april changes

We're beginning to see green again in these parts, which means parks and the creek and the bluffs, which means gathering little things and looking closely and broadly at the earth. I've started to feel quiet inside, so I'm sitting and observing a great deal. Letting it come to me as I want for the stirring to wake within.

yard birds

Sometimes I think about keeping chickens. And sometimes, I find out beautiful things like that other mamas at your child's school do keep chickens and here, you can buy your own dozen farm fresh for your own dinner omelettes. They're almost too pretty to eat.

artist as insect advocate

Currently at the Textile Center gallery: Artist as Insect Advocate by Jennifer Angus: "I try to make work that provokes discussion. I love insects and I believe that I am environmentalist and advocate for insects."

casting on

My first shawl: Boneyard by Stephen West. Yarn: Malabrigo Silky Marino in Piedras.

spinning

Earlier this month I took a drop spindle class at the Weaver's Guild.  I've had a drop spindle for quite some time, but it terrifies me, and my mother and I attempted to figure it out from YouTube videos and a beautiful book from Interweave called Respect the Spindle, but we got awkward and just couldn't swing it.  Or rather, perhaps there was too much swing.

Either way, I took a class and though I certainly got that thick and thin that art yarn is famous for, it wasn't on purpose and therefore was messy, but I felt quite proud and my little hank.

I also learned I love carding, so I bought my own used hand carders and tried blending, and I really felt in love with the peacefulness of the drum carder.  I love that flick-flick whir sound it makes.

The instructor brought some examples of yarn she'd spun on a spindle:

And above, a headband she crocheted out of a wool blended with her dog's fur.  I can imagine my own golden retriever's making a seriously lovely blend too.

I love the spinning room, partly because there are two levels of wheels all lined up for use, and then there's this wall of historic instruments, which I could gaze at for a good long while.  It's a nice reminder of the connection we are making to history, to our possible ancestors, and to purposeful work that is long but has such a treasured reward.

seedpods

On our hike, we collected seedpods--black locust, an invasive species in these parts.  We sometimes have the little trees growing up along the borders of fences, where we try to plant quieter things like honeysuckle.  (This year:  a dye garden.)

I've been really inspired by some of the pieces up in the Textile Center's gallery, including this one:

So right now, I'm thinking a lot about invasive species, about what that means for humans (movement, the idea of being an "alien" or immigrant), but also want it means from the human perspective onto other species.  Encroachment.  I'm thinking about embroidery and how words can be stitched onto linen, about the shapes of these pods and how they are so ubiquitous in Minnesota, about my own migration.

barn bluff

 

Some little elf in the night has added stairs to the side of the bluff, which is really only two or so blocks from our house.  My daughter again proved her mountain-goatishness and my son rode his father's shoulders the whole way.  It was a very sunshine and seedpods kind of afternoon.