One Tough Mama

Several weeks ago, a pair of blue jays built a nest in the birch tree close to the north side of our house. The twig nest with its messy lived in look is well situated on a branch growing from the south side of a good sized limb. Smart bird. The location protects the nest from the north wind and weather.

After mama blue jay began sitting on the nest, we hired an arborist to remove the large silver maple tree from our backyard. The maple split because of carpenter ant damage and we were afraid it would fall on the house. We also asked the arborist to trim the birch because it was hanging all over the neighbor's drive and our roof. I requested the branch with the nest be left on the tree. By late afternoon, our gutters were clean, the maple was a pile of sawdust, the birch had fewer branches, and the female was back on her nest, albeit slightly more exposed to the weather.

Later in the week, smaller than golf ball sized hail fell and I wondered if the bird would suffer a concussion. She survived. On Thursday and Friday, glorious spring thunderstorms with wind and heavy rain rumbled through the area. This morning the male and female are checking the eggs. He flies in, she moves to one side, and they peer into the nest. Then he flies off and she nestles back down on top of her brood. I wonder if the clutch is hatching. I can't see or hear them yet.

In other news, a religious fanatic has predicted the Rapture will begin today. More rain and thunderstorms are forecast for this evening. As I write, the blue sky is dotted with cumulus clouds. Rain has washed the streets clean and filled the birdbath. I'm taking my cue from Mama blue jay. The world, flawed but refreshed by rain, will continue to turn.

Common Ground: Hovering Hawks and Prairie Wildflowers Quilt

More than choices of pattern, fabric, and color, quilts tell stories which mark time and place in which they were made. In July 1999, I began a replica of a the Hovering Hawks and Red Peonies Quilt documented in Treasures in the Trunk: Quilts of the Oregon Trail. (Cross, 1993) The quiltmaker, Sarah Ann Hazelton Gilfrey traveled with her parents from Missouri to Oregon by wagon when she was 16 years old. She made the quilt in 1865 after her family arrived in Oregon. I began my quilt simply because I admired the original piece. Choosing reproduction prints and colors similar to Sarah's, I machine pieced two blocks and set the quilt aside.

In 2001, after Mom was diagnosed with cancer, I often drove to see her. On one trip, I noticed a pair of red tailed hawks near a clump of cedar trees. I began telling her about the hawks. Each visit, she asked about them. The conversation became part of our visits and gave us something to talk about besides her illness. After her death in 2002, I finished piecing the blocks and bought the quilt pattern book, "Prairie Wildflowers," by Barbara Bracken. The following year I decided to applique the bittersweet vine, morning glory, wild rose, and wood sorrel patterns from the book in my quilt. I chose the bittersweet block because Mom loved the bright autumn vine with its orange berry. Over the next five years, I worked sporadically on the applique blocks and eventually sewed the top together.

When Dad's health began to fail in 2008, I drove to visit him. Through two years, I watched the autumn corn stubble, winter sunsets, and wildflowers blooming in the ditches. Weather permitting, I stopped to get out of the car and examine wildflowers along the road. At the nursing home, my sister and I often wheeled Dad into a courtyard where we talked about the flowers and shrubs in the garden. During the summer of 2009, I marked the quilting design on the top and basted the quilt layers together. Dad passed away in October 2010.

In January 2011, I hand quilted the piece and thought about my parents. Although my mother had a quiet strength, I never would have associated her gentle nature with fierce red tail hawks. Nor could I have predicted my brusque, strong willed father and I would have talked about flowers. Vastly different, red tail hawks and wildflowers on the quilt and Nebraska prairie share common ground the way my parents and I found common conversations at the end of their lives. In a way I never imagined, this quilt spun a story which recorded the common ground in a rite of passage. The passage was both theirs and mine.

Cross, Mary B. Treasures in the Trunk: Quilts of the Oregon Trail. Nashville: Rutledge Hill Press, 1993.

Brackman, Barbara. Prairie Flower: A Year on the Plains Kansas City, Mo.: Kansas City Star Books, 2001.

Wonder in an April Sky

In Nebraska, weather is a topic which guarantees conversations between total strangers. The changing clouds carry rain, drizzle, sleet, hail, snow, and dust depending upon the season. In the Spring, we wait for sun and hope for rain while respecting the clashing weather fronts that spawn tornados and damaging storms. Walking on windy days, I watch the changing light in the sky. Now and then I try to photograph the sky

which is a bit silly. Who wants to look at photos of the sky? Still, I find such beauty in the changing light. Several times I've charged inside for the camera, returning too late to capture the picture I wanted to save. Now, I try to savor the light and colors of the present moment. In the meantime could someone dye some alpaca yarn in the spectacular periwinkle blue, gray, and light gray sky colors of this April sky? I would like to try and knit a sunset.

End of Winter Socks

Friday evening, I finished knitting a pair of what I refer to as "end of winter" socks. I love winter. The sunsets are beautiful, the air is crisp, and the neighborhood is quieter when it is nestled under a blanket of snow. By the end of February, I yearn for more hours of daylight and warmer sun on my face. For the past three years, I've cast on a pair of socks in a bright Spring/Summer color to carry me though the last blast of winter. This year's project was "A Nice Pair of Ribbed Socks" in a pattern by Glenna C., available at http://crazyknittinglady.wordpress.com/free-patterns. I chose Grimm's Willow Wren colorway in Blue Moon Fiber's lightweight Socks That Rock. The Easter egg colors were a welcome sight during the last gray days of winter.

The basic 3 x 1 ribbed sock fits well and is a good project to carry in my purse. I knit on them at Book Group and at Crafting. I knit on them while waiting for the dental hygienist and in the cellular phone store. I finished the socks on April 15, at the end of a snowy/rainy evening while waiting for warmer Spring days.

Lucy's Desk

For the past few years, I've written from a serviceable oak desk purchased for my now grown up daughter. Although I have a good chair, the desk height did not allow me to work with my elbows at 90 degrees to the keyboard. My husband tried to buy a new desk but could not find one. After one particularly sore episode of scrunched shoulders and aching back, I moved my great grandmother Lucy's desk from our living room into my study. The antique desk, stained a dark mahogany, has a small drawer and four compartments across the back with pencil trays on either side. A writing top slides out over another narrow drawer running the width of the desk.

Lucy's mother was pregnant with her as she traveled from Wisconsin to Council Bluffs, Iowa and then west to Washington. Lucy was born in Hulda, Washington on October 4, 1879. When she was a young girl, she and her mother moved back to Omaha, Ne. In 1898, Lucy married Harry, my great grandfather who worked as a traffic policeman. Together, after the turn of the century, they raised four daughters and one son in Omaha.

When Lucy moved in with my grandparents, the desk came with her. Placed in my grandparents dining room, the desk collected stamps, mail, bills, and numerous copies of my Grandmother's car keys. After I brought the desk to my home, I opened the lid and searched the two drawers. I found four letter openers (one with a Fuller Brush man on the top), four metal hinge pins, a wooden ruler inlaid with one inch samples of twelve different woods, and my grandfather's brown leather driving gloves. Leaving the treasures in the desk, I set up a display of family photos.

Although I never saw Lucy sit at her desk, I did know her when I was a little girl. She was a tiny, proper, lady who wore a hat, gloves, and navy blue suit to church. During the week she wore cotton shirtwaist dresses and often pinned a small brooch pinned under the collar. When I sit down to write on Saturday morning, I imagine her taking out a piece of crisp stationery to write a letter to one of her daughters or granddaughters. I think she would be pleased that I find her desk a comfortable place to work.

Black Gold

I spent a few hours this afternoon digging for black gold at the bottom of the compost pile. Two years ago, I unearthed a family of moles as I dug for compost. Although I try to appreciate all critters, moles are my least favorite. I'm sure they serve a purpose and they probably make better compost. I just find them rather unnerving. This time, I stood a long handled flat shovel nearby in case I needed to deposit baby moles into the second bin.

I began by shoveling the detritus of yard and garden clippings from one compost bin into two garbage cans. At the bottom of the bin I found five inches of rich black dirt which had accumulated over two years. As I forked, shoveled, dug, pushed a wheel barrow of the stuff up to my herb garden, and then dumped and hoed it into the ground, I found another reason to care for the environment. Mother Nature and I worked hard to produce soil.

Although it is easier to buy dirt in a bag (and I should know because I've done it many times) I take great satisfaction in keeping leaves, grass, and kitchen scraps out of the landfill. I also decided a compost container with a drawer across the bottom might be a good investment.

Compost bin number one wasn't home to any moles. If they have taken up residence in the second bin, I'll try not to shriek.

Unplugged

Walking after work clears my head.  Weather doesn't bother me but sometimes I need a knitting or NPR podcast in order to get off the couch and out the door.  Last Friday after spending an afternoon hunched over the computer, I left the ipod at home.  Breathing deeply, I savored the neighbor's daffodils and the cool Spring breeze on my cheek. I also smiled and said hello to folks who were willing to make eye contact with me.

Four blocks from home, I heard an unfamiliar bird call.  Phoebes have been calling to each other but I haven't been able to catch a glimpse of them.  I knew the call I was hearing wasn't a phoebe but still I stopped to scan the roofs and trees. After turning 180 degrees, I found myself looking into the brown/black eyes of  a 17 inch owl.  Against a bright blue sky, the owl with a gray face appeared to be a mottled gray/brown in color with lighter flecks on the breast.  As I watched, two blue jays flew in to scold him but he did not budge from his perch next to the tree trunk. He swiveled his head once to look at the jays and then gazed back toward me. After a three or four minute stand off, I resumed my walk.

After consulting a field guide and wikipedia,  I decided the bird was either a Barred or Spotted Owl.  While Barred Owls are common to the midwest, the plumage of this owl more closely resembled  a Spotted Owl. Spotted Owls are more common to southwest United States so if he was a Spotted Owl he was a long way from his typical habitat.  Regardless, if I'd been plugged into "Poetry Off the Shelf" or "Cast On" I'd have missed the owl. Walking without ear buds has advantages.