It is way cold. June 2. 46 degrees. A hot day or two in between. But it's ok.
We've little invested for food growing this year.
Except for greens. Greens grow well in the cool.
But really, that's all we really eat, or need to eat.
Grains and beans and greens.
Wild Raspberries are taking over here. Now that we let them. And the grapes are doing well on their own. Growing over dead brush from hurricane Sandy. Blueberries will yield plenty but probably after we are gone. Fruit. The rest is just now obtained through support of local growers here. It's what they do to get by. Fair enough.
So many thoughts about why we get so tangled up in the doing that which unbalances the way things could just be. And be fine.
There are lots of flowers though. Just growing.
This is a photo collage. An accidental window. Lily buds over a stitched cloth I call Nine for Growth. In process.
There are thoughts about growth as Design Mending.
One thing over another and New Form. The thing that might run through it. Hold it together Because this is how my mind works. A lot.
In some simple way. I sense something IN me. The part that endures. That which does not break but bends. Does not break because it bends. Remaining ever useful.
It's a been a long time since I began the cloth we call Home.
So much time has passed. One needle. I woke up thinking that maybe the witnessing of time passing is as important as the cloth itself. (The children have been watching.) To know that it, has in itself, taken on the shape of persistence. Which clearly , on this day, I sense, once again, is the key to new form. And how we learn.
These final days with the cloth, I feel them as the most important. The freeing of the feathers and stones from the main cloth. Being one with that will stay with me forever. There is something special there. I think they have become more immediate as dream catchers. Free.
How dreams bend our waking thoughts. Give us a glimpse of the power of imagination. New eyes.
I look at these strings of feathers. What if I had sewn them all end to end. Would they reach around the world? Probably not you say. In my dreams, most definitely. I wake up. Yes they do. In so many ways not yet counted.
Hard to believe, maybe, that I am still stitching so much on this cloth but feeling at the same time that it is really done. I think that is because the uncertainty is over. Now things are just falling into place. As if I dreamed it and I have awoken to a clear day and I am just remembering a story. Not making one up.
I am refining the Four Corners.
I am also noticing the weight of the cloth. The more I add, the lighter it seems to become. I think the silk base on the earth side did that. As I quilt through, the silk has a strange effect on the drape and feel as it joins with the rest of the cloth layers. I get the impression it becomes thinner as I go. It UnDoes a kind of heaviness that has lingered through winter. In this way it is kind.
We almost had a freeze last night.
More feathers will be added to the jagged edges on this side. I may have to cut some from their backing to fit them together. Bring them closer. In this way space again becomes important, but in a different way. Less of it.
Please note... I have rebalanced and find myself with many family and friend type folks in far away places that miss me on Facebook so I have put the link back in the sidebar and will simply post there in moderation. Not really spending much time there, but there all the same.
Because little things are practice for bigger things and I want to add a ring of these to the big cloth I call Home. To me they are a form of reassurance. And a way to use some of the colors I don't usually use. Jelly Beans are like that.
And it will help me. Move on from some small sadnesses that crept in while I wasn't paying attention. And sharing what helps me might help others.
(For those subscribed to Small Journeys...I will be back to that series after April. I have taken a break to finish the Magic Feather cloth I call home. The big cloth. Which I am focused on this month. I will back track to cover any small journeys taken in the process, including this one.)
There is a bunch of thin cloth hanging between the drafty kitchen and the room we heat. The kitchen is between the studio and that warm room. I replaced the heavier one because I just couldn't stand not to have some light coming through. It helps to hold the heat. With an occasional cool breeze.
Soul-o loves it. He chases shadows and runs back and forth between the sections, especially at night when the firelight makes it seem like a dense fog in the wind.
March is a bit like a curtain between seasons. The kind you cannot pull back to see more clearly. More like a fog that lifts on it's own accord. And it's been hanging there.
I placed a square of very thin cloth (I used to test the indigo vat) over the patchwork from last week. I like what it did to the grid. It erased the lines. Made a window. But didn't destroy the sense of order. The thought. In my mind I can see through it.