August Nights

August 12, 2012 by

I love that moment that comes in the evenings now, when the air switches to cool and the land around this house doesn’t look as sun burnt in the slanted sunset light.  I take out my ponytail, step out of the Airstream, and walk down the drive with the hum and spatter of the irrigation in the upper horse pasture making my little world oasis-like.  These are the August nights.

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I had a good day but a frustrating day out in the studio.  My mind is rushing and rambling with so many different ideas right now, it’s hard to draw together a cohesive design and go with it.  I’m bouncing all over the place, form to form, texture to texture, notion to notion — worse than I usually do, because let’s face it, my work is very often all over the place.  I rarely can stick to one thing, one series, and see it through to the end. For a long time I thought something was wrong with that, but I know now that it’s just how I work.  I make my way through wide circles, come back to ideas, again and again, over the expanse of time.  Things are never really laid to rest.  Not completely.  I wonder, from time to time, if I’ll ever be more steady with my personal aesthetic, with my work, if I’ll ever be one of those metalsmiths who makes a smattering of things that all look relatively the same…because I’ve found my thing and stick to it come heck or high water.  I like the look of so many different elements…perhaps the trick is to take all those different details and draw them together into single entities, single pieces of work that embody all that I love.  Gosh.

I’m feeling rushed.  I have a friend coming to visit at the end of the month, in just two short weeks, and know that part of the discombobulation of the studio work today was just me, trying to rush settling into the creative habit again after having house guests last week, trying to reach that point of rightness in my workspace before I have to give it up again.  Time feels short.  The end of summer draws nigh.  Being out of the studio, being out of the ordinary, changes my rhythm into something new and it sometimes takes me weeks to find my stride again with creative work.  I try to be patient with myself, but I can get a bit strung out while I wait to settle in to life again.  I sense our transition out of the Methow Valley and back home to Idaho coming closer and I already feel disrupted by the shadow of the move.  I fight hard to stay in the moment.  When friends phone me up and ask me out, I say yes, because I don’t want to miss out on building those relationships, on building those beautiful bridges with people I’m growing to love —  I’m not really ready to go.  Not now.  Not yet.  Getting here took so much energy.  Hopefully, going back takes less.

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I miss our friends in Pocatello.

I miss my bed.

I miss my houseplants.

I miss my ocean of sagebrush, my chickens, my little red Toyota Tacoma truck, my wardrobe, my Frye boots, my green tea kettle, my ceramic coffee cup collection, my weird kitchen, my beautiful tranquil living room, Scout Mountain in the sunrise, College Market coffee, Vain & Vintage…but depending on my mood, I don’t miss any of it at all.  Isn’t that strange?  The geography of my heart is so divided between here, Idaho and Canada that half the time I’m just walking around suspended in the windshine around me and when I stop to think about it, that’s not really such a bad thing.

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All The Trees

August 10, 2012 by

I went huckleberry hunting with the girls last night, the forest smelled like some sort of miraculous, freshly baked berry pie, zingy and stain-your-fingers-magenta.  Just gorgeous.  Our berry picking area was just down a slope from what is believed to be the biggest tree in this forest district so we went to visit that old grandfather and he was a real beauty.

For a tree in the interior West, this is a really huge, ancient ponderosa pine.  It took three of us to wrap the trunk in a complete hug.  The bark smelled of warmth, sugar honey and caramelized sunshine.  I couldn’t help but wonder how many forest fires this tree has survived.  How often it has nearly been struck by lightning, or struck at all, over the centuries.  I wondered how many birds have built nests in its branches, how many mountain lions have scampered up its trunk, how many people have leaned up against it in a contemplative moment, how many woodpeckers have taken bugs from its trunk, how deep its roots sink into the earth…I wondered a lot about this beautiful grandfather tree.  I wondered how many generations of trees it has sired and if they know each other by name and sing a family anthem when the wind blows through their glimmering needles, and let’s take a moment to be honest here, no tree glimmers like a ponderosa pine in the sunshine.

I love ponderosa pine forests.  They might be one of my very favorite forests of all.  They are peaceful, spacious and kind.  The combination of reddish trunks with merry green crowns is chroma-textural and striking.  A ponderosa pine forest is a bright place to be.  The coastal forests always seem so dark and dripping to me and feel almost oppressive when I am in them — like the dense, black spruce forests of interior Alaska — there’s so much darkness wrapped around the green.  But a ponderosa pine canopy does such a magnificent job of filtering light and holding light.  The forest floor beneath the trees is always dry, warm, and spicy, especially on hot summer days.

In the summer, when I step under a pondi and simply breathe deep, I feel filled up with sun cinnamon, I speak in waves of light, my heartbeat is refraction.

I’ve been thinking about trees for a couple of weeks now and have come to realize that there’s nothing else on earth that lives a life of service quite like a tree.  They spend their entire lives serving the forest they belong to, the dirt between their roots, the air and wind on our planet, the birds in their branches and the animals that populate the ground beneath them.  We, as humans, lean up against them when we read our books that are printed on tree flesh, we climb them to get better views or to reach bird nests or to rescue our cats, we sigh with relief when we step inside the shade of their canopies on the hottest days, we nap beneath them, we plant them in thick rows to protect the topsoil of our fields, we cut them down and burn them to keep ourselves warm, we harvest them and build our homes, our cities, our barns out of them, we craft our rocking chairs out of their bodies (canoes, fences, cradles, kitchen tables…), we print our money on the backs of trees, we make maps out of trees so we know where we’re going, we write love letters with trees, we blow our noses with trees, make grocery lists with trees, we pour the life blood of trees on our pancakes and cry out “YUM!” with every forkload of waffle that makes it to our mouth.  Our lives are so deeply entwined with trees, in every way, every moment of the day.

Trees live their lives in service to us.  And in their death, they serve us still.

Yesterday evening, when I hugged the grandfather ponderosa pine, pressed my nose against his jigsaw bark and breathed deep his sweet summer scent, I felt a flood of gratitude for how hard this tree has worked to stand steady over the centuries, for all the trees he has sired, for the beauty of the mountains around me, for the strength and girth of his tree trunk and for the beauty of the history I could see written across the plates of his skin.  And I thanked God for all the trees.  All the beautiful trees.

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Meet Titus McFlightus

August 7, 2012 by

Well, good morning to you all!  I hope you had a fine weekend.  I’ve been meaning to do an official blog post about the cedar waxwing chick I have been taking care of for the past couple of weeks but have been so busy catching him grasshoppers to eat and trying to keep up with every day life that I just haven’t been able to find time to.  But this morning, there is a small window of time available for me to give you an official introduction and explanation of how this little bird came to be in my care.

This is Mister Titus McFlightus.  He is a Cedar Waxwing chick.

Over at the smokejumper base, he was found in the grass beneath a tree and it was presumed that he fell out of his nest before it was time.  The boys took care of him for a day or so, Robert called me multiple times to try to get to me fetch the poor thing and bring him home to care for him and I  was rather wary of this plan, not because I didn’t think I could care for a little bird, but because I knew I would fall in love with it and if it died I would be terribly sad.  You know, little birds are delicate things, you don’t know how delicate until you’re trying to keep one alive.  We went out to pizza that night, with all the boys, and one of them had Titus in the breast pocket of his button down shirt and he was so tiny then with hardly any wings and just a nubbin of a tail and I wound up taking him home that night and have been his happy little human slave ever since.

Having a wild animal as a pet is such a romantic way of living.  I’ve always wanted to have something wild to take care of and live with.  But I have to tell you something very important — wild things are very wild and they are never really tamed.  Also, they’re a lot of work.  I had no idea that Titus would eat between six and eight breakfasts before noon, every day.  I feed him cherries, blueberries and raspberries along with living grasshoppers of varying sizes that I catch by hand outside our home here.  He asks me for food constantly.  And I have to feed him!  So I do.  But it is a tremendous amount of work and it’s only because I work from home and have an alternative work schedule that I can make this a possibility, and for that I am glad, but I just wanted to make it clear that raising a wild little baby bird is not for everyone and one should seriously consider the responsibility before making the commitment.

I know.  I know.  He’s just a little bird.  But I already love him a bit and I want him to live and be healthy and happy.  I really don’t want to fail at this so I am dedicated to the work, no matter the amount of work, and in that way, it’s been a real growing experience for me, raising Titus as his mother bird would.

Now let it be known, catching live grasshoppers for this little bird is very icky work.  I don’t have a love for grasshoppers.  I am from the Canadian prairies where the grasshoppers grow up to be the size of pick-up trucks and their nasty, grinding mandibles are like backhoe scoops clawing away, ripping and tearing at things.  Don’t even get me started on their horny, thorny feet.  Ugh.  Well, I’ve had to overcome my disgust of the darn things because I probably handle about 30 or more a day now — such nasty mastication machines dribbling their horrible tobacco juices.  Titus is a little bit racist and prefers the hoppers with green skin (their skin seems to be less woody, if that makes sense, they are softer, more pliable, easier to swallow).  I oblige him when I am able.  He also prefers his cherry meat without the skin, for the most part, unless he’s really hungry.  So I peel him most of his cherries as well.  He eats a couple of times an hour.  Sometimes, if I’m in the middle of work, I just feed him whenever I am able to take a break which can sometimes be every hour and a half or so — longer stretches.  I just feed him when I can, as often as I can.

Last week, when he was needier, I was having to take him to the smokejumper base to be babysat by the boys while I was out running errands.  It was hard to get anything done.  I have to be very watchful about keeping doors and windows closed.  Additionally, I have to constantly watch to make sure the cats and dogs are not coming in the house when he is out of the safety of the sun room.  I really am his bird mother.

He is now beginning to fly around, quite a lot, larger distances.  Our house is a high ceiling-ed cabin style home  and he’s always perching up on the side beams in the rafters and zooming about the kitchen when he’s in the mood to zoom.  It can get him in trouble.  He fell in the dishwater  a few days ago.

He’s quite the sassy fellow in the mornings.  When I wake up, I immediately find him two grasshoppers outside,  let him out of his sleep basket in the sun room, feed him those bugs because he’s going berserkers asking for food (flapping his wings, gaping, cheeping and jumping off the floor).  In the kitchen, I place him on the window perch in the sunshine and immediately give him a few pieces of cherry meat as well as two droplets of water from my fingertip to hydrate him.  I pour him a shallow bird bath in a dish and place him in the water if he doesn’t hop down himself.  Then begins his wild little ablution circus.  I wish you could see it in person.

When he is finished bathing, he is quite pleased with himself.  I place him back on his perch in the sun where he drys and fluffs his feathers in the warmth of the day.

Having him and caring for him has been special.  I know I said it’s a lot of work, and it is, but it’s a lot of fun too.  I won’t fib about that.

So there you have it!  The small and mighty Mister Titus McFlightus.  I’ll give him a kiss on his dapper little beak for you.

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A Lovely Little Friday Giveaway:::NOW CLOSED

August 3, 2012 by

Congrats to Jen, commentress number 12!

Thanks to you all for your really lovely comments, smiley faces and general sweetness.  I always enjoy doing giveaways for you.

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I am, really quite simply, having such a beautiful Friday.  I slept in a little.  When I rolled out of bed I went hopper hunting for wee Mister Feathers and we ate breakfast together.  Me, a latte and a blueberry scone.   He, bugs and berries.

I cleaned house, chatted on the telly with a dear friend, and accepted two packages from the UPS man:  new hikers and an elk hide.  I began reading Freckles again, which is one of my favorite books of all time.  I just ordered a copy of it this morning and will be giving it away here, on the blog, once it arrives by post.  I’m looking forward to that giveaway.  Everyone should read this book, it’s such a treasure.  I had a handful of errands to run in town but Robert took the truck to work so I hopped on my bike, pedaled over to the jump base to get the mail key from my fella before riding the four miles into town on the country highway here.  I had my hair in a braid, a fedora on my head, my skirt hiked up around my knees and a good dribble of sweat trickling down the small of my back — it was sunny and breezy and everything that a summer bike ride should be so I was in some kind of blissed out heaven when I reached the air conditioned thrift store and found this beautiful little salmon orange Fiesta tea cup and saucer!  I knew it was meant for one of you so I snaggled it up and then purchased a bag of locally roasted coffee beans so you have something to put in the cup.

Backcountry Coffee Roasters Smokejumper Italian Roast:  A fearless blend with a strong sweet side, intense rich flavor and slightly smoky aroma –roasted right here in Winthrop!  I brew this coffee most mornings and quite love the taste of it.  The smirky name is just the cherry on top.

If you’d like to enter your name in the drawing for this little bag of coffee beans and cup and saucer, just leave a comment on the end of this post (no less, no more) and I’ll draw a winning name on Monday.  If you win and you don’t drink coffee, just let me know, and I’ll send you tea instead.  I’ll ship anywhere so if you aren’t in the beautiful USA, please do not hesitate to enter your name in this drawing.

My giveaway packages always end up being care packages, so, to the winner I say this:  Look forward to receiving a little more than you expected — teacup, coffee beans, bits of  jewelry, music, beautiful feathers, bones, sea shells, postcards…etc.  It’s merry and good fun.  And I have to confess, when I get emails from the gals who win my little giveaways, and I find out that my packages arrived at the perfect moment, right when a gal needed some soul bolstering, it feels really good to have shared and gifted.  It is my very great joy to bless you, especially since you have blessed me, by being in my world, so often and so sweetly.

Have a gorgeous weekend, you darling beauties.  Stay cool.

XX

The Plume

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A Small Fleet of Sunshine

August 2, 2012 by


[citrine & sterling silver]

Sometimes I make fleets of jewelry.  I like to see everything, of like kind, lined up on a surface — shimmering and glimmering.

Recently, a friend gave me a book (rather, a compendium) that details the properties of the mineral kingdom.  I don’t tend to get too hippy dippy about stones and gems but I really like this book.  I think the world, the universe, is creatively designed.  Everyone has their own opinion on the topic, and that’s a-ok by me.  That said, if our bodies get vitamin D by being out in the sun, if aloe is good to drink and slather on the skin, if tomatoes are rich in lycopene, if kale is thrumming with antioxidants, if copper relieves symptoms of arthritis, if chamomile can help put us to sleep, why shouldn’t rocks and minerals have metaphysical properties and why shouldn’t we pay attention and be intentional about which stones we wear on our bodies as we go about our days?

The world I live in is brilliant and full of things that can kill or heal my body, mind and soul — yours too.  I’ve been taking a closer look at crystals and minerals to see if there’s anything there that might help me on my way through life.

That said, citrine is a wonderful stone and is said to act to stabilize the emotions, to dispel anger, to encourage one to look toward the sunrise, the freshness of beginnings and the reality of excellence.  It stimulates both mental focus and endurance and can aid in digestion too!

It’s a brightening stone!  Sunspun, one of the November birthstones.

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I have five of these little citrine beauties finished and will stock the shop later this afternoon.  May they all go to the ladies who need them most!

Shine on, sweet beauties.

X

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