here and flax

a mild but windy stretch

of winter

has really assisted my barn 

in falling apart.

so weird to see the raw inside timbers outside.

the sky

when clear

has had odd clouds

and

sometimes just hanging out

little bits of rainbows.

trying to beat fiber with sticks

and the giant mallets at zone 4--

my hands hurt so much after using them

so 

i ordered these lovely

apple and maple ones

from hook paper pottery.

the last bit of my personal paper intensive

has been all about flax.

linen rag papers

below are off cuts from new painter's canvas

i pull lovely little samples

that are business card size.

driving one morning an owl watched as i 

stopped the car,

rummaged through all my stuff in a big basket

finally finding the camera,

and finally aiming, 

owl said, enough, and flew off.

(i think it was a barred owl)

always have your camera ready to grab when you're driving!

so here's the linum usitatissimum stash

(there are about 60 more large tan sheets in the drying stack at Z4) 

dark = linen canvas cloth

tan = cut flax fiber from belguim

white = one small tablecloth, minus decorative edges
(largest sheets are about 13 x 18)

flax and linen rag paper has a fierceness about it,

it's lovely to pull

makes a delicious scent in the vat

but dries tight and cockles easily

turning the edges into potato chips 

something to understand.

i like that it's not easy.

this little sheet below

is maybe my favorite paper from this winter

sits on nigel peake's drawn grid

holding pebbles from maine.

weather change

the wind is whistling through some autumn weather right now. 

i can see the rain go sideways.

and in between

the sun shimmers hard.

autumn reminds me of each old autumn

and is entirely new 

every time. 

 sky and ochre and soil

it's serious about change.

old barn in winter

 i was talking with my son

ian

today about our old barn

 it's a place full 

of memories

for us all

but ian, somehow,

who never seemed to love it then

loves it terribly

now he is so far away

 so these little plays 

with sunshine and shadow

wendy and me

are for him

we know how you miss this place

and love this building

and respect it's spirit

and this is a place 

i'm learning a bit about

on a very cold

biting cold

almost open

 north country day

last day of zpack

 medicine done at noon.

sick day, antibiotics always get to me.

and now i will be all better! 

and my christmas present arrived.

from ian!

 it tells a story, one way or another.

 the petunias i brought inside in september have made a miracle in the kitchen

and the barn story is a narrative for me to reenter time and again.

 my toes are cold tonight, as the cold deepens. no new snow! 

gathering

i was looking for a way to better carry home the johnny jump-ups and violas i found. 

i have a clutch of violas for ice flower dyeing that i added to yesterday. with the help of a wonderful basket.

it was beautiful in the cool sunlight, golden and windy.

cerulean

and time to gather hosta leaves, too

loss

the daylight goes so quickly now, i leave in the dark and a short while after i get home it's beginning to dusk. we have a bit of the wild weather that's severe in some places, and if i were to travel 40 miles south i'd be able to ski. not here yet. this is not today's photo, the snow is no longer sticky, it's drier and blowing wildly. i wanted to show you my barn. 

this building is beginning to go, and if i don't put a new roof on soon, it will be lost. the barn holds memories for us, we had horses and ponies and angora rabbits and dairy and angora goats and sheep living in it. and a few barn cats. now there is a dead porcupine and other visitors. maybe someday i will have livestock again. the barn is a happy place, it was a dairy barn with about 13 "stanchels" when i rehabbed it for the sheep and goats. i used to go to the barn for solace, for the wonderful smell of warm livestock, to hang out with my horses. i put up many loads of hay that we cut, and later that i purchased. the kids had tire swings in the mow and sometimes slid from the mow down the hay chutes. my son draws the interior, my daughter photographs it. it is our place of memory here, our memory keeper. 

black and nothing

black friday is not in my world, for years i've avoided shopping and was pleased a couple years back when ian emailed me about buy nothing day. friday is recovery from feasting, pumpkin pie for breakfast, and enjoying time at the worktable. talking with kathy and carol. oh, and tea.

reflection on the supper we had, marc, leah, hannah and i. squash; potatoes both local and organic; chicken, heritage, local and organic from bittersweet farm. broccoli, good greens. pear pie, pumpkin, too. and maple walnut cake, syrup from camp oswegatchie. vermont farm cheeses, wine. good conversation, several toasts, four dogs: wendy, lina, gwen, and tess the puppy.

i love november, and march, the times between seasons, when the land shows her bones, when weather is changeable, and contemplation is appropriate. certain things are annoying, the mouse trapline, newly iced roads, cold fingers. soon the snow comes, it often is already here, but not this year.