So – I've been sick. Not hugely ill, but sit peacefully on the end of the couch and knit levels of sick. And I decided to work on getting better at two color/two handed knitting, with some limited success. I finished the applied i-cord edgeing last night, and the directions say "pat it, admire it, photograph it, and then felt it"

So I did. This is the before felting picture. It is kind of huge and floppy, which generally means it will compact nicely when run through the washing machine.

I have to keep remembering it takes me a couple of tries to get a new thing. I applied i-cord edging 3 different times before it suddenly looked reasonable, and felt correct. I'm really grateful to the people who post you-tube videos and tutorials for how to do these things.

I'll report back after the felting process…

Part of a commission I worked on today – a single file of 5 horses headed downhill, in front of (or under?) a sunset. The sunset was fun! I dyed silk organza in six different shades of pink, yellow and orange, and then experimented with layering them in different orders. I twas startled at how much difference the order made, especially the top two colors. The end result is a little garish; I may have to tone it down somehow.

Alice's first day as a sophmore. In High School.

For most of one summer, Al and George and I rode our bicycles together. Every weekend we'd mount up and set off, arriving home sometimes the same day, sometimes the next. Together we traveled over almost every inch of paved road between the Holyoke Range and the Vermont border to the north and south, and out to the hill towns on the east and west of the river. We joked about never believing a Bridge Closed sign all that summer. We crawled over and under obstacles and dragged our bikes with us so we could see what was on the other side of all those enticing bridges. One bridge was well and truly out, under construction, and we had to wade across the stream.  It was that or go back. Which would be boring.

Our exertions brought us to some really beautiful places. I still remember those rides with pleasure. And where ever we see a Bridge Closed sign, Al and I scope it out, and generally agree we could make it across. The road on the other side always looks enticing.

One of my favorite places in the valley is in the middle of the river. I am not sure if that counts as only one place, because I suppose technically it is a long line. Except the easiest way to get to the middle of the river on a regular basis on foot is on a bridge. This is a view from the Sunderland bridge looking north, across the end of First Island. The next island north is Second Island, and the third is, you guessed it, Third Island. Further north, Sunderland stops and other people have the naming of the islands. 

They are ephemeral in geological time, migrating across the river, and increasing and decreasing as the river itself moves. I've watched First Island expand to twice the width it had in the 1980's, and the channel on the east side get deeper and faster.

Aerin comes home tonight! Well, shortly after midnight, so tomorrow really, but I will still be awake, so it will feel like part of today, and I will hug her and squeeze her and be so pleased to see her!

Queen Anne's Lace is one of those things I grew by mistake, but I am pleased it is here. I used to pick it for the girls to dye different colors by adding food color to the water. When they were wilted and dreadful, I'd toss them into the garden, where apparently they have volunteered and thrived.

Like ferns, these are self-similar, and like ferns, I can fall into the details of the blossom, admiring the levels of umbels and umbellets and tiny flowers. I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to print Queen Anne's Lace, with no success at all. This idea has come closer than most.

I finally managed to finish a couple pieces over the last two days. Focus helps, as does an air conditioner in the studio, and a rainy day. Good weather still means horses take precedence!

My mother notices things. I think it is a super power, partly because she mostly notices pretty and interesting things. And when she notices, she also points out, so traveling with her is an education in looking closer. She names the flowers by the side of the road, and chicory is a favorite, I think because of the ambiguity of the color, an in between, purpley-blue, or bluey-purple. It is permanently tagged in my head as 'ambiguous chicory blue'. I was trying to catch the elegance of the color against the woody stems.

I have a lot of thread. I have a lot of different threads. They inhabit two large boxes, roughly sorted by color. The greens are tricky because some are with the yellows and some are with the blues. The purples are all together, the reds and pinks are all together – the sorting is courtesy of Alice and Red Kate who brought order to the jumbled box and put like with like.

In a long conversation with Jane (Hi Jane!!) on the ferry home from Long Island we talked about fabric and then I started waxing rhapsodic about threads. The above shows a tiny bit about why.

Variegated cotton threads from Valdani, Sulky and King Tut are relatively easy to find. Handdyed threads from Oliver Twists are gorgeous, and luxurious, but expensive. Rayons are shiny and pop, but cotton sinks into the surface, and gives a more cohesive look to the finished piece.

Timna correctly pointed out that this barn is more integrated into the work than the previous barn. I am very pleased with this one! I'm looking forward to Lesley's reaction when I bring it to the gallery on Wednesday.