'Deduccion loable,' from Les douze dames de rhétorique, 1463. Cambridge University Library MS. Nn.3.2, fo.36 verso. |
Sweetfern, Comptonia peregrina, is neither sweet nor a fern. It looks like something the dinosaurs would have walked through, releasing the warmest, spiciest aromas of imagination.
Wednesday, August 14, 2024
here we go
Monday, August 12, 2024
drawing august
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| blueberries in fluted glass |
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| from Petrie's photograph of an alabaster vessel fragment, tomb of Amenhotep III |
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| massive red oak |
Saturday, August 3, 2024
adventures in oatmeal
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| Had to pretty much go swimming to reach these blueberries. It was worth it! |
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| Each packet held 2 pounds of rolled oats. |
Initially I added the sugar before cooking, so it would be distributed throughout all the oats as the water was absorbed. Rational, right? Or did everybody but me know that porridge actually tastes sweeter when the sugar is on the oats, not in the oats? Which makes sense. Now.
Do you have a favorite morning ritual, food or otherwise?
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Thursday, August 1, 2024
bye july
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| A view from the deck of the barn as the next downpour began. |
If there was a single theme running through the month of July, it may have been sweat. So many thunderstorms and so much excessive heat. And even on the rainless days, and the occasional day of reasonable temps for July, the constant, enveloping, stultifying humidity. Like walking into a sauna. Like breathing through a steaming towel. Every single day, several times each day, sweat would literally run down my face as I walked slowly through the paddocks, drip into my eyes as I leaned to pick up an empty feed pan, and saturate my hair before I returned to the house, threw my wet jeans and shirt into the dryer for a few minutes, and blotted my hair with a towel.
If this sounds like a lot of whining, I'm sorry - I don't feel that way about it. It's just been my reality. And the goats' reality as well. With added mosquitoes. I try to provide a high quality of life for all the animals, and there's no way around it: July has been rough.
I feel so much concern for the people in other places who are desperate for rain. For people from places that are literally on fire. Again. Situations that are totally beyond our control, and which affect our lives in very real ways.
I think people generally become accustomed to the rhythms and range of weather patterns in a place where they have lived for a long time, and do their best to prepare for expected events and even occasional extreme events - hurricanes in my neck of the woods, for example. Maybe there's an unusually dry summer which raises the threat of fire. Or maybe there's a huge storm that causes local flooding and washes out a road or bridge. But now it seems the extremes and "hundred-year" events just keep coming, on and on, one after another, year after year. Have the extremes become the norm?
Well. When I began writing, I had intended to simply post a few of my Daily Markmaking sketches from July, which was World Watercolor Month. But starting out with that first painting of rain through the trees kind of sent me off on a tangent. Yikes.
I'll close with a few watercolors of trees without rain:





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