zinnias

Less than a week ago, with several days of rain predicted,

I headed to the terrace garden to pick a few zinnias.

Since midsummer I've had a few zinnias in a range of sizes, shapes, and colors, in little vases and jam jars around the house. The flowers last for days in water, and sometimes even change color as they begin to - well, I was going to write "fade" but when a flower turns from a coral-rose to purple, it isn't really "fading," is it?

With so much rain predicted in the first week of November, I thought that might be the last handful of zinnias I would be carrying up to the house in 2019. And it was.

Thanks for another grand year, zinnias!

It was just last year, when on a whim I started some zinnias from seed in the tiny greenhouse, that I discovered how generous and joyous these plants are. Many of those tiny seedlings were eaten by insects before I could get them into the garden, but the plants that survived just grew and bloomed and grew and bloomed, right into late Autumn. They were one of my greatest joys in the 2018 gardens.

The bees and other pollinators certainly enjoyed them, too.

All day, every day: bees on the zinnias.

I saved some of the dried flower heads at this time last year, and planted the seeds this Spring. I planted a single row of seeds. That was all.

And all summer, I was greeted with:

The plants grew two to three feet tall, and branched out to form a wide row.

I ran a line of soft rope at knee-height along the the row, to help support them.

Maybe next year I'll make a little picket fence just for the zinnias.

Because I'm saving seed again this year.

Of course.

 ~~~~~

a gentle reminder

There was a tiny chance of snow in the forecast last night.

And that's what we got: a tiny snow.

If the air hadn't still been very cold, sunrise would have melted it.

I hastened outside to give the hens a Special Breakfast,

see what Hazel and Bud thought about their First Snow,

and take a few snaps.

 

Because I didn't bother with gloves - or a coat, for that matter -

I soon realized that it was indeed very cold.

Had to thaw the ice in gate latches and break ice in the water buckets.

I took only a very few snaps before heading inside

to hold my fingers under cold water for a minute, then warm water.

Ahhh. That's better.

Then I had a bowl of curry for breakfast.

I'm not saying I feel like this mushroom:

No.

I feel like the mushroom behind that mushroom.

But the sky is becoming a pale blue and it's not raining,

so today is going to be a fine day for doing things.

For doing All The Things.

I hope!

Because this tiny snow is the gentle - if chilly - harbinger of Winter.

And there are just a few things that still need to be done.

~~~~~

to the pond

Rain is predicted today, so yesterday I made "take Piper to the pond" a priority.

We haven't gone for many of our favorite Autumn rambles at the pond because the Highlander has been in the shop several times recently, and usually for more than one day each time.

It's one of those repair situations where fixing Critical Issue A (to the tune of over $900, which made me blink) unfortunately leads to Critical Issues B though D. The tally is now over three thousand dollars, and yesterday when I got the call from the office manager at the garage saying "your Highlander is fixed," I felt a bit like Charlie Brown and the football.

Anyway, after morning chores and getting the truck back, I brushed Piper thoroughly so that any burrs she might pick up in the woods would be a bit easier to remove, and off we went.

Can you see all those little specks on Pip's coat? She went through a stand of goldenrod and picked up a few seeds to disperse along the trail.

Sniffing is one of Piper's very favorite things to do.

She did a lot of it yesterday;

The colors were phenomenal.

So much green and gold.

Piper ambled to and fro while I took photographs

and picked up bits of things to possibly sketch someday. 

It was while I was photographing this pitcherplant... 

...that Piper went into the bog.

I don't know if she intended to go in, or if she was thinking of having a drink and was taken by surprise by the sudden depth of what is usually just wet ground.

But in a flash she was in muddy water halfway up her ribs, and her effort to turn around and get out only made her feet sink deeper into the muck.

Thinking she might panic, I quickly squelched over and grabbed her collar to give her something solid to pull against.

Result: one very stinky, mucky hound and one equally mucky shoe and trouser leg. I didn't take a picture, but Piper looked very much as she did in this blogpost - with a higher waterline.

Piper was expecting to carry on rambling and sniffing as if she wasn't soaking wet and dripping muck, but since it was chilly and windy, our ramble was curtailed.

Even worse from Piper's point of view, the moment we got home she immediately had a very thorough bath.

After which, everything I was wearing went into the washer with extra detergent.

We are so clean now.

All ready for today's rain.

~~~~~

wordless wednesday

~~~~~

first cut

I've probably mentioned the incomprehensible barrier that immobilizes me
every time I think about trying linocut printmaking.

Yes, that thing that almost everyone I know had a chance to try in grammar school. "Linocut? Oh yes," they say when I ask. "We did that in art class when I was 12!" I don't know if it was the limited arts program in my school or what, but it was never an option. And for at least 30 years I've wanted to try it, because I love woodcuts and wood engravings, and linocut seems like the easiest way to experiment. I mean, kids do it in art class, for goodness sake! How hard can it be?

Over several years I've acquired bits of gear: an ink roller from the cat shelter tag sale, a few pieces of lino added to my semi-annual watercolor order (amazingly, ordering watercolors has become a routine!), a starter set of printing inks, and the same Speedball carving tool with multiple blades that I imagine schoolkids use for their carefree adventures in linocut. Everything but a bench hook - to hold the lino steady on a table while cutting - which could be easily built with scrap wood.

This past month, which is "#PrintOctober" on twitter, I decided to either do it or stop thinking about doing it. The adventure began quite merrily on the 1st. I sat down to sketch a design and...immediately got bogged down. What to draw? What to DRAW? Settling that question took a couple of days and even a little poll amongst the twitter art folk, who kindly gave me a nudge. Okay, onward!

Next, I watched some videos about how printmakers transfer a design to the lino. I had to wait til I could go to the library on the next Saturday to print my drawing at the correct scale for my 4x6 inch block. But when I got to the library, their computer was inexplicably Not Working. It would be three days before I could get to another library.

It went on like that all month - every little step forward turned into a delay. Meanwhile, of course, I kept doing the Daily Markmaking, and this might have made it easy to forget about the printmaking altogether.

Well on October 30th I looked at the calendar and thought, "Wholly guacamole, the month is almost over!" I did what I could have done a month ago or a year ago or ten years ago: I drew the design directly on the block, consciously eliminated all expectations, and began to get a feel for using the cutting tool. I still had no bench hook, but it didn't matter because my spine has been so troubled for the past few weeks I couldn't have sat at a table to work anyway. Nope. I got in my "zero gravity" position, wedged the block between my knees and my worktable, and making very very sure my left hand was never within a 180 degree arc of the blade, I began to cut.

Dear Readers, I can report that there is a lot more work to do,
and a lot to learn along the way,
but my first linocut, an ellipse framing Japanese anemones,
is now a Work In Progress.

Onward!

~~~~~