a miracle in the woods

They float.

If you look on the ground, you are likely to miss them.

Look about ten inches above the ground,

and there they are.

Amidst the leaf litter and the pine needles,

in the dappled sunny spots

where new growth takes a chance,

they surprise and delight.

Lady slippers.

The best secret in the Maine woods.

some thoughts about being away

You've probably noticed.

I've been away from blog-land for a bit.

Sometimes I've dropped in for a comment or two.

Mostly I've visited, but made no noise.

I'm not sure I can fully explain it.

Except to say I've been trying not to make 

personal 'rules' about blogging, which has been something

that has given me joy.

And at the same time I've been a little

more reluctant to be online in any way.

My life is more complicated than many of you 

probably think.

My husband hasn't been well for several years.

He is declining in health in small steps,

but in significant ways.

I've been trying to figure out how best

to spend my quiet time in ways 

that really "feed" me without tiring me.

Much of my days find me doing "maintenance"

and "taking care":  fetching and finding

and ever "adapting to new levels of 'normal' ".

And then there were income taxes, and medical appointments,

and more resultant fatigue on my part than

I usually experience.

This winter, I found that when I'd finally have time

to get online it was rather late at night.

And although I am often quite tired at the end of the day,

I think "screen time" was jazzing me up a bit.

Falling asleep was beginning to be a challenge.

Anyone who has ever been a caregiver knows

that self-nurturing

and sleep are two essential ingredients to remaining sane.

I miss you guys, however.

I really do.

So, although I am not posting as much, I hope

you will understand,

and not forget me.

I'll be back.  I'm sure of it.

xo 

shaking out the cobwebs

There is nothing like an art workshop

to shake out the cobwebs

and inspire the soul.

I posted about an art workshop

last year around this time.

Today's workshop, like that one, was taught by my friend

Natasha Kempers-Cullen

who is a fiber artist extraordinaire.

Natasha makes amazing art quilts assembled with

fabric which she dyes, paints, stamps

and then embellishes using beads and stitches and all sorts

of beautiful charms and other magic stuff.

I have always wanted to see 

how she created that gorgeous fabric.

You can't get stuff like that off the shelf.

I like to sew, I like to make quilts,

and I LOVE to fool around with paint.

I've longed for some lessons in fabric painting and stamping.

It was a dream come true for me.

Wa-hoo!

This weekend we brought erasers, brayers, foam paint rollers, 

exacto knives, lino tools,

sponges, rags, a bucket,

lots of torn up sheets, plexiglass,

and anything we could find with a raised surface design

that might lend itself to fabric painting and stamping.

Tasha supplied the know-how,

the paints, the tricks, materials for stamp making,  

use of her many self-made stamps,

great music, the chocolate and the encouragement.

There were five of us, including our teacher/mentor/muse/mom/ friend.  

First, we all painted fabric, 

using various techniques which Tasha demonstrated.

We hung them up to dry when we had background covering,

and later took them down 

and added paint, stenciling, any little thing our hearts desired.

Went home Saturday late afternoon.

Got up Sunday and came right back to do some more.

Want to see the results?

I thought you would.

Here are some of the many fabric designs created today.

The artists are Nicole, Becky, Anne, Tasha, and moi.

Before you go, check this out:

Natasha produced a really nice lime colored linen shirt

which she had dripped a little bleach on sometime in the past.

Drips and drops of blah-colored fabric

not very attractively dispersed along the front.

Don't you hate when that happens--

a perfectly good shirt that acquires a 

stain and it is no longer wearable?

Well, this shirt was one of them.

Or so we thought.

She took out the fabric paint,

a brayer, scrunched up the blouse, rolled,

repeated often...

and Voila!

Ready to wear again.  

Better than new.

They should teach fabric painting in every high school!

harvesting clams

Clamming is hard work for folks.

You head out with some white spackle buckets, 

a plastic snow sled or a small boat, 

wearing big tall boots that go to your knees. 

You carry a heavy hand rake that looks like this:

You walk in the mud as far as you can go.

...and you bend over, for hours, no matter 

if the sun is hot or the wind is freezing,

while you turn over the mud and look for clams.

As the tide goes further out or in,

you travel with it.

If there are two low tides when it's light out,

you just might return the same day for another harvest.

(I figure a lot of Ibuprophen gets ingested

by clammers in these parts.)

When the tide comes back in,

or when you've had enough,

you take your clams back to shore,

often leaving your boat at anchor on the mud, or in the water.

It'll float on high tide,

sit in low tide,

and be there when you come back the next day.

When you go out to do it all over again.

Then you drive to the dealer, 

and hope for a good price.

A price which, after you pay for the gas 

to get to and from your grounds,

will adequately compensate you 

for your hours bent over in all weather, raking.

Any cracked or broken clams,

no matter how alive they still are,

will not be part of your sale.

But you can bring those home and make chowder.

Or fry them, or make clam cakes.

Maybe until you never want to eat another clam again.

*   *   *

Clamming is easy for gulls.

You gather on the flats, and look for the spurts

that clams make in the mud.

You poke around with your beak, and haul one

to the surface.

Then, you take wing.

One might think it would be hard to make a meal

of a live clam, one who has his shell locked shut

and will not willingly give up his innards for a gull's dinner.

If you are a gull, you have all this covered.

You put the clam in  your beak, and you

glide over above the nearest rock.

Then, you slow, bank, hover, and let go. 

You might have to do it more than once,

but sooner or later that clam

breaks, and your dinner is yours.

No chowder, no truck, no haggling, no clamcakes.

Just pure, sweet clam meat

there for a poke, a soar, and a drop or two.

Tell me, who has the better life??

the dancing drake

It's been outrageously warm here in Maine,

have you heard?

Temps in the 70s.  Shorts and short sleeve weather.

All the birds are singing their mating songs.

Pheromones abound.

I've been watching the ice go out of our pond for weeks.

There is a very thin layer only on about half the pond today.

Even the crows aren't landing there anymore.

The mallard drake and his wife have once again

taken up residence.

Can you see him kicking up his heels with joy?

(Actually, he is standing on a submerged thin ledge of ice,

grooming under his leg.

...Which is duck for kicking up his heels with joy.) 

dreaming of dingle

As we approach St. Paddy's Day,

I start to think fondly of the land of my ancestors.

Nine years ago, my friend asked me to spend a February week with her

in Ireland, where she and her husband

have a second home.

Here she is, below--out on the coast, in the wind:

We had a great time just being girls:

making simple meals, knitting,

 and soaking in the Irish beauty all around us.

We never left the Dingle peninsula, which is on the west coast of Ireland.

Here are some photos within walking distance of

their simple house by the sea.

Here are some photos of what it looks like

within an hour or so's drive.

And below is a frequent scene from "my" bedroom window,

which looks out on the Ring of Kerry.

Thank you, Pam.  For memories and images

to last a lifetime.

And for your lasting friendship.

Slante´ to all!

ice out!

We call it "Mud Season' here in Maine.

The frost starts to leave the ground.

The snow melts into the earth (though not so much this year--

due to the absence of snow).

Everything is squishy underfoot.

But here, that is mostly a good thing.

A welcome harbinger of winter's end.

Robins and Cardinals are back--the Robins in flocks

digging in said squish, looking for food;

The Cardinals at the top of trees, singing their hearts out--

looking for love.

Our rivers become unlocked.

On the bigger rivers, the Coast Guard sends ice-breaking ships

upstream to reduce the risk of ice jams and flooding

as snow and ice begin to melt.

Remember the ice fishing shanties of yesteryear?

They'd better be GONE by now.

In inlets on the shore, there are chunks of ice

that are losing shape and substance.

In many places near the coast, where the river water is 

a tiny bit salty from the daily tides pushing in,

the rivers are running free.

In some places they roar.

***    ***   ***

Meanwhile, back on land, where we all sort of squish as we go,

local roads can take a beating.

Just beneath the pavement is an ever shifting bed of wet earth.

 Potholes abound as pieces of asphalt let go.

Frost heaves appear as humps or dips across the road surface 

from shoulder to shoulder.

In these parts, you know they are coming because the road crews

spend March putting up signs along the roadside

that simply say, "BUMP".

Slowing your speed is a good idea in their vicinity

...if you value your car, that is.

Rural roads are the most susceptible to damage.

Therefore, my favorite harbinger of spring

appears in early March

as if dispersed by elves in the middle of the night.

My camera didn't pick up the fine print on the orange sign.

Without special permission, loads over a certain weight

are not permitted on rural roads until 

the ground solidifies again.

One fine morning, after a night-long serenade of peepers,

these orange signs will have completely disappeared.

(Same elves, same wonderful magic message.) 

But that is ahead of us by several weeks.

Happy Daylight Savings time, everyone!