mayday

it feels like spring today. 

the promise kept.

two good trees 

spruce and butternut 

this went down in april 

 remains of the milkhouse

mosquito nesting ground

photographer's sarcophagus 

 no insect activity

yet 

but a woman with 

green striped socks

waits 

 she matches these 

fiddleheads

protected by down

deliberate?

oh, no

 my 

reward for this

winter of hard times 

 

the fiber of winter

 disappearing

under the green frayed cloth

of may

it's mayday

today i put out 

hummingbird feeders

a huge commitment 

as far as i can tell

 finished the pure hosta

added a little abaca

ready for milkweed pulp 

tiny sheets

a tiny home

and blackflies are swarming

not biting much

yet.

more paper

i came home and walked wendy 

to her delight

 then made a few hosta sheets 

wet, greenish. 

i dry these on boards

they are very high shrinkage, so when they start to peel 

and they always do

(almost)

i'll bring them in the house and use blotters and weight to finish drying.

vat still hostaful

guardian of the paper mill

(not pleased by the camera)

 we went back out to check

 saw a surprise

was seen by a surprise

(besides the greening meadow)

curiosity

some papers

i've been making paper

first the amazing golden hosta (remember?) 

and this second batch is smaller

greener.

hosta

field retted

remained uncooked

gin petty writes of how ornery it is, 

always cockles, no matter how much restraint in the drying.

that's my experience also, but i don't actually mind.

much.

doctor says to inspect my finger in two weeks.

if there's no healing, it will be time for the orthopedic surgeon.

cross your fingers for me,

please.

golden paper

when there is good energy in the mill, when i'm teaching and people are really learning... 

i am able sometimes to continue that energy

with magic of my own.

this is hosta leaf paper
which is usually gray 

i cooked them late last fall 

they spent the winter in a paint strainer bag

retting and waiting for me to rinse, hydrate, and make paper.

i did, 

golden sheets, 

remind me of the ochre that disappears 

as spring creeps into the fields. 

 captured here briefly

i hate loosing the bleached colors of winter. 

winter papers. 

gone, 

but will return.
frost said:
nothing gold can stay
can the reverse be true?