greenclogs

one of these things is not like the others

This morning, which was a beautiful morning, Jeff and I were sitting out on the back patio drinking coffee and reading the New York Times. I was knitting a sweater for the rapidly approaching fall weather. The afternoon would be spent nailing the roof onto our chicken coop, planting seeds for the fall garden, doing some yardwork. It would be a nice mellow day after a very busy Saturday. Then we heard a loud, never-heard-before sound coming from the chicken coop. We looked at each other, puzzled. Then we heard it again. And we said "oh no." It was a rooster crowing. One of our chickens was, we thought, a mature girl. Big because of her large breed. The thought that she was a rooster never crossed our minds. Until I went and looked at her again, with fresh eyes. That redder comb. Those wattles that the other girls didn't have. It wasn't looking good.

I went scampering indoors to look up photos of buff Brahma roosters and hens. My heart sunk a little. I came back outside to discuss my findings with Jeff. He advocated for a mutant transgendered chicken theory. The denial was running strong around here, people. LaFawnduh is hands down our favorite chicken. We were even willing to accept a non-egg laying mutant mascot chicken so long as it wasn't a rooster. Did I mention that this is our favorite chicken?

I called the farm store and the nice lady said to bring LaFawnduh in for a check. As soon as Kit woke up from her nap, we piled into the car with the chicken in a box and Kit delightedly saying "bawk bawk!!" and pointing at the chicken in her car. We drove along and said a fervent little wish that LaFawnduh wouldn't turn out to be Uncle Rico instead. 

The owner of the store took one look at the chicken and the hopeful face of Annika and said "oh yeah. That's a rooster. I'm sorry."

Meet Uncle Rico. He has now gone to live at the farm of the nice owner of the farm store, where I'm sure he'll have a nice life chasing hens and eating bugs and roaming the acreage (for real - I'm not just telling my kids that). And we will miss him. So long Uncle Rico. It's been fun. 

acres of quilts

For a few years now, I have wanted and intended to attend the Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show in central Oregon, but was always in the midst of packing as much as possible into our annual vacation. Now that I live here (love that!) I was able to plan a weekend trip with my mom, her best friend of the last 43 years, her neighbor, and baby Kit who could not imagine passing up a quilt show for anything. I didn't bring the big camera, so my photos aren't as fantabulous as they should be. The weekend was so great - it was fun to spend some time with my mom and her ladies. Kit was spoiled rotten of course. The other highlight of the weekend is that I had a wonderful dinner with Amber and her sweetie. They are the best people. It was one of those "old friends who just met" kind of dinners. I can't wait to see her again soon. Hopefully next time Kit will keep her pants on. 

On to the quilts!

This one reminded me of the quilt I'm making now for Gunnar and of this one, but with the motif on a grand scale. 

Going to Sisters was really an inspirational experience. It's amazing what can be done with some fabric and thread and imagination. The quilts ranged from very traditional to modern to photorealistic art. They ranged from really tiny to king size and were every color of the rainbow or no color at all (the all-white quilts were stunning). These are a few that I wanted to remember for future reference as I plan quilts in my mind and hopefully eventually get to making them. Ahem.

I loved the floral detail in the white space on this quilt. Some of the quilting was truly remarkable. Those long arm quilters are talented people, indeed. 

Love the use of solids on this one, as well as the color combo. Some of the triangles were folded over on an edge, but not sewn down, so there was an added textural element. The quilting really makes this one. 

love the double wedding ring in the black & white. Love. And check out the quilting detail. 

I think I squealed out loud when I saw that. All hand quilted. Talk about a labor of love, people. Just like marriage. 

I am so swoony over this quilt (I may run out of words soon). First of all - it's all made of 2" hexagons. Second, the blocks were pieced by her great grandmother in the 1930's from feed sacks, the top was pieced together by her mother in the 90's, and if I remember correctly, it was all sandwiched together and finished by her. Hand quilted of course. Such a treasure this is. And huge. That is a LOT of work right there. Boggles the mind. 

Totally different look. Love the geometry at work here and the usse of color. Talk about a perfectly pieced quilt - I don't think I could take this one on because I'd make myself a crazy person with trying to match up all those angles. 

I have almost enough of these fabrics left to make a quilt like this one. Definitely enough for a little one, which may move up to the top of my list. I love the blocks set on the corner and the way that orientation sends your eyes all the way around the quilt. 

Love a good spiderweb quilt - this one's a total winner. I default to white backgrounds usually, but I love the grey in this one. So much more practical for everyday use. 

and the back for quilting detail. I think I want to have something similar done for my spiderweb quilt in progress. 

I nearly keeled over when I saw this one. I immediately saw it living on the blank wall space over my kitchen sink. This quilt was made for hanging in my kitchen. Sadly it was not made for my budget ($550!! eek!). However, the rooster fabric may have been purchased for an "inspired by" quilt of my hown. Just maybe. Also - quilting it in a chicken wire pattern made the look. So clever. 

As a side note - about 1/4 or so of the quilts were for sale. The prices ranged from "please buy this quilt for my fabric cost so I can buy more fabric" type prices to "well, if you're willing to pay me this, then I'll let it go." This was one of the latter. Most of my faves were not for sale at all, and I don't blame them. I think pricing all that work and love and talent fairly is so difficult. I'd rather keep it or give it away. 

This one turned out to be my favorite of the show. It's right in my wheelhouse, aesthetically, and not so difficult that I wouldn't want to make it. Plus, I love that twist on the flying geese pattern. The fabrics are all Heather Bailey from the Fresh Cut, Pop Garden, and Bijoux lines. I'll probably make it as a scrap buster, but I like the unity that using those fabrics exclusively gives it. Totally lovely work, and of course, not for sale. Look for one like this on my bed one of these years. 

And a close up of the block construction and quilting. As the owner said, the quilting is what took it from pretty to fabulous. 

And there you have it! Some of my faves from over a thousand quilts hanging all over town. There was just no way to see them all. Next year I'll go without my little tagalong and be able to spend a few more hours. And maybe even enter one myself. We'll see. 

making pie and memories

While we were at the beach, we made pie. Strawberry rhubarb pie, to be exact, which is my favorite pie. I'm also a fan of peach and cherry and pumpkin and lemon meringue. But for me, strawberry rhubarb is the epitome of pie because it's the pie that my mom used to make. I'm sure she made others. This is the one I remember. We had rhubarb in our back yard, so when it and the berries were ripe then it was pie time. She'd carefully make her crust, instructing me in proper dough making. I paid no attention - back then I couldn't be bothered with that sort of thing. She would chill and roll out the crust, cutting off the extra. I would try to sneak those pieces of raw dough, but if I could hold off then the reward was great because she would bake them with cinnamon and sugar. That was worth foregoing the raw dough for, most of the time. So so good. My grandma also made pie, but the best pie baker in the family was my great aunt Lue. She and Orval lived 3 doors down from my grandma. When we would visit her, we would always go to their apartment to say hello. Orval would find quarters for us and his teeth would click when he gave us a kiss. We'd watch Lawrence Welk or Hee Haw. Lue served us Tang and pie.

So, back to our pie at the beach. It was Gunnar's idea. We got berries at the farmer's market and found beautiful rhubarb at the little grocery store in town. He had been working at the bakery that day, learning how to make pie crust and came home all fired up to make pie. He made a tender, buttery flaky crust (I think he had not enough flour to butter, but I wasn't complaining) and we chilled it overnight. The next day we made pie. His crusts were exactly the right size for the pie plate, so there were no cinnamon sugar crusties. But the pie. Oh, the pie. Just as I remembered, but even better thanks to all that butter. 

It quickly disappeared. 

We came home. Again, we found lovely Hood strawberries and rhubarb at the grocery store. And again, we had the hankering for pie. This time, I made the crust (more flour to the butter) and rolled it out nice and big so we'd have those cinnamon sugar crusties. We ate them as the pie baked. 

We baked it in my grandma's pie plate. We ate most of it, but saved some for her. The kids and I delivered it to her. She and I chatted, the kids went to run around at the school playground. Kit played peekaboo from the TV room to the living room. She served them root beer. I found myself watching my kids in the same spaces that I grew up visiting, and wishing that we could walk that few doors down and bring my aunt Lue some pie. Watch some TV - maybe now she'd be a Regis fan. Drink coffee instead of Tang. Debate the merits of shortening vs. butter. We'll just have to do that in my mind (I'm an all butter girl, myself). 

Instead, since I bought another 1/2 flat of strawberries at the farmer's market and my neighbor gave me 5 lbs of rhubarb, I think I'll make my mom a pie this weekend and we'll eat those cinnamon sugar crusties while it bakes. Just like she used to do for me. 

Someday, when my kids are grown and making pies for their kids, I hope their minds go back to our lazy June days at the beach and to making pie, because t's not just making pie. It's making memories. 

belated

She is nine. She turned nine a week ago while we were at the beach. We feted her with spaghetti and with chocolate mint mousse cake. I was stopped in my tracks when she mentioned being ten next year. 

Oh, this girl. She is my all-or-nothing, black-or-white, up-is-down and down-is-up, full of love and full of angst, mature yet still-so-young child. There are days that I think that being her mother is my greatest test in this life, and then a few minutes later, my greatest joy. She is compassionate and loving, quick to anger and a nurser of grudges. She is passionate about everything while still convinced that there's nothing to do other than watch TV. She grasps complexity way beyond her years in an instant, but declares herself to not know a thing. She is fiercely independent, but is mama's little girl. She is my bundle of contradictions and I love her to pieces. 

Annika, there's so much I want to say. But all I'll say here is that I understand you and am here for you. We're far more alike than you know. I am so full of love and hopes and dreams for you. I can't wait to see you find your place and your passion and make your mark on the world. I am so very grateful to be your mother. You help me be a better person and a better mother, every day. 

Love, 

Mama