Gold in the Back Forty

131027 Mushrooms This was an amazing sight to me the other day when I walked into the back forty.  It has been COLD for the past week and it was more than unexpected to see mushrooms growing.  The photograph doesn’t really do justice to how beautiful they are.  They are iridescent, like a pot of gold by a stump. They glowed on a cold, overcast day.

These mushrooms are called Honey Mushrooms (Armillaria mellea). I had to ask my sister for a direction in identification and after a little research found a great description on The 3 Foragers.

As beautiful as they are the thought of cooking and eating them never crossed my mind.  The extent of my foraging is stumbling upon mushrooms of some sort, looking them up to see what they are and moving on.  “Mushrooms are poisonous” was drilled into my childhood brain.  Even mushroom foragers have a saying –  there are bold mushroom hunters, and there are old mushroom hunters — there are no old, bold mushroom hunters.

Words to live by.

Dogs, Dogs, Dogs

131027 DogsYou should all be happy this is a still and not video.  This is the kind of attention you get when you pick up the squeaker that has recently been removed from a toy and use it for your own entertainment.  Even the dog that HATES squeakers was in for the game.  It was more powerful than food.  No one got it in the end – it was for my entertainment only. No dogs were harmed in the making of this photograph.

Weaving Wednesday – Round Robin 6

131029 WeavingThis week I decided to tackle the False Satin Blocks in 10/2 mercerized cotton.  I chose a buttery yellow for the weft.  I sat down at this loom last week and simply could not do this.  I was over thinking to the point where I just had to walk away. I didn’t understand what the selvages were doing, the sheds weren’t opening the way they were supposed to, ugh! (Of course if I had just waited and asked a question or two that might have helped).  I spent the entire week fretting about this whole set up.  8 shafts intimidate me, I’m not sure why.  I think it was just out of my comfort zone right then. I was looking for meditation last week, this week I was up for the challenge.

I sat down and wove this without a single issue this week.  I think having my head in a different place made all of the difference.  I wasn’t distracted.

Pam had to unweave a Navajo rug she was working on because there was a problem with how it was warped.  She was trying to fix and then re-warp the frame.  Her cat, Fred decided he would help her out.

131029 Fred (1)Fred loves the studio.  He is always there, waiting for a pat or cuddle (or food).  He helped Pam read her measurements – we all know tempting any owner reading a paper of any kind is. I think he was just in tune to her frustration and was working on a little comic relief.

131029 Fred (2)He did a very good job.

 

 

 

Family Flat File

131027 File (1)

There is a flat file in one of the old workrooms at the house in Rowe. It is probably 3 feet wide and 20+ inches deep ( I haven’t measured it yet).  The room that it has been in for as long as I can remember has a tendency to be pretty damp in the spring and summer.  Not having a dehumidifier has caused a lot of strange molds to grow in and on things that have been around for an extended length of time.  When my brother and I were cleaning out the room I laid claim to this particular piece.  It was used by my father, grandfather and I would hazard to guess my great-grandfather as well.

I decided that I would repurpose the box itself as a table in the living room.  It will need a base to bring it to height, that in itself solves one of its problems.  You see this was a utilitarian piece and was “modified” over the years.  It was filled with nuts and bolts, manuals and instructions, tools, spare and used parts.  It also had a collection of my father’s elementary school papers.  I cleaned out each drawer, everyone having its own story to tell.  Electrical in one drawer, old pocket calendars and date books from the 30’s in another.  There were probably 2 drawers of tools and parts for looms which seems to be an ever-present theme in every work room or shop on the property.

I kept what I could in a couple of boxes and set them aside.

The entire unit smelled of mildew so I pulled out all of the drawers and decided to let it dry and air out.  It’s been doing that for over a year now.  This past weekend I started cleaning it up. It cleaned as well as can be expected since it has probably close to century’s worth of dirt and grime on it.  It no longer smells.

I’m in kind of a quandary about my next move.  This thing is splattered in spots with paint (what looks like white paint in the photo above is actually a really reflective silver).  There is some green paint splattered on the side of the cabinet towards the back.  To strip and refinish or to leave it alone other than a bit more clean up.  I could just redo the top making it a little smoother (the varnish is crackled at this point).  I am more inclined to leave it the way it is and make up stories about what has happened to it over the years. All kinds of stories were in my head as I cleaned the stuff out of it.  If there wasn’t so much mold and mildew I might have just left some of the drawers the way they were. It felt as though the ghosts of generations past were still in there.

Bill thought if I was to strip it I could bring it to people we know who refinish furniture and have them do it. I told him the little secret that really made this piece special to me.  There are greasy fingerprints all over the bottoms of each of the drawers and I didn’t want them to disappear.  They are the prints of three generations of working men in my family and that spoke to me more than anything else.  I don’t want anything to happen to that aspect of it. The amazing part for me it the fact that no one will know about that little secret unless the drawers are removed.  For me this is what has made a piece of junk into an heirloom.

131027 File (2)

The Party’s Over, but the Sheep Don’t Seem to Notice

131027 SheepMy neighbor has four sheep.  They are curious creatures, staring at me the entire time I am outdoors within earshot (they always move into viewing range when they hear any of us outside).

The glorious colors of this autumn are a distant memory. There are a few trees with some leaves hanging on, the blackberry bushes still are beautiful.

The leaves this fall were spectacular, better than I’ve seen in years.  The traffic on Route 2 was worse than I can recall in recent memory.  I take a certain satisfaction is knowing that I can avoid driving that route by taking back roads with the bonus being better views of the foliage.  I have always looked at the “leaf peepers” with a small measure of disdain.  How dare they cause these crazy traffic problems on an otherwise lightly travelled road?  What are they thinking driving 20 mph and stopping suddenly to take a photograph of particularly colorful maple.  These are my trees.  I have watched their entire cycle and October is the reward.

I then realize how blessed I am to be living in such beauty.  How wonderful it is to have family and friends locally that take advantage of all of it with their cameras and how amazing it is that we can all share our imagery so readily via the internet.  With all of the complaints an old film photographer can have this is one time when I think digital is amazing.

 

Weaving Wednesday – Round Robin 5

131023 Undulating TwillI arrived at weaving class 2 hours early on Tuesday with the idea that I would catch up – I was a towel behind in the Round Robin.  I decided to start with this undulating twill pattern. I remembered being told it would weave up quickly.  Sometimes it takes me quite a while to figure out what color to use for the warp but the person that wove the towel before me on this warp used the same color.  I love the way it looks, it reminds me of vintage fabric.  It took a little less than 2 hours to weave the 27″ for the towel and I wasn’t so fried from a complicated pattern that I moved on to another loom.

131023 Point Twill with HerringboneThis is a Point Twill with Herringbone pattern.  I have to say it was really fun to weave.  The results are . . . interesting.

Both towels are made in 8/2 unmercerized cotton making a nice weight, absorbent towel – isn’t that all your really need?  I am now caught up with 5 more towels to weave.  I can’t wait to have them all off of the looms and start hemming (not).

The Story of the Three Seeds

This morning I wanted to share a story I read on Sustainable Man on FB.  For all of the flaws that social media has this sort of writing is the kind of thing we should be grateful is shared.

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Once upon a time, the tribe of humanity embarked upon a long journey called Separation. It was not a blunder as some, seeing its ravages upon the planet, might think; nor was it a fall, nor an expression of some innate evil peculiar to the human species. It was a journey with a purpose: to experience the extremes of Separation, to develop the gifts that come in response to it, and to integrate all of that in a new Age of Reunion.

But we knew at the outset that there was danger in this journey: that we might become lost in Separation and never come back. We might become so alienated from nature that we would destroy the very basis of life; we might become so separated from each other that our poor egos, left naked and terrified, would become incapable of rejoining the community of all being. In other words, we foresaw the crisis we face today.

That is why, thousands of years ago, we planted three seeds that would sprout at the time that our journey of Separation reached its extreme. Three seeds, three transmissions from the past to the future, three ways of preserving and transmitting the truth of the world, the self, and how to be human.

Imagine you were alive thirty thousand years ago and had a vision of all that was to come: symbolic language, naming and labeling the world; agriculture, the domestication of the wild, dominion over other species and the land; the Machine, the mastery of natural forces; the forgetting of how beautiful and perfect the world is; the atomization of society; a world where humans fear even to drink of the streams and rivers, where we live among strangers and don’t know the people next door, where we kill across the planet with the touch of a button, where the seas turn black and the air burns our lungs, where we are so broken that we dare not remember that it isn’t supposed to be this way. Imagine you saw it all coming. How would you help people thirty thousand years thence? How would you send information, knowledge, aid over such a vast gulf of time? Maybe this actually happened. So, we came up with three seeds.

The first seed was the wisdom lineages: the lines of transmission going back thousands of years that have preserved and protected essential knowledge. From adept to disciple, in every part of the world, various wisdom traditions have passed down teachings in secret. Wisdom keepers, Sufis, Zen masters, Kabbalists, Taoist wizards, Christian mystics, Hindu swamis, and many others, hiding within each religion, kept the knowledge safe until the time when the world would be able to reclaim it. That time is now, and they have done their job well. Many spiritual leaders, even the Dalai Lama, are saying that the time of secrets is over. Released too early, the knowledge was co-opted, abused, or usually just ignored. When we had still not covered the territory of Separation, when the story of humanity’s Ascent was not yet complete, we weren’t ready to hear about union, connectedness, interdependency, interbeing. We thought the answer was more control, more technology, more logic, a better-engineered society of rational ethics, more control over matter, nature, and human nature. But now the old paradigms are failing, and human consciousness has reached a degree of receptivity that allows this seed to spread across the earth. It has been released, and it is growing inside of us en masse.

The second seed was the sacred stories: myths, legends, fairy tales, folklore, and the perennial themes that keep reappearing in various guises throughout history. They have always been with us, so that however far we have wandered into the Labyrinth of Separation, we have always had a lifeline, however tenuous and tangled, to the truth. The stories nurture that tiny spark of memory within us that knows our origin and our destination. The ancients, knowing that the truth would be co-opted and distorted if left in explicit form, encoded it into stories. When we hear or read one of these stories, even if we cannot decode the symbolism, we are affected on an unconscious level. Myths and fairy tales represent a very sophisticated psychic technology. Each generation of storytellers, without consciously intending to, transmits the covert wisdom that it learned, unconsciously, from the stories told it.

Without directly contradicting the paradigms of separation and ascent, our myths and stories have smuggled in a very different understanding of reality. Under the cover of “It’s just a story,” they convey emotional, poetic, and spiritual truth that contradicts linear logic, reductionism, determinism, and objectivity. I am not talking here about moralistic tales. Most of those carry little truth. To transmit the second seed, we must humble ourselves to our stories, and not try to use them for our own moralistic ends. They were created by beings far wiser than our modern selves. If you tell or transmit stories, be very respectful of their original form and don’t change them unless you feel a poetic upwelling. Pay attention to which children’s literature has the feel of a true story. Most recent kids’ literature does not. You can recognize a true story by the way its images linger in your mind. It imprints itself on the psyche. You get the feeling that something else has been transmitted alongside the plot, something invisible. Usually, such stories bear rich symbolism often unknown even to their authors. A comparison of two twentieth-century children’s books illustrates my point: compare a Berenstein Bears story with How the Grinch Stole Christmas! Only the latter has a psychic staying power, revealing the spirit of a true story, and it is rich with archetypal symbolism.

The third seed was the indigenous tribes, the people who at some stage opted out of the journey of separation. Imagine that at the outset of this journey, the Council of Humanity gathered and certain members volunteered to abide in remote locations and forgo separation, which meant refusing to enter into an adversarial, controlling relationship to nature, and therefore refusing the process that leads to the development of high technology. It also meant that when they were discovered by the humans who had gone deeply into Separation, they would meet with the most atrocious suffering. That was unavoidable.

These people of the third seed have nearly completed their mission today. Their mission was simply to survive long enough to provide living examples of how to be human. Each tribe carried a different piece, sometimes many pieces, of this knowledge. Many of them show us how to see and relate to the land, animals and plants. Others show us how to see and relate to the land, animals, and plants. Others show us how to work with dreams and the unseen. Some have preserved natural ways of raising children, now spreading through such books as The Continuum Concept. Some show us how to communicate without words – tribes as the Hadza and the Piraha communicate mostly in song. Some show us how to free ourselves from the mentality of linear time. All of them exemplify a way of being that we intuitively recognize and long for. They stir a memory in our hearts, and awaken our desire to return.

In a conversation, the Lakota Aloysius Weasel Bear told me that he once asked his grandfather, “Grandpa, the White Man is destroying everything, shouldn’t we try to stop him?” His grandfather replied, “No, it isn’t necessary. We will stand by. He will outsmart himself.” The grandfather recognized two things in his reply: (1) that Separation carries the seeds of its own demise, and (2) that his people’s role is to be themselves. But I don’t think that this is an attitude of callousness that leaves the White Man to his just deserts; it is an attitude of compassion and helping that understands the tremendous importance of simply being who they are. They are keeping alive something that the planet and the community of all being needs.

Charles Eisenstein, “The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible”

Living Life as a Creative Person

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My world consists of creative and non-creative people.  Call it what you will – left brain/right brain, grounded/ethereal – it’s what I am surrounded by.

My everyday life is run through with a thread of creativity.  I’m always, always, observing things of beauty or considering and making something beautiful.  It’s a life of aesthetics.  The act of doing something with my hands that creates something of beauty is what keeps me centered.

I can only speak for myself but crafting/creating is what keeps me alive and sane.  I live with a most analytical man.  He’s the problem solver, he analyzes the information at hand and makes decisions on the facts as they are laid out before him.  Me, I’m a wing it kind of person – I’m much more subjective.  For some reason this relationship has worked for years and years.  We balance each other out.

This may seem a bizarre analogy but hear me out.  When reading the Harry Potter series I was struck by the comparison of the wizard and muggle worlds.  They all lived in the same world but the wizards really have a much more whimsical, creative spirit – they are much more subjective.  I saw the muggles as much more analytical.  Neither faction was any less intelligent, they each just looked at their world in a different way (broadly different but that’s the beauty of the story).

After reading and rereading this story I was struck with the similarities to my life (no I don’t cast spells).  One of my daughters and I are always saying that something must have happened to our Hogwarts letters because we were really supposed to go, we know in our hearts that we are wizards.  Other members of our extended family are definitely muggles, they would not even consider that they could have been a wizard, it wouldn’t enter their mind – it’s not reasonable or logical.  It’s not who they are.

Maybe all of us who are creative, subjective people really are wizards.  We just live in a world of muggles who look upon us at times with amazement.  To them it all looks like magic.

Living in Two Places

130502 Back Forty Pond

I’ve lived in a few places. Work, family, friends, lovers have all taken me all over but I always have come back to Rowe.  A person I grew up with told me that this town was part of his soul, he hasn’t lived here since 1975.  I know that feeling, where you drive into a place over a familiar road not seen in a while and something happens, you feel it in your gut, that little flutter.  You know you are home.

I live in two worlds, fortunately they are close enough in distance so I can escape one for the other. Rowe

Just for my own comparison I snipped out the vital info about Rowe and Enfield.  Rowe with its 24 square miles and 393 people compared to Enfield with its 34 square miles and 44,654 people at last count. That means there is .49 acres per person in Enfield and 39.09 per person in Rowe.  No wonder I feel like I’m suffocating while I’m in CT.  That’s probably not a fair assessment but it does speak to the rural vs. urban/suburban situation I find myself in.

Enfield, CT

You will also notice the difference in temperature and dew point.  In the summer it’s a difference you notice, in the winter it’s night and day.  The growing season is at least 2 weeks ahead in Enfield.  The last frost is something we see at the end of April.  In Rowe there is nothing that goes into my garden earlier than Memorial Day – ever.

The one difference I truly notice is the quiet (and solitude).  In Enfield there is air traffic over our house close to 24 hours a day – we are on the landing path to Bradley in CT.  I think at night I can see the people sitting in their seats as they fly in for a landing.  The street we live on is very busy and we are within hearing distance of the railroad tracks where Amtrak runs during the day.  Yes, planes, trains and automobiles – the noise never ends.  Everyone is always in a hurry to get nowhere as well.  You have to be a fairly aggressive driver in this harried place.  In our spare time in Enfield we can work on the house (with our neighbors chatting us up over the fence), shop or eat at a chain restaurant.  I used to have very large perennial gardens around the house but it’s not the quiet, meditative project that it is in Rowe.  Now I look at what I can dig up and move, turning the yard back into something that can just be mowed.

When I get home to Rowe everything slows down.  The driving, the breathing, the thinking – once I arrive there is nowhere I need to be but there.  There is enough to keep me occupied for days on end without ever leaving the property.  I breathe the clean air, listen to the birds, contemplate life.  My bedroom window is open at least three seasons so I can hear the owls at night and the birds wake me up in the morning.  I can drink my cup of coffee watching the sun rise over the back forty and the mist dissipate in its heat.

I think everyone needs to find a place of peace if they are not living in it.  I think that’s why people appear to be so crazy right now or they have such health problems.  They are so far removed from the natural world that they are never grounded – at all.  The sad thing is so many never know what it’s like to be grounded in nature, they don’t understand how healing it can be.  I know people I see often that I just want to shake and say “Take an afternoon and go to a state forest and walk, breathe, listen!  Hug a tree, absorb the energy around you.”  And they would look at me with those eyes that say “You are nuts.”