laying down next to him, and giving him the good night pets. 

As I think back on it, though, the end wasn't as sudden as it had seemed. He had stopped following us up and down steps. He slept even more than the predator cliche. He had been deaf for quite some time, and we knew his eyesight wasn't great. But those things were gradual enough that we simply accommodated. 

He maintained the dressage prance when chasing a stick or a tennis ball. . .and still hiked a couple of miles every day until the last few days. His coat and eyes were shiny. Healthy looking. And he still held strong opinions. It was a shock to see him no longer able to get up,  to no longer be able to lift a leg, to fall when trying to defecate, and on the last day, to collapse when we tried to help him stand. I think he gave up. It was brutal. It was also merciful. He made the decision not a decision at all. Was it a request? Or am I just trying to comfort myself with that thought.

The video below was from his early days with us. . .at age 10. He had just learned how to play, after a lifetime of his ranch dog responsibilities. 

 

Jasper Learns to Play Video

 

Jasper My Jasper

 Sir Jasper of Highland House

Circa 2005 - 21 January 2025

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really. Agnes Sligh Turnbull