Lost Arts studio

A lot of the fiber arts I enjoy are things like tatting, netmaking, chair caning, and even weaving, where people will come up to me when I demonstrate and solemnly tell me, "That's a lost art."

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Location: SW Outer Nowhere, Michigan, United States

On the Internet, nobody knows you're a chicken. (With apologies to Peter Steiner.)



12 April 2006

A Little Progress

I spent my morning taking my husband's car to get the brakes fixed.

Since that meant sitting and waiting, I took the cotton-candy socks, the fancy knitted dishcloth, and a book. Naturally I had to mess about with the pattern. If the original cloth was nine "X"s in a tic-tac-toe grid, I am making mine as nine "O"s.

It is coming along fine. I am not sure what the original is made of. I assume cotton, but the drape is much more limp than mine of crochet cotton. Maybe perle cotton, about size 3? I have some of that, but I'd need to use a 14" needle. My purl ridges are really welting up. It is not going to resemble the original in texture, even if I followed the pattern exactly, that is becoming clear.

After I got home, Spring led me outdoors. For years I have wandered around my yard with a trowel, moving purple scented violets around. Any place that was hard to mow, like close to trees, or up against the driveway retaining wall, I put violets. I think I have them every possible place now.

I also have white ones, that bloom about a week later. Every year I think I don't have enough white ones, and then they start growing up above the grass, and I find them everywhere.

Then blooming last of all, I have light lavendar ones. These don't spread very fast, and I encourage them wherever I find them. I would post a picture, but it's dark out. My fingernails are looking pretty dark, too.

In the evening, the dogs barked at a loose dog up on the hill, over in the neighboring hayfield. I took a walk over there, and ended up sitting on the rockpile just over the edge of the field, listening to one meadowlark sing "deedle-oo, tweedle-oo". There were four enormous tulip trees growing on the steep slope in pairs. Each pair had one tall straight tree and one bent, gnarled tree, and a huge rock by the bottom of the trunks. I sat out there, and I didn't think. I just sat and smelled and listened and watched. Spring was everywhere in the green grass and the misty evening air.

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