Our meander through Huntington Gardens last week took us through a desert micro-climate. I'm so glad to have walked the arid paths, taking in the prickly fractals.
I found myself mesmerized by the cacti's form and its ability to pull me in, while at the same time pushing me away.
I love the inherent balance found in each plant and the unexpected delicacy of the spikes and spines. Another simple yet profound teaching from nature.
It's been a while, hasn't it?
In some ways posting here tonight feels a bit like the first day of school. Returning after a long break wherein everyone's experiences through the days away have changed them. Changed in ways that are immediately apparent, and also in ways that will reveal themselves with time.
Right away you'll find a new banner. I think of it as those back-to-school clothes that I used to get so excited about. It seems to have started in kindergarten with this little dress.
I'm still navigating the more subtle shifts and look forward to seeing how they unfold in this space. Something feels different, but I can't yet put a finger on it, let alone find the words to describe it.
One thing that is certain, though, is that I've become fixated on photographing sets of things. I have many examples as I share snippets from the time away in the coming days. For now, the textures of Liu Fang Yuan, the Chinese garden at Huntington Gardens.
Rooftops above.
Walkways below.
The bobbins have been whirling, but for some reason the camera hasn't captured a thing in weeks. Pot holders, satchels, lounge pants, and other gifts seem to have been chased out of the house as soon as they're beyond the feed dogs. 
I managed to capture one piece tonight - in bad light - before it got tucked away. A simple shirt from this book. It's for the little lady, to be worn with some navy blue linen pants that I sewed up, after learning to modify a pattern to accommodate the bulk of cloth diapers.
And while it seems like I've been taking a little vacation from this spot, the actual vacation begins tomorrow. We're heading to a warmer clime to see family and celebrate a babe-on-the-way.
Be well friends. I'll see you mid-May.
I'm a big fan of keeping it local and supporting small family-owned businesses. Like the CSA from which we get fresh vegetables throughout the growing season. And the nearby farmer who raises cows, one of which we split with neighbors and friends this winter and will feed us through the year. And the farmers cooperative that brings eggs with the richest of yolks to our food cooperative each week.
Last night I happened upon another way to support a small farmer. The Martha's Vineyard Fiber Farm is offering shares of the first-ever wool CSA. Buy a share and you get a portion of this fall's shearing. How amazing is that? 
I'm taken by this concept for many reasons. The small part, of course. But also the fact that I'm currently knitting the tangled yoke cardigan with yarn that is from sheep that grazed in pastures next door to my parents house. Each stitch seems to have a bit more significance, as I wonder how it will feel to go back to knitting with the equivalent of 'big box' yarn. And too, while the Fiber Farm isn't local if you consider my current location, it is located on the island where I grew up.
But as much as I really want one, I'm not going to buy a share. It's beyond the current budget. And I know that there's more interest than the farm will be able to accommodate, as they're receiving some well deserved press, and selling the limited number of shares like hotcakes. And I know that I'll be able to purchase some of their yarn when I visit the island this fall -- I'll be able to meet the farmer, pet the animals, touch the yarns, see their colors and hues. And too, I know there are probably plenty of fiber farmers (though not CSAs) in my own backyard that I could support through the purchase of their yarns. I just need to find them.
I haven't been taking many photos lately. Things have seemed too cold. Too gray. Too dirty. And honestly, my head had been too stuffed up for me to feel inspired to do much more than knit and watch Netflix. Thank goodness for the miles of stockinette stitching in the tangled yoke and movies like these.
But the winds are shifting. As the little one says, it's getting warmer and warmer every day. And just as the bulbs and perennials are starting to push themselves out of the softening soil, I feel myself stretching toward the sun.
And the sun has made its way into our kitchen. In the colder months there isn't any direct sun in the room, but in the early evenings from now until September, the sun peeks through the window in the back door. Today it helped ready the dough for another simple and yummy recipe from this book. It's the European peasant -- flecked with touches of whole wheat and rye.
My new favorite way to eat all of this homemade bread is slathered with chevre and ginger spread. Now that I think about it, I wonder if this, in and of itself, could be responsible for pulling me out of the recent funk?
A 'frozen hurricane' rolled into town this weekend, blowing gale-force winds off the lake and dumping over a foot of snow in the area. The power decided to cut out soon after I put a loaf of the no-knead bread from Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day into the oven. Had I actually spent time making the bread, I probably would have been disappointed. But alas, no-knead and slow bake somehow brought forth bread so good that it was gone before it could be captured by the camera.
Today, amidst the melting the snow the first flowers appeared in the garden. They're called snow drops. Perfect, don't you think?
After a week of each and every flu symptom cycling its way through the family, we finally were all able to get out of the house together. The sun called us outside. 
Friday we went up. Up to the ridge to walk through the woods. The snow was deep off the trails, but the creeks were flowing strong with muddied green water. The snow was pocked by leaves, stones and pine cones warmed by the sun, accelerating the melt. The willows were pushing forth their furry buds.
Today we went down. Down to the point to walk by the lake. The last
bits of sandied ice were melting fast, lapped by the cold blue waters.
The sand was soft, almost calling for bare feet. And the grasses in the dunes were donning shades of green.
Tonight thunder, lightning and snow. Spring indeed.
I still make stuff; really, I do. Last night I finished my second pleated beauty bag from Bend-the-Rules. The first one was gifted before I had a chance to photograph it, made with charcoal wool and pleated with grey and pink thrifted goodness shared by Ella.
This pleated beauty is for me. I thought that my first run at the pattern made a bit of a floppy bag, so I beefed up the second one, adding interfacing and canvas lining. Despite breaking three needles on the machine while topstitching, I'm pleased that the bag can stand on its own.
I ended up having just enough of the repurposed falling leaves gabardine. It's the same fabric that recently inspired some freezer paper stenciling. While the fabric is almost gone, I have a hunch those leaves will continue to fall onto paper and bookcloth.
Another beauty in my life turned two this weekend. Two years old. A fever, cough and runny nose kept our festivities quiet and slow, but we managed to bake a cake, share some gifts and talk a lot about the day she was born. She tells her favorite part of her birth story like this, with elaborate hand gestures and enthusiasm: "...den daddy scoop you UP out of water!" She was born at home in a waterbirth tub, with her daddy catching her, welcoming her into the world (and these days she refers to herself in the second person). 
I remember experiencing such euphoria in those first days with her. It seems like yesterday. And too it seems that there hasn't ever been a time that I didn't know her. Happy birthday, my little firecracker!
You might recall that back in December I fell hard. And was subsequently crushed. You see, there was a certain letterpressed print offered up at Tiny Showcase that I happened upon after each and every print in the edition had been snatched up. I lamented. Little did I know that the bit of woe I posted would send my dad on a secret mission. A few days later, with the help of my brother, his mission was accomplished. On Solstice I held in my hands a printer's proof of Alec Thibodeau's Good Libations 2008 Lunar Calendar! To say I was thrilled would be quite the understatement.
Fast forward three months and you'll find me a bit sheepish to admit that I'm just now hanging it on the wall. But it's framed. And I did it myself thanks to The Small Object's tutorial, a handheld mat cutter, and a frame from IKEA.
To help get up the nerve to cut such a big piece of mat board, I practiced on a few other prints I had been meaning to frame for ages including a set of letterpressed stamps from Nikki McClure. I still have a big pile to frame, but no longer will I shell out many dollars or wait many moons to put more prettiness on the walls.
Inside, homemade chocolate croissants from the neighbors, delivered while still warm and gooey. Eggs dyed with red cabbgage, turmeric, beets and coffee - and just about every combination thereof. 
Outside, more new snow. Melting ice boulders on the shore. The
far-off horn of one of the shipping season's first arrivals into the
port.
May the weekend have brought you and yours many signs and much celebrating of this new season.
