Morning's Golden Light

The morning sun now strikes the front porch from the side, throwing shadows from a different angle. I've been turning my chair slightly so that the sun warms rather than blinds me as I

 sit to drink my coffee.

I think of the little house as facing due east, with full south beaming on the lower garden and clothesline. In reality, the house likely sits skewed to the four points of the compass.

The spider is clasping a 4th egg sack. The anchoring lines of her web shimmer like gold silk.  The web dances in a light breeze.

She clutches her pale gold balloon of precious eggs, her shadow large on the post behind her.

I sit,blinking, hands wrapped around  the china coffee mug, bemused by the odd cast of light: green, gold, pink.

The teasing wind stirs the raveled edges which rim the torn knees of my jeans.

A hummingbird whirrs past, wings throbbing like a tiny diesel engine.

She hovers and darts, feathers gleaming.

Across the road from our lower field, an oil rig drills.  The grinding sound echoes in the still morning.

Every few minutes there is a hissing snort like the exhaling of an angry dragon and fine rock dust belches forth.  The great swath of golden wildflowers has "gone by" and the plants stand, more green than gold as the seed heads ripen.

This branch broke from the sweet gum tree the morning after J. left for  Wyoming.

The green leaves have quickly greyed.

It is cool on this side of the house and the shade stretches up toward the barn.

A late bloom on the hibiscus by the garage.

A few buds remain, green above the browned seed pods of earlier blooms.

The golden flowers of the zinnias are still bold and gaudy, although the plants themselves are shabby now.

Several fresh clumps of zinnias have sprouted from fallen blossoms. If the weather holds there will be a second crop in bloom.

This amazes me.

The shaded view of the Michaelmas Daisies.

Light bathes a sprawl of lemon balm.

This unruly tangle of purple daisies faces the sun and is inter-twined with a rampaging grape vine and strands of honeysuckle.

Batchelors Buttons were slow to blossom.

The second cropping of beans is good--much less damage from beetles and such.

I have canned 15 quarts this week and kept out enough for three meals.

The mis-shapen ancient pear tree is weighted down with a burden of fruit.

Windfalls lie in the wet tangle of unmown grass under the tree.

They ooze sweetness, and there is the drone of bees and wasps who have begun their day's work early.

I have fetched a basket for the windfalls, wondering if Pebbles would fancy them.

Pebbles quickly decided that windfall pears are a fine treat--and it would be nice if someone offered them several times a day.

Sadie and Sally investigate the basket.

Willis supervises from atop the hay bales.

Sun is just now reaching the open entry of the barn.

Sally pokes her head through the gap in the boards, looking for Willis who is waiting to pounce.

Sun spills onto the stack of bales while Sadie and Willis have an exuberant game of chase.

J. arrived home Friday morning at 1:15 a.m.  On the back of Snort'n Nort'n is a freezer packed with beef.

The beef [which in life was known as Bemis--or was it Butt-head?] was raised, slaughtered and packaged by Howard and Heidi in Wyoming.

J. installed a DC converter under the hood of the truck so that the freezer could run off the truck battery.

The cats and I sewed and cleaned house until J. got home, having been alerted of his impending arrival.

Pebbles, hearing the old truck roar into the yard, emerged from her lean-to shelter and trumpeted a timely and joyous welcome.

Winter Settles In

J. called me to see the delicate frost formations under the side entry roof.  I stood shivering on the pavers attempting to capture the intracacy of the hanging crystals. None of my photos do them justice.

The furnace exhaust puffs out a few feet to the left of the entry and doubtless causes the cold air to form these dainty hanging ornaments.

Each of these crystal pendants is hung by a thin strand of frost and they turn slowly and constantly in the movement of cold air.

Ice feathers the metal of the entry lamp.

Pebbles waits impatiently for her morning feed.  She is well aware that we are up and about, but not rushing out to fill her hay bin!

These four paperwhite bulbs are a gift from a co-worker.  They were packaged as a "kit" with the plastic pot and a disk of compressed peaty fiber. I dropped the disk into the pot and soaked it with warm water. Several hours later it had expanded and could be fluffed up and the bulbs tucked in place.  These are thriving on the windowsill over the kitchen sink.

The paperwhites planted in November now have three stalks in bloom and their scent is noticeable in the room.

Again I have fiddled with various camera settings but not achieving the kind of close-up I wanted.

At 10 A.M. this is all we saw of the sun, a pale flattened round of light behind the frosted branches of a cottonwood. Half an hour later it has cleared the tree tops and a wash of faintest gold has crept in the south-facing windows.

J. went out to the entry porch with the older camera which, with his greater height and reach, captured better images of the crystal creations.  This was taken at close range and makes the pendant appear huge.

The largest of these ice feathers is about three inches in length.  Others are tiny bobbles ranging from half an inch upwards. Try and imagine them moving delicately in the cold air which is stirred by intermittant puffs from the furnace exhaust.

The Day After Snow

This is the quilt I finished at desparate speed so that our machine quilter would have it ready as a Christmas gift for our son and his lady.  It is one of the many Log Cabin/Courthouse Steps variations.  I know the pattern as Primitive Log Cabin.  Simple---but a lot of stitches to chug around all those "logs."

Our clever long-arm machine quilter created a medallion motif for the center of each block and used a meandering leafy pattern for the outer logs and border.

I love the muted earthy colors I associate with New England autumn and these shades prevail in the quilt.

Jemima knows that her presence enhances any quilt photo.

She has very soft plushy fur.

Eggnog is not vain, she simply likes to keep me company.

We are tired from roaring up and down the new stairs, so a nap is in order.  The cats know exactly where the in-floor heat pipes run---favorite warm places.

Several of the paperwhite blossoms are ready to push through the thin green sheaths--full bloom time should be at the New Year.

Teasel has decided to be invisible.

At noon the sun has finally broken through the white shroud of cold mist.

Snow on twigs.

The Count Down to Christmas

Raisin has made a nest in the old comforters that J. has been using to shut off the chilly attic space from the emerging staircase.

The staircase is a wonder to the cats and a place to endlessly investigate once J. stops work for the day.  As snow swirled outside late on Wednesday and the wind blew it into drifts, the cat games began on the stairs.  In spite of heavy plastic and old bedspreads stapled over the opening, the cats went into the attic.  J. re-stapled torn plastic, only to find a cat face peering through from the wrong side.  With the cats all extracted he stapled yet again, stuffed insulation and such into the gaps. The cats continued to find ways into the attic there to sit and wail loudly that they couldn't "get out."

After we went to bed ominous thumps and scuffles overhead indicated their continued exploration of the attic. In the midst of the snowstorm J. installed a window in the gable end. Now the cats can look down on the world from a new vantage point.

J. brandishes the stapler as he comes down from the messy and prickly job of putting up more insulation batts.  The cats said they didn't know him and fled into the bedroom, only to peek out---curiosity overcoming caution.

In ascending order: Chester, Jemima, Eggnog.

Teasel knows that Jemima is just behind the barrier---and waits to poke at her.

Daylight was late and feeble, cold, and with hoarfrost clinging to everything.

J. has been out to give Pebbles her breakfast.

J. still in outdoor Carhartts, has decided to make applesauce, one of his specialties.