Tapping In and Warping Up


We are waiting for our third snowstorm in two weeks. Even so, the air, light, and birdsong feel like spring. Our earliest seedlings–onions and leeks–are lined up in front of the upstairs southern window, with kale, chard, lettuce, and peppers soon to follow. And this year, we were even more aware of signs of spring because we tapped maples for syrup.


The sap has been running for several weeks and there’s such a good flow this year that we actually have too much to use. We only tapped three trees and one–the big house-side maple that turns brilliant crimson in the fall–had such thick bark that we didn’t drill deep enough and gave about a third of the amount of sap of the other two. But, even so, we are drowning in sap.


The dogs love to go gather the sap.

On our first boil, we used our lobster pot on the grill-side burner outside. It is supposed to take about 40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup, so it has to boil for a long time. A very long time.


We finished it off on our kitchen stove indoors.


We ended up with about a quart and a half of syrup on the first boil.


We decided to do all of the second boil on our kitchen stove. It was much faster and we can use the added moisture in the air.


Our trees are red maple rather than sugar maple and the syrup has a distinctive vanilla-like flavor different than commercial syrup. Since we have so much sap, I’ve been drinking it. Delicious.


Right from the bucket with its own ice.

Aside from gathering sap, gathering wood, and our usual walks, we have been enjoying the last of winter’s snowbound inside days. As soon as the snow melts, we’ll be out pruning , readying the gardens, and starting building projects.


I have loved the inside time.  I made a small quilt to cover the couch for the dogs.


Note the wine for basting.

But I spent most of my winter blissfully spinning, restoring wheels, and weaving–for the first time in decades.


George resurrected my old loom.


The poor thing has been stored for about 40 years.



He made a new square beam, tightened up joints and glued a break, and made new dowel pieces for the sectional beam.


I made a new apron and replaced the old cords and tie ups with texsolv, a wonderful easy system using eye-looped cords and plastic pegs.


It’s a unique and wonderful little loom. The woman I bought it from in the 1970s said that her grandfather made it for her grandmother early in the 1900s.


The loom was thoughtfully made, and includes lights conveniently placed front and back. When George brought the lights in to have the wiring brought up to code, we found that one of the lightbulbs had a tungsten filament and dated from the 1920s. It’s still working.



Even the light clamp looks like it’s from the 20s

I had forgotten how much I love to weave.


Unlike some weavers, I enjoy all of the preparation steps–


winding the warp,


threading the reed and heddles,


and seeing the neat warp all wound on, miraculously untangled and ready to weave.


For this first weave, I made twill dish towels, without any set color or treadling pattern, just experimenting with both.


Ready to hem and clip the strays


I also took some Soay yarn that I have been spinning and did a quick sample, thinking I might use it in my next project. But I liked it so much that I wove enough to cover the seat in my spinning chair. Soay sheep shed their wool in lumps rather than being shorn, and the wool is fine and crimpy but with lots of short strands and little clumps.


I spun it nubbly, thinking it might look interesting in a traditional twill, and was surprised at how much I liked it in this rosepath twill.


My wheel herd continues to grow bigger and I have all of them spinning. Now to find new homes for some of the rescues.


Our aggressive male bluebird continues to plague us daily. He continued to attack the windows even on the most frigid winter days. I wish we could have him neutered.


High Summer


When we first moved to Maine, someone told us that for five months of the year, it has the best weather in the world.  He was right.  I cannot imagine more perfect summer days. Warm, breezy, and sunny with enough afternoon thunderstorms to keep everything watered, followed by mellow, thick, golden evening light and then … fireflies.


True water dog that she is, Alice adores playing in the sprinkler at the end of a hot day.  


Last summer was marred by Zoe’s illness and death, so we were not able to really appreciate how magical summer is here. This year is different. The mixture of sun and rain is producing the most magnificent garden vegetables I have ever grown.


This fennel self-seeded and is growing out the sides of the raised beds.


The only challenge has been keeping the dogs from chowing down on them.


They especially like to graze on the peas.


Our flowers are blooming like mad,  becoming so big and crowded that I am going to have to tackle some serious digging and division this year.


But, right now, I’m enjoying the riotous mish-mash of flowers, including the milkweed that sprung up on its own last year.


I love its fragrance, beauty, and butterfly-value, so it is welcome to stay.



I have never been a big fan of yarrow, but grew this as an orchard companion and love the subtle colors.



Our new clematis is doing well.

We still have some nestlings, although most of the young birds have flown.


I thought that I spotted some unusual woodpecker with a brilliant orange “W” or “M” mark on its crown.


Turns out it is a juvenile Hairy Woodpecker.


Unfortunately, the aggressive male bluebird continues to plague us and seems to have chased off our beloved swallows. He looks a bit disheveled after hours of window and car attacks but nothing seems to faze him.


He is a gorgeous but such a bully, I’d like to wring his neck. Bluebirds have now joined chipmunks on my “cute but evil” list.


George has been  working on the trail system through our woods.


About five acres of our land is wooded and we want to put in trails so that we can cut firewood, tap maples in the spring, and enjoy the woods all year round.


In our first year, George built a loop trail from our front drive to the back garden.


Original loop

This spring we mapped out several other trails leading off of that one.


New trail

He is now working on one that will run around the perimeter of the property. There are some amazing, huge old trees back in there and a few impressive giant boulders.


The bees are thriving this year.



No bees on this bee balm, but I love the double-decker flowers

On very hot days, the workers line up near the hive entrance, lift their bee butts, and fan their wings to cool the air.



Hive air conditioning

I have a few vegetable experiments underway. I am growing yellow mustard for seed this year. I will grind some and use some to make our own mustard (I hope).


Yellow mustard seed pods

I am most excited, though, about my small patch of flax. I hope to process it for spinning. It has been maintenance-free so far, with no pests or disease to worry about. And it is sowed thickly that weeds have not been an issue. It’s in full bloom right now and is exquisite, with lovely blue flowers and curving stems.


It anticipate that it will be quite a job to process the flax. The seeds need to be removed and then the stalks must be retted–a soaking process that rots the hardest part of the fibrous stem. After retting, the tough fiber must be removed through a process of breaking, scraping, and combing, which is called “dressing” the flax.


My little patch

I’ve been on the hunt in antique stores for old flax processing tools. They have medieval names–hatchel (or hetchel, hackle, heckle), scutching sword, retting tub, and ripple. Most places don’t have much familiarity with flax tools. So, I was thrilled yesterday to stumble on a small store in which the owner broke into a large grin when I asked if he had any flax processing tools. After moving various items off a tiny set of back stairs, we climbed into an attic room where he had a collection of a dozen hatchels.


The spikes on this hatchel are fairly close together.  If you look carefully on the left you can see scribe marks  for lining up the spike rows.

They resemble torture devices and are used for the final combing stage of dressing. Ideally, several hatchels should be used, starting with wide spacing of spikes to very fine spacing. I was thrilled to bring home two.


I fell in love with this hatchel made of striped maple, with a cover, and initial stamps.  It’s likely about 200 years old.


Capp had his first birthday.


He’s an amazing dog.