Not-so-silent Spring

It is a sodden mess on our hillside this first week of spring. 

The equinox was followed by a howling storm, starting with snow but soon progressing to sleet and rain.  Lying in bed, wind screaming and the power out, I could not sleep.  When I went downstairs, I found the full moon illuminating a sparkling ice-coated world, with our river birches bent to the ground. 

Daylight revealed that several of the birches had snapped and branches were down everywhere, including one large white pine branch that crushed the little paw-paw tree that I had hoped would finally bloom this year. 

It was the thickest ice coating I have ever seen from a storm. 

Slow to melt, for the next several days, the tinkling and crashing of breaking ice accompanied the sweet call of our male cardinal trying varying vantage points to attract a mate. 

He, along with the woodcock and skeins of geese, were early to announce their arrivals.  Starting in February, the cardinal’s “sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet” started just before sunrise.  Our bluebird flock stayed around all winter, chattering and periodically checking out the birdhouses. 

I first heard the woodcock’s buzz-buzz call on March 2–by far the earliest I have heard it.  The goldfinches and waxwings have been very active, noisily raiding seeds, berries and apples that have made it through the winter.  

The bluejays, crows, and ravens are the most raucous, especially when warning that hawks and eagles are overhead.  All in all, between the ice, wind, and birds, it has been a noisy spring.

Although lately, we have not been outside much.  It has been raining, pretty much without letup, for weeks before and after the ice storm.  Dreary gray skies and steady cold rain, day after day.  The ground is supersaturated and there is a lot of flooding.  In fact, Maine had a pretty devastating winter, weather-wise, with several mammoth storms that battered the coast.  We are lucky to be on our hill.

Most of the winter was not very wintry.  November was quite mild and we were in shirt sleeves when our son and daughter-in-law visited us from Georgia for Thanksgiving.  They had not been here in several years so it was such a pleasure to spend time with them and to have them here for Thanksgiving—my favorite holiday.  

A quick snow in early December was long gone by Christmas when our daughter and grandchildren came for a visit. 

The weather was so mild, in fact, that our daughter, Alexis, and I took Scout for a hike on nearby Clarry Hill. 

More snow came in January, especially delightful to Alice, who races around in it despite her increasing age. 

But, it too, was short lived, leading us (and the birds, apparently) to think that we might have an early spring. 

I got my pruning done in early February and a dormant spray on my fruit trees.  I was hoping to get another spray in before bud swell, but have not been able to because of the incessant rain.  If it keeps up, I do not know when things will be dry enough for planting. 

In the meantime, we continue with our indoor winter pursuits.  George has been busy making the most beautiful creations from the apple and cherry wood he has harvested from our land. 

After careful drying, it was finally was ready for him to work with this winter. 

He made me a salmon for Christmas

and each of the grandchildren designed their own shapes—a basking shark, clouds and a sword. 

George carefully selected the pieces for their interesting and beautiful grain, and it is extra sweet to be able to see and use these pieces because they come from our land.

The dogs enjoy joining him in the shop. 

We perfected pizza-making in our little Ooni pizza oven,

and I covered chair cushions from fabric I brought home from Sweden.

Mostly, my winter was full of spinning and weaving. 

I wove some sauna towels,

dishtowels for presents, and several bands. 

My favorite project, though, was some Swedish daldräll. 

The dark pattern threads are linen from flax that I grew and processed. 

I made a jacket and dress from the fabric. 

The dogs are thriving. 

Alice is almost ten and getting a little stiff. 

She enjoys her throne on the couch where she can watch all the activity in the house and on the road. 

Capp is almost eight now and gets sweeter and more affectionate all the time.  Scout is two, full of joy and enthusiasm.  She adores George and watches for him when he is gone. 

She will sit or lie for hours in front of the woodstove, mesmerized by the flames and getting a hot head. 

We had several rooms of the house painted last week and combined that with spring cleaning. I hate housecleaning, but with the rain outside, it was the perfect time to do it. 

The onions, leeks, artichokes and peppers are planted and in the window of my loom room.  We are ready to move to our outside work.  Now, if the sun would just come out!

Where the Time Goes

Where did it go, this summer?  I like to attribute the blur of its passage to the high number of visitors, projects, and trips, rather than just the acceleration of time with age.

Certainly, the strange weather contributed to the sense of an abbreviated summer. 

Mostof June and July found us marooned on our hilltop engulfed in fog.  No sun, no sky, no view, no wind–just eerie grayness, making everything sticky and damp.  And rain.  Lots of rain.  The soil was so waterlogged that the pea seeds and roots of garden plants rotted in the ground. 

The lawn grass was brilliant green and happy, but fungal diseases ran rampant through our plants, cultivated and wild. Most of my beans and squash fell to fungus soon after germinating.  Other seeds were slow to germinate and those that did emerge just sat there, waiting for a little sun and warmth.  Not a good start for our newly-configured gardens.

After powerwashing

Fortunately, the wet gloom did not prevent us from getting our house staining project started.  The first step, pressure washing, fit right in with the weather.  Our cedar siding was badly in need of attention.  The south and east sides, especially, had significantly degraded and every side was a different color, giving the house a motley look. George did some of the work himself but we hired someone for the bulk of the staining and painting, including all the ladder work.  A meticulous painter, he turned our patchwork-colored house to a uniform velvety-brown that seems to glow in the sun. 

We also transformed the porch, which had been dark and uninviting, to our favorite summer hangout, with bright rockers, a wicker couch, and, of course, the dogs. 

Such a good place to sip wine, watch the sky, and savor the thunderstorms. 

Because, by late July, there was sky to watch as the clouds and fog finally lifted, giving us the exhilarating sunny summer days we expect here.

Once the sun finally arrived, the vegetables that survived the early wet started growing with a vengeance. 

Although only ankle-high on the fourth-of-July, we had a bumper crop of sweet corn this year, and more than enough tomatoes, peppers, pumpkins, leeks, and eggplant to put by for the winter. 

It was a bit hit or miss,though.  The okra struggled, but the artichokes did well. 

The chard is the most beautiful I’ve ever grown, the peanuts huge, but the carrots are stubby creatures with extra appendages.  My experiment with growing mushrooms in beds shaded by garden veggies was a dismal failure.  While unwanted fungi sprung up every, the only mushrooms I was able to grow were winecaps, which almost immediately became infested with little flies leaving little maggots.  No thanks.  The new garden design was a huge success, however, cutting way down on weeding and giving the plants plenty of light and space. 

We were fortunate not to have much smoke from the Canadian wildfires this summer, but did get about a week in early fall of high smoke from Alberta that covered the sun, creating an ominous-feeling gray-out. 

At least it wasn’t rain.  With so much wet weather early on, our firewood stacks were not drying well,

so George had to restack them in sunnier, windier areas. 

Our fall leaf colors have been muted and marred by fungal spots. 

Sadly, the Beech trees on our road were hit this year with Beech Leaf Disease. 

Mottled, twisted leaves in spring from Beech Leaf Disease

It is going to be difficult to watch these beautiful trees decline and die. 

Although the vegetables got a slow start with all the rain, the flowers thrived. 

The Fringe Tree was covered with blossoms

The bushes and small trees we planted several years ago are coming into their own

and all of the perennials did wonderfully this year. 

They were so covered with such a variety of pollinators that I finally made the decision that I will not keep honey bees again. 

Although it’s totally unscientific, my observations over the past few years without the honey bees is that we have seen a noticeable increase in native pollinators. 

We have always had them, but there seem to be more and more each year. 

It may have nothing to do with the absence of the honey bees, but there’s no doubt that keeping bees changes the balance of the pollinator population, just as having a bird feeder changes the bird population balance. 

I really miss watching my honey bees at the hive, but I am enjoying learning the identities and habits of the native pollinators.

We still get some honeybees from other local hives

Aside from building new raised beds, George also built a larger compost bin. 

Each section is large enough to be turned using the tractor bucket rather than hand shoveling, which, again, saves me a great deal of time and labor. 

He also built another type of bed—this time inside.  Our sweet Scout has been sleeping in her crate at night but was ready to graduate to joining the other dogs on our bed.  So, George built a bed extension to make room for her. 

She is ecstatic.  Now every night is a three-dog night.  We like the extension so much, next up is building a bed frame and headboard to match it. 

With all the time gardening, traveling, and visiting, I still managed to find time on the porch spinning flax and took advantage of the humidity in the wet days of early summer to weave some linen fabric from flax that I grew, processed, and spun. 

I sewed it into a shirt that is as local a piece of clothing as you can find

—created entirely from this little piece of land. 

I am also very excited about growing some heritage varieties of flax that produce a finer fiber than the modern varieties bred for commercial production.  I grew three old varieties this year and hope to add another five next year.   

I finished the shawl that I wove from singles I spun from local fleeces and wove a “sweater” from local Gotland wool that I spun on my great wheels. 

I am just finishing up some sauna towels

and weaving some tape for new chair cushions made with fabric I bought in Sweden. 

My head is full of plans for spinning, weaving, and sewing this winter and George is drying the lumber from our apple trees for woodworking projects this winter. It has been a mild fall so far, with no real frost in sight yet so we continue to work outside. 

But we are making our first fires in the woodstove and I’ve enjoyed curling up on the couch for a snooze with the dogs.   

Bring on winter.

Sweden Part II

Sätergläntan is located on a hillside outside of the small town of Insjön in Dalarna. It offers classes and programs in woodworking, blacksmithing, sewing, and weaving. 

It provides dorm-style rooms and wonderful food. 

Sitting area

These former grain storage outbuildings are now used for sleeping cabins, but we were in dorm rooms in the main building

We were a group of sixteen weavers, from all over the US and one from Australia. 

The dining room

It was a good group and we got along well.  The other students, all or mostly Swedish, were taking classes in sewing, pattern making, and woodworking. 

We were so fortunate to have our class taught by Stefan Moberg, assisted by Clary Jönsson. 

Stefan was a professional cellist whose mother and grandmother were weavers.  After an injury cut short his music career, he became a professional weaver, spinner, and dyer.  A funny, smart, generous, kind man—it was a delight to learn from him and get to know him. 

Stefan showing us the old stone weighted mangle used to cold press linen

Clary is a woman of many skills, including farming and, what resonated with me, research on the transfer of knowledge (and lack of it) in heritage cultural crafts, specifically damask weaving.  It is same issue we run into with antique spinning wheels—almost all knowledge was transmitted orally and, because it was not written down, much has simply been lost in a very short period of time. 

Wheels at Sätergläntan

It was a week of weaving, learning, laughter, and lots of good eating in a beautiful, very Swedish, environment. 

Class output!

In addition to its modern looms, Sätergläntan has several old ones and a collection of old spinning wheels and flax tools

that I was delighted to get to spend some time with. 

One evening, Becky arranged a field trip to the home of Anna Thomasson, a weaver who co-wrote the definitive book on daldräll weaving.  Anna, who is 86 (but looks about 66), weaves at a pace that puts most weavers to shame. 

One of Anna’s beautiful pieces on the loom

She and her family greeted us with a tour of her studio and the home of the mother of Swedish poet Erik Axel Karlfeldt. 

The house was full of textiles, most woven by Anna, I believe.  

With its textiles and painted decorations, the house was beautiful and reminded me of the Larsson house. 

I found later that Larsson had painted this portrait of Karlfeldt–who won the Nobel Prize after his death in 1931.    

We also took a last-day field trip to Insjöns Väveri, a small textile factory that uses old machinery to weave beautiful fabric, including daldräll. 

After a truly wonderful week, we all boarded the same train, but for different destinations. A few of us headed to Uppsala.  I had been there over 25 years ago, on a trip to Sweden with George, and wanted to go back. 

We stayed this time at the Grand Hotell Hornan, a lovely 1907 “ornament” overlooking the river, with luxurious beds and bathrooms (most welcome after the single pillow and shared bathrooms of the Sätergläntan dorms). 

We met with Marty, who had been in our class, for drinks in the dark-paneled bar, with carved ceilings and soft, deep chair cushions.  Hunger drove us to a tapas restaurant nearby for a great meal.  Sadly, we only got to spend the evening in Uppsala.  I want very much to go back and spend more time there.  I loved it.

It poured that night and I sat on my room’s windowsill with the window wide open enjoying the rain and the view of the cathedral. 

Which brings me to Swedish windows. 

They have no screens.  Nor do the doors.  While we saw flies and mosquitoes outside, they didn’t seem to be a concern for coming inside.  If we didn’t have screens in Maine, we would be devoured by mosquitoes and black flies, dive-bombed by June bugs and harassed by house flies everywhere. Perhaps Swedish insects are more well-behaved. 

Not only was the hotel elegant and comfortable, it had a phenomenal breakfast included in the room price.  Swedish hotels go all out on the breakfast buffets, with scrambled eggs, bacon, an assortment of fresh breads, pastries, and flatbreads, with accompanying spreads, and a variety of cheeses, sliced meat, vegetables and fruit.  This one even had a machine for squeezing your own orange juice.  Morning bliss. 

Well fed, we headed to our final treat.  Stefan had generously offered to show us around Stockholm for our last day.  We met him and Jenny, also from our class, at the train station where he helped us stow our luggage for the day.  Which sounds simple, but wasn’t.  Thank goodness we had him because there were numerous lockers with luggage inside that weren’t locked—from owners who mistakenly thought they had done things properly but had neglected an important final step. 

For morning fika, we had the best kladdkaka (gooey chocolate cake) in Gamla Stan, on Stortorget Square, site of the Stockholm Blood Bath.  In 1520, at the end of 3 days of coronation ceremonies for Danish/Swedish king Christian II, 82 guests were beheaded and hanged there.  One way to get rid of your enemies.  No blood in sight while we were there, just lots of birds patrolling for crumbs. 

I was surprised at how touristy Gamla Stan had become since I was there 25 years ago with George. Somehow I managed to get this photo without any people.

We explored different neighborhoods, toured the Almgren Silk Factory and Museum,

where Stefan comes to weave on an old Jacquard loom. 

The Royal Armory was wealth and power on parade, with over-the-top finery, armor, weapons and carriages. 

We visited used bookstores, ate at a MAX Burgers, and learned tidbits of Stockholm history, including the story of the Cuckold of Skepps, who had his crying face and his wife’s private parts (not so private now) sculpted onto the front of a building when he learned that she had been cheating on him. 

We ended with gin and tonics and Stefan patiently helping to get our luggage out of the lockers.  Thank you again for everything Stefan.  Tusen tack.  Nicely tired, we headed to a hotel at the airport for a 6 am departure. 

After a full week, it felt good to be heading home.  We had a short layover in Paris, and a nice, uneventful flight to Boston.  I was exhausted and just looking forward to a comfortable train ride to Brunswick where George and the dogs would pick me up.  It was not to be.  Heavy rains earlier in the day had washed out some portion of the track and after hours of delay we were told all trains north were cancelled.  I came close to losing it. After a frantic rush of two train-loads of people trying to get taxis and Ubers to the bus station, we finally managed to head out of Boston on the 6:30 bus to Portland.  It was not a welcome end to the trip.  But, it felt so good to get home. 

Sweden, Part 1

Larsson house

It has been a week since I arrived home from Sweden and I am still riding high on the experience.  I went primarily for a weaving course organized by Becky Ashenden at Vävstuga Weaving School in Massachusetts.  The course was taught at Sätergläntan, a 100-year-old handicraft school in Dalarna, a region known for its rich heritage of traditional crafts.  I had dreamed of taking a course at Sätergläntan, but courses are taught in Swedish–too daunting for me.  So, when I saw this course, taught in English by Swedish weaver, Stefan Moberg, I was the first one to sign up (really–I was the first).  Within a week of signing up, I had my whole trip planned out and most of my reservations made.

Textiles from Sätergläntan’s collection

Some time later, at our local weavers group meeting, another member, Laurie, announced that she had signed up for the trip.  I told her about my travel plans and said that if she was interested in going to any of the same places, I would be happy to have her join me.  She decided to and, although we barely knew each other before the trip, it worked out wonderfully.  She was a great travel companion.

We saw this style fence all over Dalarna

Things did not start out smoothly, however.  After about 24 hours of travel, including a 6 hour layover at the Amsterdam airport, we arrived tired and disheveled in Stockholm, where we still had several hours by train to get to our first destination in Falun.  In the rush to board the train, Laurie left her backpack on the boarding platform.  Amazingly, when she returned to the station, it was still there. Although all of her US cash had been stolen, nothing else was taken, so it could have been much worse. 

I woke early in Falun—in fact, I never got a really good night’s sleep on this trip.  It was a spectacular sunny day–the only one of the trip–and the early morning dog walkers greeted me with a friendly “hej hej.”  It set the tone for two happy observations.  First, there are lots of dog lovers in Sweden.  There are dog-designated train cars and dogs everywhere at the local tourist attractions we visited that weekend.  Second, it was wonderful to be in a place that isn’t a big tourist destination.  We did not run across any other Americans in Falun and people there greeted and talked to us in Swedish rather than immediately assuming we were tourists and addressing us in English. Of course, it soon became apparent that we were not Swedish and we found lots of curiosity about where we were from and why we were in Falun.  Maine seems to be known there for Stephen King and lobsters.   

I had picked Falun because the one thing I really wanted to do on this trip was visit Lilla Hytnäss, home of artists Carl and Karin Larsson. 

Carl’s painting with Karin and one of her tapestry looms in the background

I have loved Carl Larsson’s paintings since I was young and in recent years learned about Karin’s textile artistry. 

Karin’s tapestry on the bench back, a sunflower pillow, and a woven and embroidered cushion

Their home is on a winding river in Sundborn, a short bus ride from Falun, and we headed there mid-morning Saturday. 

We had signed up for an English-speaking tour, which was a small group—most of the people there were Swedish (and, yes, there were lots of dogs). 

We were not allowed to take photos in the house and I cannot convey what a strange sensation it was to walk into a room, or turn a corner, and be confronted with a familiar setting from the paintings.

And there seemed to Larsson ghosts everywhere. 

In fact, Larsson descendants still use parts of the house and nearby buildings and some were there paddling around in the river—eerily evoking Carl’s children in his paintings. 

We were fortunate that an exhibit of Karin’s work was open—and photos were allowed. 

Karin was also a painter, but after marriage to Carl, turned her artistry to textiles—gorgeous creative, vivid pieces that enriched every corner of the house. 

The Rose of Love hanging between Karin and Carl’s bedrooms

All while having eight children and creating beautiful gardens. 

The woman on the left in the photo is Karin in her later years

We could have spent much more time at the house and the museum, but had to catch the only bus back to Falun. 

Karin weaving tapestry

The bus stop was in front of the Sundborn grocery store, so we went in for a quick browse.  I love potato chips and always try local ones when I travel.  At the register, I paid for the bag of chips with cash, which caused some consternation on the part of the cashier.  She had to go to “another room” to get me change, while I stood there feeling like I had made a terrible faux pas.  I had.  This was our first real introduction to Sweden’s push to become a cashless society.  Everyone seems to pay for things by “Swish” a mobile-wallet on their phones linked directly to their bank accounts.  Unfortunately, Swish only links to Swedish banks, so isn’t available for tourists.  Many places, especially in and close to Stockholm, didn’t take cash at all, which meant that we had to pay for everything by credit card, even small purchases.  We did find that in Dalarna, a few places took cash and a taxi driver insisted on cash—presumably to keep things off the books. 

We also made the mistake that evening at dinner of tipping the waitress.  No tipping in Sweden—something I should have researched ahead of time.  We learned a lot that first day.

The next morning I walked up to Falu Gruva, Falun’s famous copper mine. 

It has a fascinating history and the Falu red paint found on so many Swedish houses and buildings was derived from a by-product of the mine.  The female symbol adorns many things in Falun, which puzzled me until I found out that it was also the symbol for copper. 

I would have loved to have had more time at the mine and taken a tour. 

I also would have liked to have gone to Falun’s Dalarnas museum, but it didn’t open until 11 each day, so we were not able to fit it in. 

Maypoles seemed to be everywhere

Late morning, we boarded the train to Leksand where we were picked up by Kirsi Manni, a Facebook friend who generously took us on an afternoon tour of the area.  Like me, Kirsi collects antique spinning wheels, focusing on those made in Hjulbäck, near where she lives.  She has also been a great resource on Leksand band looms, one of which I am lucky enough to own.  Kirsi has what I imagine is the largest collection anywhere of these rare looms. After lunch, we visited a small exhibit by weaver and heritage seed breeder, Agneta Magnussen. 

We took in the view of Lake Siljan from the top of a tower at Naturum Dalarna in Siljansnäs. 

It looked a little like Maine.  Then off to Kirsi’s home for fika (the wonderful Swedish tradition of a coffee and cake break) and a look at her collections. 

She dropped us off in the early evening at Sätergläntan, where we were to spend the next seven days weaving daldräll, the Swedish style of overshot weaving. 

Sätergläntan’s welcoming front door

Tripping

Soggy and gray.  That best describes this summer in our part of Maine.  Week upon muggy week of wet, fog, and rain, with rare peeks of sun accompanied by oppressive heat and humidity.  So, we are fortunate that we picked this summer for some travel.  It has been a good time to get away from the wet sponge that envelops our home.     

Immediately after completing our garden overhaul, at the end of May, George packed up for a long-planned trip to Greece with our daughter and granddaughters.  I happily stayed home to hold down the fort, tend the gardens, and take care of the dogs.  George fell in love with Greece. 

I will leave it to him to describe his trip:

One of the great pleasures of the trip was the opportunity to travel with my amazing daughter and precocious and creative granddaughters.  My daughter – a world traveler – is a humorous, equable, and intelligent travel companion.   There is no rental car glitch, tricky Uber pickup or unintelligible road sign that she cannot solve with ease.

The ancient ruins, museums and historical sites were spectacular.

Temple of Poseidon

The Acropolis at night

At the National Archaeological Museum

But my favorite part of the trip was visiting the beautiful village of Temeni and neighboring Aigio on the Gulf of Corinth where my grandfather, George Efthymios Panagiotopoulos grew up before he emigrated to the US in 1912. Temeni is a down-to-earth village with narrow streets and houses nestled among small olive and citrus orchards.

Stone walkway from Aigio to waterfront

Temeni

Ancient olive tree

People are friendly, and one local told us that the people of Temeni make eye contact and are known for their honesty and trustworthiness.

Temeni has beautiful pebble beaches and great views of the Gulf of Corinth and mountains beyond.

It is off the beaten path, a tranquil and beautiful place.

I wondered why my grandfather left such a beautiful area.

The family story is that he had to leave as a teenager after a dust up that resulted from an affair with a married woman although we have not found any evidence.  Just as likely was he left the area because of economic hard times due to the collapse in the price of currants, Aigio’s (and Greece’s) main export at the time. 

Abandoned currant warehouse in Aigio

Greece had also recently lost a war with the Ottoman Empire, a disastrous defeat that forced the country to cede territory and pay reparations.  This economic hardship contributed to the political instability in the years that followed.

Aigio waterfront in 1907

Back in Athens, another highlight was visiting with our Greek cousins. We greatly enjoyed their company and hospitality.

On the boundaries and outside of the popular historic areas, the city has just enough rough edges to keep the tourists down to a dull roar and the sensuous nature of the city is on full display – graffiti and murals, the smell of exotic spices, narrow streets and alleys and music with middle eastern influences drifting from bars and open windows. Intoxicating. 

Evelyn-mural chameleon

I hope to go back there with Brenda someday.

Four days after George returned home to three ecstatic dogs and one ecstatic wife, we took our now annual trip downeast to Bear Beach.  From exotic Athens, buzzing with life, and a nightmarish slog through customs at JFK, George dropped to the cool tranquility of a remote Maine beach.

We were fortunate to have two rare sunny(ish) days while there. 

I even got in a swim (with a wetsuit).  Our goals while there were to relax and to savor the dogs’ bliss in having their own private beach as a playground. 

Both goals were accomplished.  We walked

and read and I did a lot of spinning. 

The dogs faces were lit with happy anticipation in the morning

and by nightfall they were curled up,

worn out from the sheer joy of a day in the water. 

After returning home to more soggy, dismal weather,

I packed up for a weekend in Vermont at the end of June for the Antique Wheel Symposium at Lone Rock Farm in Marshfield. 

It was fantastic, with excellent speakers and plenty of time to visit with fellow wheel lovers.  The farm is just beautiful and the food was amazing. 

The last night there, smoke from the Canadian fires descended and I drove home through rain.

We have been fortunate, actually, that the Canadian smoke has not really affected us in midcoast Maine and I suppose my fretting about our lack of sun seems petty, considering the wildfires, scorching temperatures (including the brutal heat in Greece right now), flooding, and other weather calamities around the world this summer. But, while not calamitous, it feels as if summer has passed us over entirely.  The garden is struggling, our house painting project progresses in slow bits, we can barely get any outside work done and we miss our sky’s daily theater of moonrises, cloud formations, and stars. 

But, more of that in the next post.  In the meantime, I am packing up for a trip to Sweden where I will be taking a weaving class at the famous, 100-year-old craft school, Sätergläntan.  I am so excited and thankful that George will be tending to things at home (including the flax crop) so that I take advantage of this rare opportunity.  I’m hoping the sun will come out by the time I return in August.     

Scouting Spring

After our November trip to Georgia, we anticipated settling into the slower pace of winter.  The dream of leisurely days was knocked upside the head by the introduction of a third dog—a young powerhouse of love and curiosity, eager to wiggle her way into our pack. 

Our new girl, Scout, was at home here from the minute she stepped foot in the door.  At just a year old, she was already well-trained and the most eager-to-please dog we have ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

Capp was a little hesitant over the rambunctious intruder, but soon warmed up and they are now fast friends. 

Alice, on the other hand, remains above it all, surveying her domain from her couch-ly throne, watching Capp and Scout’s tug-of-war destruction of toy after toy. 

Alice just turned nine and George aptly calls her Empress of Wheelhouse. 

Along with making all the dogs happy through the transition, we dealt with Scout’s first heat—always a little tension-inducing when it brings the coyotes to howling in our lower woods—and the challenge of trying to keep her activity down after she was spayed two weeks ago.  It was a very dog-centric winter. 

To complicate things, dog-wise, we had an unwelcome tenant under our front stoop.  After a mid-winter snowstorm, animal tracks appeared—something was clearly living right under our doorstep. 

We thought at first it might be a fox, but George’s inspection discovered a porcupine.  We have always had porcupines in our woods and they like to snack on the white pines along the edge of our property. 

But they have always stayed far from the house and outside of the fence.  Much as we like them from a distance, we cannot have one (or more) living right under our front door—not with three dogs. 

Although we tried to eject it with numerous methods, it not only was unfazed, but became even more bold, coming inside the fence.  So, sadly, it has crossed over the prickly rainbow bridge and we are trellising the front stoop that no other animals can camp under there.

Adding to that excitement, the winter weather swung wildly from ridiculously warm, to ice storms,

to balmy, to snow. 

We stayed snug by the fire and focused on indoor projects. 

Scout loves to watch the fire

George ripped out the old shelving in our mud room and constructed beautiful shelves and cupboards out of some strikingly-grained ash that he jointed and planed from rough cut lumber.    

For me, winter is a time to contentedly focus on spinning and weaving.  I wove dishtowels

and some linen and cotton fabric for a dress and skirt. 

I sewed a jacket from yarn that I had spun,

naturally dyed, and woven,

which is almost blindingly bright—belying all those who say natural dyes produce only dull browns and yellows.  

Likewise the two highly colored rugs

I wove out of odds and ends of my handspun and naturally dyed wool. 

I am enjoying doing more complicated patterns on my Leksand bandloom.

My favorite project, though, is one currently on my loom because it is all handspun singles—warp and weft—which produces cloth with a wonderful feel. 

Most yarn is plied, two or more single-spun yarns twisted together, which is stronger and easier to weave, but I prefer singles and only recently felt confident enough to use my handspun singles as warp.  So far, so good. I am delighted with it.

The dogs enjoyed a few winter beach visits,

where, after her initial amazement at the quality of water, Scout took to swimming like the Lab she is. 

We had a few rounds of family visits,

Scout communes with Uncle David

including last week when our granddaughters stayed with us and we had beautiful spring weather to enjoy Mt. Battie

and the Rockland breakwater. 

Through all this, though, our ongoing, all-consuming project was a total redesign of the vegetable gardens. 

The past few years, I was becoming increasingly frustrated by all the weeding I had to do in the very wide walkways between the raised beds.  I actually enjoy weeding the beds themselves, which is usually relatively quick and easy.  But the walkways seem to attract the really deep-rooted, nasty, hard-to-dig-out variety of weeds that stubbornly return again and again, no matter how much mulch is there. 

We also had no way of getting the tractor in the garden, so delivering and spreading mulch and compost was time and labor intensive.  We reconfigured both gardens with a wide tractor-way in the middle and narrower walkways between the beds.  

Less weeding and easier access.  This meant a tremendous amount of work for George.  Because many of boards in the raised beds were rotting out, George decided to rebuild all of them.

Once they were done, the fun part was renting an excavator for a day to help with the dirt work. 

It was an exhausting day, but by the end, all the beds were in place and ready for planting. 

George also built new gates, which look art-deco-ish to me.  I love them. 

The gardens are now ready for the season, but I must wait for the soil to heat up some more before most things can go in. 

It has been a cold, slow spring.  But, we are feasting on asparagus and the flax, peas, spinach, and lettuce are up. 

The greenhouse is full of seedlings and a bed of mushrooms that I’m hoping to grow in there this summer.

Aside from working on the garden project, George has been steadily clearing trees below the house to keep our view open and for firewood.  He came upon this nest of eggs last week, on the ground right near our trail. 

We have stayed away (good camera lens for the photo), but I believe it is a Ruffed Grouse nest—her camouflage is amazing. 

While I am itching to dig into the gardening season, full of plans and experiments, I am mourning our peaches and cherries. 

Our wildly fluctuating weather this winter—especially a spell of way below zero weather (with wind) in February—decimated the developing peach and cherry blossoms.  I may even lose a few trees.  My sweet cherry tree is covered in empty blossoms—open with nothing inside—

with just a lonely handful that survived. 

The peach tree blossoms are just dead buds and sparse leaves.  It will be a peach-less summer.  The good news is that all of my pears are blooming, two trees for the first time. 

We are supposed to get a frost tomorrow night, so fingers crossed they are not affected.  Peaches, cherries, and plums have been hit hard all over New England, so I should not complain.  At least, I am not a farmer dependent on a crop for my livelihood.  But I will miss my peaches and cherries this year.

Our bulbs are thriving and everything (aside from the peaches and cherries)

is blooming. 

After a satisfying and productive winter, bring on the frenzy of summer.

Down East to Down South

After our whirlwind summer, we decided to head Downeast in early October for a little oceanside relaxation–Maine style. We found a fantastic dog-friendly rental in Jonesport, a fishing and lobstering town about a two-and-a-half hour drive down the coast that feels somewhat like a drive back in time.

Jonesport is a no-frills working town, unspoiled by heavy tourism. Beautiful old houses dot the edges of the small downtown, many built in the early 1900s, when Jonesport was living high off of sardines. One of the busiest towns in the area then, it had several sardine canning plants. When the sardines played out, Jonesport moved to other types of commercial fishing, including lobstering.

Long working hours on the lobster boats

Since Maine’s lobster industry is now under assault, it looks like Jonesport will have to continue to adapt.

We were there in early October, still tourist season in Maine, but seemed to be the only tourist-types around. As we drove in, we stopped at a local grocery store to pick up a few things. The parking lot was swarming with young local hunters, talking and laughing as they headed out for waterfowl. In a town where everyone knows each other, we must have stood out like sore thumbs, but people were invariably friendly and went out of their way to be helpful. We really liked it there.

Our rental was right on the beach with panoramic views east, south, and west.

In the early mornings, we watched a parade of lobster boats heading into the sunrise. Come afternoon, we watched the same boats return.

The fog rolled in once, fast smothering the boats across the way at Beals Island.

Just as quickly, it rolled out again.

Evenings brought fiery sunsets over the Jonesport docks

and a full moon rising.

Mostly we relaxed watching the boat, water, and sky entertainment, but I also spent hours walking the beach.

Sandy, walkable beaches are a rarity in Maine and this one was deserted.

Just me, birds,

boats, crabs,

rocks,

shells,

seaweed,

and the unexpected sweet fragrance of the October-blooming beachside roses.

The dogs were, of course, in heaven.

Especially Alice, for whom ocean retrieving is the height of joy.

Aside from a quick trip to Machias for our favorite very-last-of-the-season (we actually got the last order) fried clams at Riverside Takeout, we did not go anywhere or do anything.

Our kind of vacation.

We returned home to end-of-the season chores in anticipation of cold weather. I harvested and hung my cotton plants

and processed some of this season’s flax,

including some Stormont Gossamer, a fine heirloom variety from Ireland that is a dream to spin.

The Stormont Gossamer is on the top right

George processed our small peanut crop, completed the deck, got the trails ready for winter, and stabilized our side porch.

The weather all month was almost disturbingly warm. Monarchs lingered into late October.

While the vivid fall leaves should have signaled colder weather,

the warm-weather peppers, tomatoes, okra and artichokes continued to produce. It was hard to put the garden to bed with so much food still growing, but I eventually pulled most of the warm-weather crops to get it done before we headed to Georgia at the end of the month.

Amazingly, we were finally going to take our twice-postponed trip to visit our children and grandchildren. It was originally planned for March 2020, right when the initial covid outbreak shut everything down. Our second attempt was scuttled by a prolonged bout of serious dog gastrointestinal issues after we changed dog foods. We half suspected that another bizarre calamity would hit in the week before this planned trip. But, no. Armed with recent flu shots and covid boosters, we left home, taking the old-person route through Pennsylvania rather than battling the horrors of driving near New York City or Washington DC. Even so, the roads were too congested for me.

Given that congestion, we were surprised to see miles of humongous new hub warehouses going in along Pennsylvania interstates, eating up the flat former farmland. How all the trucks delivering out of those warehouses are going to fit on the already almost-overwhelmed interstates is a mystery to me. As it is, the slightest hiccup from road construction or even a small accident brings traffic to a grinding halt, backing up the interstate for miles.

Naturally, the dogs came with us. They are excellent travelers and we found great dog-friendly hotels. Alice had a raucous afternoon at my brother’s house in Connecticut, where we stayed our first night. Although she had not been to the farm in years, she seemed to remember it and took off into the woods with my brother’s dog, racing around like a much younger dog, oblivious to our calls. Very un-Alice-like. We later realized that something there likely reminded her of the hunting training she had in her early years before she came to us.

We arrived at our daughter’s house on Halloween–a holiday that has exploded into a major extravaganza in her neighborhood, with elaborate decorations, haunted houses, and buzzing golf carts ferrying hundreds of trick-or-treaters through candy land.

Quite a contrast to our rural Maine Halloween, where we are lucky to get one set of trick-or-treaters at our house.

After my daughter and her husband moved into their house, they had thinned out some of the tall pines growing in the back.

While we were there, a sawyer brought his portable sawmill and turned the downed logs into gorgeous lumber. George was a sawyer many years ago and it was a pleasure to watch this portable operation. And the whole yard smelled of delightful freshly sawn resinous pine.

We had lunch in Senoia and saw where much of The Walking Dead was filmed.

After a few days, we headed to our son’s house on the other side of Atlanta, driving through the neighborhoods where we lived more than twenty years ago. It was a bit disorienting. Trees have grown huge, neighborhoods have changed, and what had been small, declining town centers in Duluth and Suwanee have developed into unrecognizable bustling hives of modern shops and restaurants. So many people–far more than when we lived there.

We had a relaxing time at our son’s house in Gainesville, well removed from the Atlanta craziness and traffic, eating, talking, watching UGA football, and visiting wineries.

Their lovely dogs put up with ours,

including their handsome young hound, Tucker, who endured a just-in-case muzzle based on his history of brotherly fighting. He was a good boy.

It was wonderful to spend time with our family in their own homes. The only downside was that two of our grandkids were sick–bad timing. The flu was rampant down there and I was paranoid about catching it and getting stuck in Georgia–coughing, feverish, and longing for home. Fortunately, we survived unscathed and set out at about 4:30 on a dark Sunday morning, almost hitting a big buck deer that jumped right in front of the car a few miles into our trip home. Speaking of deer, we must have seen a hundred dead ones, from newly-killed to a pile of bone and fur, on the interstates on this trip. Depressing.

Between the dead deer, the army of 18-wheelers, and general congestion, road trips are not what they used to be. We used to love long road trips, driving all over the country and Canada. But, at least on the east coast, the stress of heavy traffic sucks the pleasure right out of driving for me. At least gas was cheap in Georgia.

Camellia season in Georgia

It was so sweet to get home. In our absence, my cotton boles had popped

and my experimental saffron crocuses had bloomed in the greenhouse.

Best of all, we had a new dog waiting to join our pack. A lovely year-old girl who needed a new home. Meet Scout.

She fit right in, as if she has always lived here.

Alice and Capp are adjusting to having an energetic teenager in the house, but doing well.

Alice and Scout

It remains freakily warm, with no real winter weather in sight. The male bluebirds are squabbling over a birdbox, something they don’t usually do until spring.

We are putting up Christmas lights and looking forward to snow. Enjoy the holidays.

Summer Show and Tell

As usual, summer was a whirlwind.  It started at a nice pace. 

May brought a sweet mix of sun and showers,

feeding a frenzy of new growth,

pollinators,

and nesting birds.

George focused on firewood, converting our downed trees into neatly sawed, split, and organized piles for our winter heat. 

Thanks to George’s spring and summer work, we are wood-ready for winter

To add to his work, he had to cut quite a lot of previously split wood into shorter lengths to fit our new wood stove, so devised a jig to efficiently saw through a stack at once. 

While he was working on firewood, I savored being back out in the garden, tending my seedlings, fruit trees, and planting.  Everything was on track. 

I wove some funky sapling trellises for the peas–they worked great

And then, on the last day of May, I unexpectedly came down with covid. Gardening came to a screeching halt.  It was a relatively mild case and, fortunately, George did not get it.  But even after I recovered, I was sapped of my usual energy for about six weeks. 

As a result, I spent the rest of the summer playing catch-up.  Only now, in late September, am I starting to feel as if I have time to really relax and catch my breath again.

In June, right after I recovered, we spent a week Downeast at Bear Beach, the same cabin that we rented last year. 

Our daughter and grandchildren joined us for most of the week. 

We hiked,

discovered amazing fried clams at Riverside Takeout in Machias, explored Jasper beach,

played cornhole, sat by the fire, and relaxed.  To the dogs, it was absolute heaven, with short hikes and twice-daily ocean swimming. 

The sunsets were stunning. 

The grandkids then returned home with us for a week, while our daughter headed off on a trip of her own.  We did a lot of cooking and baking with the kids,

visited some museums, and played badminton in the area George recently cleared at the top of the driveway. 

At the end of the week, our daughter and son-in-law both came for a few days of good eating and relaxation.  

Maine lobster–keep eating it

It was wonderful to get to spend so much time with them. 

After they left, I hit the garden in earnest. Earlier in the spring, with George’s help, I tried a new tactic to deal with the Bishop’s weed (aka that damned goutweed) that is trying to take over the perennial garden.  I took out all plants but two hollies in the infested area, covered everything with cardboard and then six inches of heavy mulch. 

I rooted out every stray plant that popped up and am hoping a similar burial next year will get the scourge under control. 

Despite the fact that I did not keep up with weeding the vegetable garden, it was amazingly productive this year. 

We grew enough asparagus, peas, lettuce, beets, carrots, spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, beans, corn, potatoes, onions, pumpkins, squash,

tomatoes,

okra, chard, collards, eggplant, fennel, leeks, brussel sprouts and peppers to eat out of the garden from June through October

and to freeze, store, and dry to last us through a good portion of the winter. 

The potatoes had a lot of problems and I’m going to take a break from them next year.  I did that last year with corn because I was battling corn ear worms and it seemed to work—the corn was wonderful this year with very few worms.

The solar electric fence keeps the raccoons out. Without it, they would feast.

For the first time, I tried artichokes, which were amazingly successfully, producing about two dozen artichokes off of just two plants. 

We are smoking hot peppers this year and experimenting with making our own chili powders.  

I continue to grow figs, ginger, and turmeric in the greenhouse.  I also grew six cotton plants, which are doing magnificently. 

I have grown cotton before, but this is the first year that some bolls are maturing and popping while the cotton is still in the ground.  Usually, I cut off the whole plant right before frost and hang it upside down inside for the bolls to mature and open. 

Sea Island Brown cotton for spinning

As always, flax is one of my favorite crops.  This year, I grew two different varieties.  I again planted Nathalie, which grew extremely tall this year. 

Nathalie and me

I also tried a heritage variety, Stormont Gossamer, which is supposed to produce a very fine flax fiber.  I am looking forward to comparing the two after retting and processing.    

Sadly, we didn’t get to eat these. The day before I was going to pick them the birds decided they were at peak perfection and ate every one.

The fruits and berries are starting to produce really nice harvests.  Blueberries and black raspberries give us more than we can eat.  We had our first real crop of hazelnuts and northern kiwi. 

Once again, I bagged the peaches and pears while on the tree. 

It protects them from pests and gives blemish-free fruit. 

I put away a good batch of peach bourbon barbeque sauce and made peach pie. 

The pears are just ready to pick

and we had a grand total of two apples!  Next year we should have more apples.  We are still waiting on the pawpaws, but they are finally looking happy and growing well.  I also planted blackberries, plums and apricots this year, so will be rich in fruit before too long.

Our flowers are flourishing and full of pollinators. 

This is the second summer I did not keep bees. 

I have been trying to observe whether removing the honeybees will result in an increase in other types of pollinators. 

It is hard to tell at this point,

but we certainly attract a wide variety, with several types of bumble bees leading the pack.

While I focused on gardening, George worked on infrastructure. 

He rented a small excavator for digging culverts, a trench for a water line to the greenhouse, and holes for fence posts and tree plantings.  He also worked on drainage, built a retaining wall, and improved our trails. 

Perhaps the best investment this summer was a grapple for the tractor, which makes short work of carrying logs, moving brush, and transporting rocks—all frequent and necessary tasks as George continues to clear and transform the area below the house. 

His biggest project was rebuilding our back deck. 

It was old, weathered, decayed, and ugly, with rusted-out screws.  George did not just replace the old deck and railings,

he took the time and thought to transform the deck into a really beautiful and inviting space. 

Capp helped, of course, inspecting George’s work.

In August, George turned 70.  Both of our kids flew in for the weekend to celebrate and it was such a treat to have both of them here together.  We went to the local Union Fair, but mostly cooked, feasted, drank, and talked.  I bought George a little Ooni pizza oven for his birthday and we quickly became addicted to it. 

With ingredients fresh from our gardens, it makes unbelievably tasty pizzas and it’s really fun to use. 

As summer winds down, we are still doing some harvesting and food preservation,

but I am starting, slowly, to put the gardens to bed and turn to inside activities. 

I have “Julia Larrabec’s linen” on the loom for fabric for a dress and skirt and lots of plans for winter spinning, weaving and wheel repairs. 

I never have much time for weaving in the summer, but did finish some madder-dyed overshot fabric

and wove some hand towels. 

I have several fleeces washed for winter spinning and will be processing my flax soon. 

Brilliant fall sunrises have arrived.

The dogs remain happy and full of love. 

We are looking forward to fall and winter. 

In the Wheelhouse

I started to write this post in February, right before the invasion of Ukraine.  I put the post on hold because the daily consumption of ghastly news sucked the life out of me and it felt absurd and grotesque to chatter about our everyday pleasures when people were being bombed and driven out of their homes.  Eventually, I decided to get on with it. 

Despite all the misery in the world, our life goes on and I still want to record it with all its trivialities and local concerns.  I read a Penelope Lively book recently that addressed this issue, noting that when those “who live out their lives in a politically stable country, in peacetime” complain about their daily ups and downs, it seems “positively obscene” compared with the horrors of people living under repressive regimes or being forced to leave their homelands. 

Nevertheless, “in the meantime, the only sensible and expedient thing was to get on with private life, while governments came and went, a cacophonous backdrop to the real business of existence.” (Penelope Lively, Consequences, p. 145). 

So, we get on with our private life, but appreciate our bit of hillside even more, seeing how passionately Ukrainians are fighting for their place in the world. 

With every season, we become more rooted here. 

We have even named our home, unusual for us–we have never named houses or cars.  But it seems to right to acknowledge the special nature of this spot–and our relationship to it—with a name.  It is now the “Wheelhouse,” a name with three definitions, all appropriate. 

George made the sign

Most obviously, the house is a haven for spinning wheels.  Many rescued and brought back to spinning life, they inhabit every room but the bathrooms.

Aside from the wheels, this place shelters us, like a boat’s wheelhouse, providing a sanctuary from which we can navigate our lives through the increasingly ominous world around us. 

Finally, to the extent being “in your wheelhouse” describes that sweet spot where your interests and abilities flourish, the name could not be more fitting.  So, as the world becomes increasingly unsettled, we hope to be able to ride out our old age in our Wheelhouse. 

We have become so in tune with this place, increasingly observant and appreciative of the subtle changes through each season, that we are reluctant to travel and be away from it. 

Local trips to the ocean are a must, though. 

Pemaquid Point

And we have visitors.  Our daughter, her husband, and our three grandchildren were here over Christmas. 

We lit up our yard evergreens, and, fortunately, had snow, making the short days festive and cozy. 

In the fall, George took on the herculean task of cleaning out and organizing our basement so that we could put in a used pool table and air hockey before the grandkids came.  We installed them just in time and, while the kids were here, the basement was in continuous use, with raucous laughter, and screams of outrage and excitement.  Apparently, the family genes for competition are alive and well. 

My grandmother and mother both had the reputation of cheating at Scrabble when playing with grandchildren.  I try not to emulate them but did discover that the muscles used for throwing shuttles in weaving put me in shape for some rousing games of air hockey and that it’s fantastic for keeping aging reflexes in shape.  Thanks to George’s brother, Joe, the highlight of our concrete-basement-chic decor is a Miller High Life sign from Homer, Alaska, that we believe used to hang on the walls of a Homer landmark, Alice’s Champagne Palace. We also set up a dart board that we have hardly used yet and George is building a small bar, with a beautiful handmade butcher block top. 

If we have to retreat to the basement in a nuclear attack, at least we’ll be well equipped for entertainment. 

The weather ran hot and cold all winter.  We had a few good snowfalls, which I took advantage of by putting out flax for retting and trying some snow carpet cleaning (only moderately successful). 

During the thaws, our yard was invaded by no-longer-shy wildlife feasting on the fallen apples from our old wild trees.  For a time, several deer jumped the fence every night, and even hopped over the second fence into the vegetable gardens, eating my leeks down to stubs. 

We were very concerned when we spotted a porcupine waddling around an apple-laden corner of the yard and perched in our neighbor’s tree overhanging our fence. 

Our dogs are not porcupine-wise.  Alice would want to confront it, Capp to play with it.  Fortunately, the porcupine did not stick around for more than about a week and we were spared snouts full of quills. 

With mixed feelings, we took down another large tree. The maple in the corner of our driveway was increasingly shading out our solar panels, while also starting to look scraggly and stressed up top.  

One of Alice’s bumpers was stranded near the top

It felt like the betrayal of a friend to cut it down.  But, as with the old oak and apples we took down earlier in the year, once the maple was down, we loved how it opened up the view and let in more light and air. 

Best of all, our solar production soared and we rather wish we had done it earlier. 

With several large trees coming down,

George has his hands full cutting and splitting firewood. 

Aside from that, and daily dog walks, though, we savor having time for indoor projects in the winter. 

George has been doing woodworking, making furniture,

parts and shelves for my spinning wheels, and signs. 

The grandkids have always called the garage upstairs the “other house.”

We both bake a lot—George has perfected bagels with nooks and crannies on top. 

I enjoy weekly saunas, sometimes sharing it with old spinning wheels or flax breaks showing signs of powderpost beetle damage.  Most do not show signs of current infestations, but the heat of a few sauna sessions alternating with some freezing outside temperature is supposed to kill any that might still be active. 

Sauna with a very old flax or hemp break

For me, winter means spinning and weaving. 

I wove another small overshot coverlet, “Tennessee Trouble” pattern, from wool that I had spun and naturally dyed. 

Then I switched to commercial singles linen,

for six cushions for dining table chairs. 

My favorite piece, however, is a coat made from two fleeces from multi-colored Jacob sheep, Zola and Eloise,

from Catawampus Farm in central Maine. 

Over the past few years, I spun the fleeces off and on (along with a lot of other spinning)

using my antique spinning wheels and then wove the handspun

into a nubbly twill fabric. 

I then sewed the coat with a red silk lining and, amazingly, it came out just as I had envisioned. 

Fortunately, it is still cold enough that I have been able to wear it a few times before the weather gets warm. 

I also sewed up the linen that I had woven at Marshfield School of Weaving last summer into a skirt and top. 

More and more, I’m enjoying making clothes out my handwoven cloth.

The dogs are moving into sedate middle age … sort of. 

George takes the dogs on daily trail “walkabouts,” which, for Alice, consists of continuous frenzied bumper-fetching with a single-minded zeal that blocks out everything else.  One day, while running through some thorns, she ripped a tiny wedge out of the edge of her ear. 

We now know by experience that Labradors’ tails and ears bleed profusely when cut, approaching stuck-pig-like proportions, and if shaken or wagged, will splatter sufficient blood on you and your kitchen to resemble a grisly crime scene.  It took us a bit (with no help from our (now former) vet) to figure out that the only way to stop the bleeding was to wrap her ear well and firmly against her head.  After a trip to the emergency vet in Portland, the poor girl sported a head wrap for several days before it healed up enough to sustain a good head shake without bleeding again. 

While she looked adorable, she probably found the headwrap humiliating. I didn’t make any jokes at her expense for fear that Capp might paw-slap me in her defense. 

In the meantime, we are still finding blood spatters in odd places.  Soon after, we had to bring Capp to the emergency vet after he spent a day in obvious pain, restless and hunched over.  Turns out he pulled a back muscle playing in the deep snow the day before. 

Who knew?  We also did not expect that changing dog food would wreak havoc with both dogs.  For a couple of reasons, we decided to change dog food a few months ago.  After a ton of research and recommendations, we picked one of the designer-high-priced brands, that appeared to be well-formulated for Labs.  We eased them into it slowly and they seemed to love it, but both developed severe diarrhea.  At first, we didn’t associate it with the dog food, but after several months of treatments, it appears that is what caused it.  Apparently, it is too rich for our dogs’ plebeian taste.  We now seem to have things under control, although Alice still isn’t entirely back to normal.  Other than that, the dogs are happy and becoming even more affectionate, if that is possible.

As the weather warms, we will be moving outside.  We have a full line up of projects. We still have carrots, tomato sauce, and frozen and dried fruit and vegetables from last summer. Time to eat them up. I have started this year’s seedlings and cannot wait to get into the gardens. It is still a little soggy and cold to do much, but bulbs are emerging and spring is here.  I am hoping that, no matter what the spring brings, it will be a good summer for sunflowers. 

Reaping and Pillaging and a Little Lubec

For more than six years, we have been planting, fencing, building, clearing, and chopping on our piece of hillside to create our vision of home.  In the process, we have—intentionally and otherwise—rearranged the plant and animal populations around us. 

For one thing to live, others have to die. A balancing act in which we often tip the scales. This summer was a good time to take stock.  What stays, what goes, what needs adjustment? 

Birds, for example. Our bird population has become much more diverse since we took down our bird feeders several years ago.  I have been feeding birds all my life, so it was difficult to give up. 

Tree swallows

But what an amazing trade-off.  Our property feels like a bird haven now, with nests and baby birds popping up everywhere throughout the spring and summer. The bird feeders will stay down.

Goldfinch

Watching the bird population evolve has made me wonder if keeping honeybees has a similar skewing effect on the native bees and wasps.  I am taking three years off from keeping bees, so it will be interesting to see if we notice an increase in the native pollinators.  If so, I will reevaluate setting up hives again.  

As for our plant population, we are always experimenting with what we can grow and continue to be surprised at the wide variety of things that do well this far north.   Our fruit trees are starting to yield and my experiment in bagging fruit was a huge success. 

These pears were bagged until the last weeks before harvest

We had a bumper crop of peaches and pears,

unblemished and with exquisite flavor. 

Surround spray took care of the plum curculios that devastated my cherries last year.

 The greenhouse fig trees went crazy bearing fruit this year,

and I was tickled to have fruit salad with home grown apples, peaches, pears, and figs (we did not grow the pecans but are working on hazlenuts). 

We enjoyed our first small crop of northern kiwis

and had enough black raspberries to freeze for winter.  One of our new grape vines put out several clusters that, while small, were the most delicious grapes I’ve ever eaten. 

Our pawpaw and persimmon trees have struggled but, finally, this year seem to have taken hold and are happily establishing themselves.  Climate change appears to be lengthening our growing season, so I expect they will continue to thrive, while more and more diseases and insect pests continue to migrate north. 

It was an odd summer, weatherwise.  High heat and humidity early on, followed by a cold snap, and then fairly normal temperatures with plenty of rain—a contrast from our droughty recent summers.  As October winds down, it is unusually mild, with no real frost in sight. So, it is not surprising that our warm weather crops fared well, with lots of okra, eggplant, peppers, melons, and even peanuts. 

Our greenhouse exploded with growth

and, for some reason, our leeks were massive. 

With all the rain, our grass grew like mad–lush and green. It kept George mowing and he perfected grass circles.  

On the downside, the rain and high humidity brought various blights, which affected the tomatoes and, for the first time, potatoes.  We had enough tomatoes for a winter’s worth of sauce,

but lost a lot of potatoes to late blight and the bane of our existence–rodents. We still are battling mice and voles, our little pillagers, which seem to have a big spike in population throughout Maine these past two years.  Despite help from predators, such as this snake that hung around the greenhouse,

and constant trapping, the voles and, to a lesser extent, mice, once again feasted on the garden, especially enjoying the potatoes, squash, carrots, beets, and melons.  A resident chipmunk, here enjoying some flax seeds,

was adept at climbing the highbush blueberry right next to our porch and stripping the berries. 

The adorable pillaging chipmunk ate almost all of these blueberries

Fortunately, we don’t have rodents in the house but it is a never-ending struggle to keep them out of the vehicles and equipment. 

Sadly, after much deliberation, we took down several old apple trees, including two near the house, because they were so badly infected with fire blight.  To our surprise, once they were gone, we did not miss them.  In fact, our view opened up magnificently and we no longer have to chase the dogs away from eating the rotting windfalls every time they go out (it was impossible to pick up all the downed apples).  We will have the trunks sawed into boards, which George will turn into furniture. We also are going to cut down the huge old oak that frames our view in the back. 

It lost one of its trunks in a storm last year and has struggled since.  It appears to be rotting internally and prematurely shed its leaves this fall. So we want to cut it on our terms rather than have the whole thing come down in a storm. I will be sad to see it go, but am hoping that not having a massive annual acorn drop will cut down on rodents. Needless to say, George has been busy converting the apple branches into firewood and the oak will keep him busy for quite some time. 

Sauna wood in the background–just a tiny portion of all that George has cut and split

The evergreens George has planted are thriving with all the rain and he put in another star magnolia, a stewartia, a mulberry (for silkworms!), a dwarf gingko, and a katsura. 

He has also cleared the area at the top of our drive, planting grass and clover around some of our ancient apples, which fortunately did not get hit with blight. 

During an August lull in gardening, I went to Marshfield School of Weaving in Vermont for a week, where I learned new techniques (new to me, they are actually very old traditional techniques) weaving linen singles on a big old New England loom. 

Everyone in the class was wonderful, including the teacher, Justin Squizzero. I learned a ton, and came home exhausted. 

After recovering from all that mental effort, I caught up in the gardens, and turned my attention to late summer tasks.  August and September are full-on food processing time.

And dyeing season. I spent several happy days outside dyeing handspun wool skeins

Woad vat for blue

Madder roots for red

with my homegrown woad, weld, dyer’s chamomile, and madder. 

In September, I processed my flax crop,

which I kept a bit smaller this year, since I still have a lot unspun from last year.  

I have been trying to put my vegetable garden to bed for the winter, but it has been so mild, I’m still harvesting fennel, leeks, shishito peppers, carrots, lima beans, chard, kale, and collards.  And we still have tomatoes in the greenhouse.  I need to divide perennials, get the vole guards on the fruit trees, harvest ginger and turmeric and plant bulbs.  Looks like I will be gardening into November.  Crazy.

We bought a second kayak in late summer and took a maiden trip on the two lakes that we can see from our house. 

It was good to be out on the water with George again. 

It was a busy summer and by October, we were ready for a short vacation.  We love the uncrowded coastline of Downeast Maine and rented a cottage on the ocean in Lubec, a tiny town right on the Canadian border.

The weather was glorious and the dogs in heaven.  They swam at the beach every day

The tidal ranges are huge in this area

and hiked at beautiful Quoddy Head State Park, the easternmost point in the contiguous United States. 

The trails wind through fragrant balsam woods, around a bog filled with insect-eating pitcher plants,

and skirt the rocky shoreline, where the water is a vivid blue-green. 

Alice was ecstatic to be hiking, although she always wanted to check out the water, even if it was below a sheer cliff.  A little nerve-wracking.  

I am already planning next year’s gardens, but am really looking forward to coming inside and focusing on weaving and spinning this winter.  The dogs are soaking up the late fall sunshine. 

It is time to slow down for a few months and savor the quiet and coziness of our Maine winter.