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snow drops

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?

spring up and down

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.

holding on, letting go

Little red berries, still hanging on to the branches of the Rowan tree.

Determined child, finally surrendering to the stroller after over a half mile of puddle splashing.

green week two :: mystery

I can't help but find mystery in Spanish moss.  The way it hangs from the oaks, the signposts and even the overhead wires.  Thriving without roots.  I've heard that it's not a plant, but a parasite.  I've heard it doesn't need a root structure.  You can tell me these things, point me to texts that will explain.  But there are some mysteries that need to just be.  And so for me, Spanish moss will remain a rootless wonder.  At least for now. 

green week one :: salt marsh

For most of my childhood I lived within a stone's throw of the Great Sippewissett Marsh.  I didn't realize how great it actually is, in terms of salt marshes, until I began reading Tim Traver's Sippewissett:  Or Life on a Salt Marsh.  Although I didn't have knowledge of the importance of the the place in the realm of marine biology, there is no question about its significance to my own natural history. 

My pre-teen years were imprinted by the smells of that salt marsh, the slurping sound of bare feet mucking through its mud, the thrill of jumping into the 'black hole' carved out by the convergence of the two of the marsh's fingers, the taste of its brackish water sipped through straws fashioned from horsetails growing on the side of its feeder creeks.

Last week found me on the edge of another salt marsh.  A place that I've visited a handful of times over the past decade, but not one that I've ever really explored.  It is very different than Sippewissett in terms of climate and critters, but yet it is so familiar. 

Sitting on the dock watching the green water yesterday I could have been nine years old.  Listening to the quiet punctuated here and there by a jumping fish, the flapping wings of a nearby heron, was like hearing an echo.  With the evidence of the tides and the renewal they bring every six hours all around, it's not a wonder that a visit to a salt marsh brings me back, if even for a moment.

re-awakening

The faintest of freckles have returned across the bridge of my nose.  They were coaxed out by the late morning sun reflected off snow along the trail over the weekend.  The sun and its warmth are oh-so welcome after what seems like the longest and grayest of winters.  We weren't the only ones making our way across the snow this sunny morning...

In looking at these little impressions, I wish had a copy of Track Finder (or better yet, the entire series of those nature study guides).  I've reached a point where I want to broaden my knowledge of the things I see out in the natural world.  More information and with it, more understanding.  The fact that the bird is red or the tree is some sort of pine is no longer enough.  I'm fairly certain this desire is fueled by the incessant "why?" of the toddler that punctuates everything that is said around our home these days.   

Also, it seems that as spoken language has been added to the way my daughter and I communicate, I'm seeing how she experiences the world in a different way.  It's a re-awakening of sorts, seeing my surroundings through my child's eyes.  One that reminds me of what Rachel Carson so eloquently describes in The Sense of Wonder:  A child's world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood.
Here's to wiping clean those lenses smeared and smudged in the becoming of an adult; to re-discovering that clear-eyed vision.  To seeing with clarity all that is around us. 

We're off to the Carolinas for the rest of the week to find more freckles, and surely much, much more.  But before I go, remember the little book?  Well, it was part of a collaborative with Alicia, Emily and Erin to celebrate the thirtieth birthday of Grace.  Today's her day.  You can see more of the project (and wish Grace a happy birthday) here.

See you next week, my friends.

winter tracks

My prints for the gocco swap are finally in the mail.  As the organizer, it's a tad embarrassing to admit that I was eight days late in sending off my goods.  I was set back by a self-inflicted bout of last-minute-itis paired with technical difficulties.  Despite the delay, I'm pleased with the results.

I originally set out to make a print with multiple screens.  I hadn't ever done this before and wanted to stretch myself a bit with the swap.  But the image I had in my head I couldn't wrestle onto paper. 

Then I happened upon the tracks of pigeons near a bridge I often cross on my morning walks with the dog.  I knew I had found it. 

I snapped a dozen or so photos and somehow figured out the very most basics of photo-editing to invert and clean the image for the screen.  Then I ran into some problems.  I printed the image on my HP inkjet which, according to many, works just fine.  But I couldn't get the image to burn onto the screen.  I ran through all of my bulbs and still a blank screen.  A panicked order was placed with Wet Paint for more supplies and I set out to find a photocopier so that my image would be ready when the delivery arrived.

A few days later I burned the screen without incident and started on the printing.  My inks are stored, with most of my craft stuff, in my mostly unheated attic.  I quickly learned that the inks aren't as cooperative when they're cold, which really should have been obvious.  While I was frustrated by this at first, it ended up adding an unexpected element to the printing process. 

The shimmering blue I mixed from silver, white and konjou blue ended up relatively solid for the first part of the print run; but when I reinked the screen, subtle variations of blue became apparent across the following prints.  The more I printed, the more I imagined the prints to be like those actual tracks.  With time and temperature the snow would melt, revealing more and more of the surface beneath.  Fitting too, I think for the mid-winter theme.

If you haven't yet, check out the flickr group for the swap.  The creativity of the group continues to amaze me.  While I imagined that there would be a range of things produced and shared, I didn't expect that so many would also share their processes in making their items - in many cases the photos have links to their blog posts about the inspiration and actual crafting of the images.  Be sure to check these out too.

Many have asked if there will be another gocco swap.  I'm planning on it.  There won't be a seasonal theme though -- I now realize that the notion of mid-winter was the last thing many wanted to think about, especially those in the southern hemisphere!  I tend forget that winter doesn't last for six whole months in much of the world...  I'd love to hear feedback on this swap and also suggestions for the next one.  In the meantime, many, many thanks to all of the swap participants for making this swap a success!!

textural studies

There's a spot by the lake that I've been making a point to visit this week.  While the vantage point is the same, the vista rarely is.  The textures alone are phenomenal.


The ice has been moving in and out with the wind, with the current.  As if the lake is breathing. 
Yesterday, open water filled the same spot beyond the knobby point where ice houses had been set out earlier this week.  Tomorrow, it will surely be changed again.  Even once the head of the lake freezes solid, it will continue to be in a state of flux influenced by wind, light and snow.  I know it is this lake that keeps me going through the longest season; the constant reminder that the world is very much alive, even in the dead of winter.

catch and release

Recently caught bits of light released out into my new favorite flickr pools:

Peels and peeks for Six One Way.

Dusted driftwood for ::fleeting::

reminders from a sunday

While winter may feel eternal, it will pass and bring forth spring. 

Blueness actually still exists behind those persistent clouds. 

And most importantly, there is great warmth in celebrating loved ones, and doing so in person.   And, if you can get away with it, it's always best to have the cake before the meal.