With Hands and Heart

30 x 30 wall hanging created with Kansas Troubles /Moda fabrics.

Machine pieced, hand quilted.

A photo-laden post on the merits of crafting is likely redundant when it comes to my little gang of 'followers.'

Most of us who hover around a particular list of favorite bloggers are already crafters, creators, 

makers, doers.

We've tried, tested, rejected, out-grown or refined a number of different mediums before settling on the several which bring us joy. 

I well remember my frustration during Friday afternoon 'art classes' in grade school.

[We're talking 1950's here, and having rather publicly celebrated 50 years of marriage, some of you will recognize the era of which I speak!]

Art class in our one room rural school consisted of teacher choosing a season appropriate colored picture from the illustrated 'Teacher's Guide'--which contained everything from poems, skits, Christmas plays, to a variety of 'busy work' projects.

A 'pattern' was included for the art picture and this was passed from desk to desk to be traced off.

The colored page was then pinned up in sight of all and crayons or colored pencils were chosen.

I remember one such project in particular.

The picture of the day was a blue basket filled with daisies.

Simple--or so one would think.

I hadn't met up with a blue basket, but I knew several vintage baskets at my grandfather's farmhouse--all in weathered tones of brown or grey.

I colored my basket brown, shading the edges carefully--and I made yellow-petaled brown-eyed Susan's instead of white daisies.

The teacher was unimpressed with my creativity--to the point up waving my finished picture aloft in disgust and stating to the class at large, "Who would want an old brown basket?"

I fared a bit better when the traveling art teacher showed us how to make paper mache' bowls. 

We slopped cheerfully about with sodden bits of newspaper and some globbery gluey substance--but at least my bowl dried to a neat shape which was then finished with poster paint in my choice of white with terra cotta bands.

I couldn't draw--or sketch--or paint--and for years I felt regret that my appreciation of natural beauty had no creative outlet.

I honed my skills with a sewing machine during many years of making clothing for my extended 

family and friends.

Quilt making in America surged into renewed popularity following the 1976 Bi-Centennial--beautiful cotton fabrics, time-saving methods and new tools for measuring and cutting appeared for a growing market trend and caught my attention.

Detail of the wall quilt--my hand quilting is far from museum quality!

This quilt was made for J.'s cousin Gloria, to commemorate the life and death of her son, a member of the US Special Forces. Ironically, after several tours of duty to the Middle East, Glenn died in a traffic accident a few miles from his off-base apartment in Florida.

Making this quilt for Gloria, herself an accomplished crafter, was a way that I could express my sorrow. Since her son's death, Gloria has produced a number of colorful baby quilts and taken on the previously planned redecorating of her vintage New England home.

The choosing of fabrics, sewing, striping off old paint and wallpaper, rolling on fresh colors has been a creative outlet at a time when she felt that sanity might leave her.

Here are two little scented pillows of Gloria's making, such as she has sold in her gift shop.

She also carves distinctive Santa's and creates patterns for primitive dolls.

My Amish neighbor, Delila, makes quilts in the tradition of solid color fabrics.

She phoned two weeks ago to tell me that she had finished one, and would I like to see it--and bring 

my camera.

While the Old Order Amish do not approve of personal photos, Delila enjoys having a pictorial record of her quilting, so I print photos and present them to her in a clear plastic sleeve.

This quilt, pieced in "Log Cabin' type strips, mimics the popular [and difficult to make correctly ] Lone Star pattern. When I worked in the Wyoming quilt shop women from the nearby Wind River Indian Reservation brought their version which they called "Native American Star" to be finished at the shop.

The bias points of the 'stars' tend to stretch creating a tented effect in the center 

which is a quilter's nightmare. 

Linda, the shop owner, became adept at taking tiny tucks around the quilt centers as she finished the quilts with her long-arm machine. 

Delila states that she had to 'quilt out' some fullness in the center of her quilt.

Delila does the piecing on a vintage treadle sewing machine, then the  layers of the quilt, batting and lining are stretched on her wooden quilt frame.

This is the third large quilt which Delila has hand-quilted since the turn of the year.

She is casual about housework--passionate about her quilting and gardening.

Detail from the center of Delila's quilt.

Delila's quilting stitch is neater than mine.

Amish girls begin to learn quilting skills well before their teens.

I usually have several quilts in progress.

This one, a New York Beauty, is pieced over a foundation of paper which is marked with the stitching lines.

I've only made the one block which took me an entire evening of sewing time.

I doubt that I will produce sufficient of these blocks to make a bed sized quilt.

The pattern is wasteful of materials, which is a consideration.

My quilt making is hampered to a degree by the interest of my cats in 'helping'

This is Nellie, looking innocent.

My friend Gracie creates beautiful scrapbooks.

She saves maps, small items picked up on family trips, programs from events, newspaper clippings.

These, with carefully edited photos, become themed collections, cleverly presented.

When Gracie phoned last month to ask if I had scraps of fabric from my latest quilt, she mentioned that she was working on a 'project.'

I had no idea that the 'project' was a gift scrapbook for our wedding anniversary.

 Our daughter Gina, gathering photos for her own purposes, was stealthily sharing them with Gracie, who did fanciful things with them using her Photo-Shop skills.

The book was presented to us when we arrived at our anniversary celebration.

Note the tiny pieces of fabric secured to the page and anchored with appropriate embellishments.

I was with Gracie last summer when she shopped for scrap-booking supplies.

The background papers, the stamps, the tools for designing cards and memory books are very enticing.

Those who create in this medium have wonderful choices of supplies, but like any other form of crafting, the maker learns to put the mark of individuality on their creation.

A page created to show some of J.'s special interests. 

The background paper is a grassy meadow--just waiting for his tractor and mowing machine!

The book is a treasure--and was much admired at the gathering.

This photo shows quilt blocks made during the recent spell of gloomy wet weather.

I collected a number of fabrics with pansy motifs when I was in Wyoming.

The cheerful colors called to me on a rainy afternoon.

This quilt will likely become my main project for summer afternoons when the cool of my basement workroom is more inspiring than the heat of the garden.

I had the opportunity to take classes in tole painting during the three years we spent in Massachusetts--1977-1980.

Tole Painting is described as a 'method painting'--one traces the outline from a pattern book, perhaps adjusting or changing a few elements. I learned to blend artists' oils, to create dimension and shading.

It was a wonderful experience for a person who had longed to paint!

Many of the pieces I made were given as gifts, a few were sold.

These two were special favorites.

Our niece Susan created these paper-pieced potholders as a gift for me. 

You can be sure that a greasy casserole will never touch this lovely fabric art!

I plan to hang them where I can enjoy Susan's work.

Detail of one of the pieced flowers.

Susan is an expert needlewoman, my mentor, who encourages me to continue hand-quilting.

Susan has stitched her way through tragedy, ill health, many a stressful situation.

She rises early in the morning to sit quietly with her hand sewing.

Neatly organized totes travel with her to keep a current project at hand.

Susan says, "Creating is a big part of who I am."

My daughter, Gina, doesn't sew--she merely threatens to do so at some future time.

Gina's gifts of creativity are expressed in her baked goods, appealingly presented.

She has a keen eye for balance and harmony in arranging a room, decorating a mantle, for serving a meal in the various bowls and platters which her knowing eye has spotted at charity shops and yard sales.

Gina has a love affair with glue.

[I can't get near glue without creating a disaster!]

This is one of three large photo collages she put together to share our family memories.

They were displayed at the anniversary party.

A current hand-quilting project in the oval hoop/stand which Susan gave me.

I labor away at it, not becoming as skillful as I would like, but finding that the act of stitching can have a restful effect.

Hand work is calming when I must be tethered to a chair while making 'polite conversation' or waiting somewhere while J. transacts his wheeling and dealing. I can transfer this wall quilt [made with extra blocks from a king-sized quilt] to a smaller hoop as a take-along project.

There are other skills I wish I could learn: weaving, spinning, basketry, calligraphy, knitting, to name only a few.  I have worked with dried flowers, crocheted a hideous afghan or two, decorated sets of storage boxes with fabric or paper. I have refinished vintage furniture. 

There is great satisfaction in learning a craft, in gathering the 'tools and tackle and trim.'

I enjoy giving gifts that I have made with a special person in mind.

I've observed that those who 'make things' seem to have a greater degree of contentment than those who are easily bored or need the stimulation of endless shopping or outings.

When we create an item of beauty and/or usefulness, something of the delights we have accumulated, something from the 'heart' or essence of each of us, joins with the skill of our hands to produce a treasure that may be cherished well beyond our own time.

Slogging Through Summer

After the thunderstorm on Thursday evening.
I picked green beans in the morning, a back-aching sort of job.
J. dug more potatoes, then left to deliver a tractor to a buyer below the Tennessee state line.
My mid-afternoon black clouds covered the sky, thunder crashed and rain came down in torrents.

I planted sunflowers very thickly. Some have come crashing down in the

frequent rains.

This bronze-y gold one has attracted bees.

A sunflower about to be.

Cosmos, from seed saved last year, have grown to frothy greenness.

Viewed closely some have distorted stalks--again from the abuse of rain and wind.

Zinnia's also from saved seed.  These flowers prefer sunny drier weather.

The flowers and smaller and less colorful than other seasons.

Elderberries forming.

Queen Anne's Lace in meadow grass.

Stargazer lily which has blossomed today.

Friday was clear and warm--dry enough to work along the edges of the flower strips.

I sheared back the mass of leaning spent flowers--achillea, daisies, veronica--all with extra tall lanky stems.

The southernwood in the background had a tangle of spindly branches dragging on the ground--those are now clipped away.

 

Edward watched from the box elder tree as I clipped and snipped, restoring order to the herb garden by the back door.

The cats came close to wallow in the pile of fragrant clippings: lavender, lemon balm, long straggling stems of thyme.

I ruthlessly lopped the stand of catnip just across the gravel from the herbs and tossed those stems on the pile.

The cats' fur smells deliciously of sun-warmed herbs.

The wet weather has continued so long that as farmer/gardeners we are discouraged.

It is too wet for haying.

The wheat could not be harvested.

M. and G.'s garden, so promising in early June, is soggy, the plants going yellow.

Many of the potatoes we harvested are rotting just days after being brought inside.

Dealing with adverse weather is a humbling thing--no amount of clever husbandry can compensate for a bad growing season!

 

Two Days Without Rain

My upper flower garden on Saturday morning, pummeled and shattered with days and nights of rain.

The rain has meant that my plantation of coneflower seedlings hasn’t suffered transplanting shock.  The forest of twigs was meant to keep the boy-cats from enthusiastic rooting and digging.

A wet rose—’Wise Portia’--but at least not raddled by Japanese beetles.
We have been battling them on the blackberries and on the second flush of roses.

Both pink and white cleome have blossomed.  I raised these from seed and transplanted them into the new strip of garden near the clothesline.  A channel of water from the heavy rains cut through the edge of this plot, racing down the slight incline of the back field.
I spent hours weeding here on Wednesday and set out small signet marigolds as edging.  they were swept away in the rush of rain.  I found several of them washed up at the foot of the elder bush and, poking into the muddy soil jabbed them back in place. Only two of them are still where they belong.  I’m considering I may have to relocate the perennials in this strip. We haven’t experienced such persistent spells of rain the three years we’ve lived here, although several times in a season there may be a spate of rain that does damage.

Lily ‘Tiny Ghost.’ I purchased this thinking, from the name, that it would be a white lily. When I googled for info on this series of lilies I learned that the white variety is called ‘Tiny Nanna.’ A plant to keep in mind for a future purchase.

A watermelon vine in the upper veg garden—note the muddy ground.

I spent some time trying to catch a decent photo of this busy hummingbird hawk moth. It moved so quickly that most of the photos were a blur.
Sheets and towels have dried on the lines yesterday and today—and the dark clouds which rode the sky to the north moved on without dumping more rain.  The lawn is still spongy with wet, but J. managed to mow the grass. I tackled floors, sweeping, hoovering and finally mopping. The garden is providing us with wonderful Yukon Gold potatoes, cucumbers, crisp green peppers and the first of the green beans. When the garden goes into production, we eat without a great variety in our meals—fresh food tastes so good!
My PC is behaving very badly—much overdue for service. I thought to take it to the repair shop today, but realized I’ve some work to do this week which must be printed, so I’m hoping to nurse this along for a few more days rather than needing to install the printer software in my laptop.
Nothing like a balky computer for creating frustration!  I’ve resorted to Live Writer to create this post after two attempts with the usual blogger window which keeps ‘freezing up’ or giving out error alerts.
Surely no one’s world will be diminished if I can’t post for a few days.  I must say that using blogger as a journal has become a habit.

Rain: Go Away!

Yesterday afternoon, another overcast day, found me again on the front porch messing

about with my plants.

The largest rosemary now has a deep new pot.  All three rosemarys had pushed their  roots down to the bottoms of their containers and made those matted clumps which can't be unraveled and must be gently removed.  With the soil left in the sack which I purchased on Sunday, I potted on tiny lavender seedlings.

I don't know that I needed more lavender plants--although I did lose one in the herb garden, presumably to late winter damp and chill.

I attempted growing lavender from seed years ago in Vermont.  Usually the germination was poor, although I did once achieve nearly a dozen plants of Lavender, Lady.

Last spring I had lavenders to tuck in the herb garden and several to give away.

In the April exuberance of stopping by a rack of seed packets I purchased lavender seeds which came mixed with a starting medium, the plan being that one dumped the whole on top of a pot of soil.

I did just that, and suspect that every seed 'took.'

I now have more than two dozen lavender seedlings growing on in an assortment of recycled plastic pots.

[And I steeled myself to toss out half a dozen that were spindly!]

Above you can see two flourishing rosemarys that I started from seed in 2012 and wintered under a flourescent light in the basement.

Two small achillea need a home somewhere in the garden.

The nasturtiums aren't looking hardy--some voracious bug chomped them nearly to death before I bought a new shaker of rotenone to drive them away.

I plonked a few of my remaining signet marigolds in pots, then traipsed out to the clothesline flower strip to pull up encroaching grass and distribute the remaining marigolds along the front edge, pulling out the dried stems of poppies to make room.

I inched my way around one long and one short side of the small plot before sprinkles of rain began to spatter. Casting a baleful eye on the sky I yanked out several large grass clumps on the far side of the patch before deciding that I didn't wish to be rained upon.

We woke to rain and to evidence that rain had fallen during most of the night.

The boy cats insisted on charging outside as usual, milling about in the wet yard and returning, sodden-furred, to collapse on the nearest bed.

Edward landed damply on my lap, purring winsomely.

I patted him, which encouraged him to climb onto the desk where he stomped, purring, in front of the computer screen.

My services were commandeered by J. who wanted an assortment of items posted on craigslist.

I complain when asked to do this, as craigslist is terribly balky, 'timing out' when the photos are meant to be loading. The system was especially slow and irritating today, making it necessary to reattempt loading the photos several times.

Flowers hang heavy with rain.

Puddles stand in the driveway and in the back yard.

J.'s rain gauge shows a fall of about 2 inches since last evening with more rain in the forecast for at least three days to come.

J. ventured out to inspect the garden and snatch a handful of green beans, a crisp green pepper and several cucumbers.

I went downstairs, thinking that a bit of fire wouldn't go amiss to thwart the damp chill

seeping into the house.

This lead to the not surprising discovery that the drain in the outside basement stairwell was clogged and water running over the floor in the back hallway of the basement.

J. used plunger and rods to lift out the usual leaves and such which manage to get through the drain cover.

I made soup--an unusual meal for the 4th of July!

There has been no hint of sunshine, just green darkness.

I try not to think of the winter wheat standing in the squelching field--grain that was ready for the combine two weeks ago--our cash crop for this season.

We lease our large north field to a local crop farmer on shares--the wet summer has delayed the planting of soybeans, the harvest of wheat, the fertilizing of corn which stands yellowing in the wet in fields around the county.

J. quoted grimly this morning the old adage, "A dry year will scare you to death and a wet year will starve you to death!"

Matilda the Flying Pig [an anniversary gift from friends] stands guard on her metal stake, overloking the herb plot.

I've dashed out with debris for the garbage heap, dumped tins in the recycling bin.

I've put a load of laundry through the washer and dryer, knowing that a 'drying day' is not in the forecast.

I've made a mug of green tea to fortify myself.

Time to tip Edward's black and white furry bulk from my lap and trudge downstairs

to my sewing machine.

I can always make quilts when it is too wet to tend the garden.

Garden Chores

During the recent two weeks when we had family staying a good deal of the time, I didn't work in my flower gardens.

The weather has been on a roll of partially cloudy/overcast with brief, but torrential late afternoon showers which give way to shimmering misty evenings.

Clumps of grass and weeds have burgeoned in the perennial strips.

Seedlings in small pots on the front porch have crowded out of their space, badly in need of settling into the garden.

The lower perennial strip alongside the driveway has had less attention than the upper strip.

I started it in the summer of 2010 primarily as a place for rugosas and other shrub roses.

I have relied on seed-started perennials and a very few nursery plants to 'fill in' between the roses.

This has resulted in quite a ragged appearance.

Gina purchased a number of potted plants at the Amish auction when she and her family arrived in April, 2011. As the weeks went by before they could move into their own home, most of the plants were stuck into the lower strip. The lupines, which I admired, languished and didn't reappear the following spring.

Several pots of verbena rigida managed to take over about 10 feet of the garden, pushing up around the roses, rooting into the lawn, threatening to crowd out all other plants.

On Friday I decided the verbena needed to go away--all of it!

I began loosening colonies of it only to find that tough, stringy, yellow roots ran in all directions.

Its capacity for sending out runners would rival the mints, as verbena rigida sends roots down as well as outward from the main plant.

Often I would seize the exposed portion of a root, yank on it and find that it extended several feet, entangled with the tidy roots of coneflower and monarda lambada.

I dug, pulled, unraveled, dug some more. I used a sharp-pointed slender trowel to root out plants which had spread into the grass strip between the perennial borders.

Several hours later, with a heap of wilting stems and wiry roots to dispose of, I realized that my forearms were welted with stinging scratches.

Googling the plant later, I discovered that a common name is 'sandpaper verbena!' 

Only a few sites which picture and describe the plant advise that is is 'invasive!'

With the area cleared [I hope] and raked, I began fetching small plants from my stock on the front porch: Achillea, Spanish Foxglove, several varieties of Coneflower.

Given the enthusiasm of my feline 'helpers' I have hedged my seedlings with a forest of protective sticks broken from the slender water maple branches which litter the back lawn after each heavy rain.

 

I have two coneflowers bought as potted plants, both in sunset hues. Most of my coneflowers, such as this one, have been started from seeds.

They are hardy, surviving heat and drought, remaining upright in all but the fiercest of wind and rain.

My flower gardening is increasingly about sturdy plants which I can start from seed and divide when they become established.

The achillea in the foreground was candy pink as it opened and has faded to a softer shade.

It is from a seed mixture labeled as 'pastels.'  Others in the mix have proved to be creamy yellow,

buff, pale salmon.

The Shasta daisies were also started from seed last season.

The pink phlox was from a mail order nursery and is so pleasing that I'm considering ordering

other colors.

The ground on this side of the drive slopes slightly to the south  and would have been a good place for terraced beds.

In my most improbable horticultural daydreams I think of building raised beds here with gravel walks between.  [Not a likely happening!]

 

The combination of phlox, daisies and several shades of achillea is so pleasing that I walk about  taking photos from all angles.

Friends from our church attended our anniversary party armed with a potted tree lily called 'Tiny Hope.'

The label shows a dark red flower and specifies that the lily will mature to 15 inches.

On Sunday morning--with a gift card burning a hole in my wallet--I walked through the so-called garden center at the local Wal Mart, not really expecting to find anything appealing.

What I discovered was 3 pots of 'Tiny Ghost' a white lily in the miniature series.

They have joined  the dark red one in the garden space so laboriously cleared on Friday.

It isn't often that I appear in photos [which is just as well, I think!]

A brief hard rain accompanied by crashing thunder, Monday afternoon, left us with clear skies and much cooler temperatures for the evening. During most of the storm I sheltered on the front porch, repotting two of my large rosemarys which have been looking rather sad.

The poor things had sent a tangle of roots into the bottoms of their pots.

They have been gently re-homed in larger pots with some coarse sand mixed into potting soil.

After the storm, SIL Matt walked up from home and borrowed my camera to zoom in on a heron that circled the dooryard and then went to rest in a treetop near the creek.

I didn't know that he was zooming in on me as well!

This photo, taken as he walked up the drive, gives a strangely fore-shortened view of the big rock near the long drive and makes the garage appear much closer than in reality.

I rooted clumps of grass and violets from around the big rock and put in signet marigolds and a few other rather wispy seedlings.

As I bent to pick up my muddy weeds, M. called out that only children play in mud!

As you can see my patched jeans are soaked to above the knees.

My feet in flip-flop sandals were wet and cold.

Bobby McGee, my helper was wet to his furry armpits.

               My fingernails have required much scrubbing and my hands are not those of a lady!

Carting off my muddy debris, quite chilled and ready for a hot shower and a mug of tea.

It was near dark by the time I  put away my tools, lined up seedling pots on the porch and swept away the litter of soil and greenery which I had created.

Oddly, the sky shows brighter in the photo than it was and the mauve and coral of the sunset is diminished.

Pebbles, the old horse, stands outlined against the sky and the barn is a stark outline.

My cold feet were slipping in my soaked sandals, the legs of my muddy jeans were clinging unpleasantly.

It was time to call it quits for the day!