Dishpantheism

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the single hyacinth in its winter forcing jar has lost its paper dunce cap. it blooms on the windowsill behind me. it must have unfurled its florets all at once this morning because the scent woke me. it is powerfully good even though i have a cold and my nose isn’t in top form.

yesterday i made a clementine cake. this one. it was totally moreish and i’ve decided i need to give some of it away to preserve my girlish* figure. i think i should do this with most of the meals i make because i’m not at all adept at cooking the catherinette’s portion. though i could easily feed a platoon.

went into town with my good pal. before we’d made concrete plans i told him that i wanted to stop by the mission to get snips of some plants. he said, “it’s brugmansia, isn’t it?” i guess i am that predictable. there are now pilfered slips of angel’s trumpet and some deliciously scented pelargonium (like pinyon pine!) rooting in jars on the window ledge in the kitchen. found giant hoop earrings for a song. had to repierce my oldest piercings when i got home because i hadn’t worn earrings in them for a long time and they’d partially healed over. they always do this which is a wee bit strange considering they’re the oldest piercings i have, paid for by my auntie as a birthday present when i turned ten, and that was thirty odd years ago.

had a strange dream. i was a barn owl hovering inside a china shop with very, very high ceilings. i was trying not to break anything with my flapping, and could see and hear people standing below me trying to shoo me out of the open door, so i wouldn’t upset the delicate cups and tchotchkes. i desperately wanted to go, but i couldn’t descend because they were all in the way, blocking the exit, and screaming abusive epithets at me. i realized that some of the people were members of my family or former employers and friends. i was also standing among them yelling at my owl self angrily. i couldn’t fly up and i couldn’t fly down and i was getting very tired. then there were feathers brushing my human face even though my owl self was still hovering and my human self was still standing in the same place. i closed my eyes to keep them from being scratched, though the feathers were soft and velvety as owl feathers are. when i opened my eyes i was staring directly into the face of my owl self as though my human self were floating opposite. nose to beak. like looking in a mirror. then my owl self let out a typical barn owl screech right into my face and i woke up. no prizes for guessing what my bird brain was trying to awkwardly drive home.

was able to get outside today because there was a brief break in the rain. gathered about two pounds of ghost pine pitch. some very large pines were cut down on the shore of the lake. i can’t fathom why. they were so old and beautiful but didn’t appear to be diseased or hazardous in any way despite their size. i suspect that they were cut down because they are messy and they bordered the parking lot where sport fishermen park their ludicrously expensive boats and trucks. when they cut the first tree down last year, the mothership asked if we could haul some of the wood away. they told her no. and now it still sits, being colonized by split gills and turkey tail and oozing pitch, being slowly reclaimed by the ministrations of rabbits and their busy earthworks. about fifty feet away, four or five other giant ghost pines have recently succumbed to the same fate. they were newly felled and chopped into sections. the cold had kept most of the sap from bleeding out, but when the warm weather hits, i suspect it will come pouring out. i’m happy to have the pitch, but i’d rather have the shade of those trees in summer, their tasty seeds in autumn, and the lonesome soughing they make when the wind is high.

there was a pair of grebes doing their outlandish and beautiful love ritual in the shallows, wending through cattails and water bistort. mud hens. crows. the sound of red-winged blackbirds. po-glay-kee! po-glay-kee! wild roses just leafing out. young horehound up a foot. gathered a handful of goosefoot (chenopodium californicum) for my omelette in the morning. found a big agaricus but it was past its prime. the chocolate-y gills matched the color of my coat though.

drove to the trailhead near the quicksilver mine. the rain started again and it felt like it might turn to snow. soaked my shoes. i walked to one of the vernal brooks coming down from the top of the mountain to listen to the water flowing. i was going to film it so i could listen again later. but then i saw a dirty diaper and a bunch of take out cups and containers on the bank, swelling up in the rain like some kind of bloated gremlins and figured capturing such on film would just make me dowie and wae. so. i just took some photos of a lovely peony (blooming so early!) and monardella and sanicle. then we headed down the mountains.

agaricus

lakeshore

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did some reading. finished my friend’s wonderful book. charming, witty, clever, and a bit bittersweet just like the fella who wrote it. read a bit about romanian folklore. and now i have insomnia AGAIN which my fecking cold is not helping. argh.

oh wellidy.

*girlish here meaning “as one who has eaten a girl entire.” or two. baba yaga-ish. i’m not ashamed.

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went for a drive the other night. thin veils of cloud moving to the southeast. nacreous halo around the full, snow moon. freshets and ephemeral pools spread out across the pastures, reticular and silver in the moonlight. freckled white cattle standing in sleep. early plum blossom pearly in the dark. so purty.

right now it’s colder here than in new york. that is to say, not terribly cold, but colder than i’d like. it’s been raining and sleeting and snowing for about a month straight. when it isn’t raining or the like, then it’s too chilly to stay outside for long. our reservoirs need it, so i won’t bitch too much. but i can feel the cabin fever creeping up. just want very badly to walk in the sun for an hour or so. sigh. keep looking at photos of deetjen’s and thinking a weekend trip would be nice. (and one of their lovely breakfasts.) a hike to sykes before the hordes of tourists come.

throwing away old clothes and papers. listening to records when i’m not listening to rain. (a new maxine funke!) reading some lovely books. cuddling with the beasts. they peer out the window and meow beseechingly as though i could turn off the wet with a magic spigot. finally managed to get my first unemployment payment, but having a hell of a time getting it into my bank account thanks to the madness that is edd’s byzantine payment system. still. things are slightly cheerier hereabouts. and i am grateful in the extreme. honey with the comb.

wellidy.

i chopped the tops off of some of my remaining tree collards and poked them all around the garden to take root. the ranch abutting my garden has never tended their fences well and every few years cattle come through and have a real feast. one year i’d grown a bunch of odd squash. it was before you could easily get heirloom seeds and i fiercely guarded the ones i’d managed to obtain. about the time my rouge vif d’etampes, lakota, and jarrahdales were ripening, the cattle came through one night and ate almost every last fruit. this time they ate my collards and erbette chard and broccoli. thankfully, they were chased away before they managed to plunder the whole garden.

sweetpeas are a few inches high. poppy seedlings are unfurling their glaucous little leaves. i’m growing p. somniferum ‘the giant’ amongst others this time. last year i planted some hardy chrysanthemums at the end of the garden and some dahlias too. i’ve never had luck with dahlias because it gets too fucking hot here, but i’m confident that this autumn the mums will go nuts at least. they laugh at the heat.

went for a stroll on the edge of the lake yesterday at dusk with the mothership. it was way brisker than i would have liked. but it felt good to get outside and move around, especially since yet another storm is on the way. collected more datura wrightii seeds. there are two particular plants there which come back every year. they’re directly across the trail from each other. one blooms with a soft apricot color in the center of each blossom, and the other blooms with a soft lilac color. both are toloache/momoy though. i suppose it’s not that strange because there can be quite a number of morphological quirks and color variations in a given population. these two particular examples always strike me as really cool though. probably because i’m a nerd. anyway, snapped off the brittle, winter-blackened branches with their spiny seedpods and carried them gingerly back to the car. i’ve never tried to intentionally grow datura. they’ve always just popped up in my garden. sometimes giant datura discolor. sometimes wrightii. but this year i’m going to do my best johnny appleseed impersonation and spread this beautiful vespertine creature all around.

a few nights back i was driving into town. i’d just passed the cemetery and i saw eyeshine to the southwest of the road. a tree fox darted out and i slowed. but a second suddenly appeared close behind. had to slam on my brakes. the second fox danced a zigzag as he tried to avoid the tires. thankfully i didn’t strike him. peeped my horn and he took off into the brush. silly, lovely beasties. it’s mating season and they have exactly one thing on their minds. can’t say as i blame them. it was a gorgeous night. stars crisp and bright. sparkling white rime shook out on all the fields.

hauled several truckloads of wood to my dad. the mothership bought me a beautiful pair of heavy suede gauntlets last year to protect my arms when i’m ricking wood. they are one of the most useful presents i’ve ever received. i can stack a large pile of wood on my forearm without driving splinters into my hide. yays. as we were ricking wood, i picked up a piece and there was a circus beetle underneath standing on his head. i yelled to the mothership to wait a minute while i tried to pick him up with the floppy fingers of my gloves thwarting me at every turn. finally managed to grab him. then he wouldn’t let go. when he finally did, he just held very still, head bowed. there’s a cochiti myth that says that eleodes strike this posture because they are hiding their face in shame. when the universe was created the beetle was given the task of hanging the stars in the sky, but he was careless and dropped the sack, scattering stars and creating the milky way. i’m not sure why the little guy is so ashamed. he did a knockout job.

one of the recent storms brought down the old willow outside my bedroom window. it was huge. thankfully it fell away from the house rather than toward it. i’d planted a few honeysuckle cuttings near its trunk about seventeen years ago. they’d grown high into the crown. an owl roosted there and would hoot at me in the evenings. over the years i’ve gathered pounds of flowers for oxymels and tisanes and syrups and such. some of the vines had grown as thick as my wrists, so i’m hopeful that it will come back strong from the roots. i doubt it will ever be as magnificent and gigantic as it once was though. makes me kinda sad. on the plus side, the willow has been all chopped into manageable bits and will be dry enough to burn by next winter. willow doesn’t make great firewood, but no matter. i also have tons of honeysuckle vine for baskets or pea trellises.

still wrangling with edd to get my unemployment check. it’s beyond fucking frustrating. on the plus side, heard back from stanford, and though i haven’t been offered a job, i’m on the list. whoot! it’s only a temporary position, but it pays quite nicely. better than a poke in the eye.

next to my bed i have a jar of tiny bones. it’s been there for years and years. it’s the result of a bone collecting expedition with my friend tom. at college we found a grove of palm trees where owls roosted. the ground beneath was littered with owl pellets. we gathered them up and cleaned the bones. i was surprised to find the skull of a potato bug, still intact. also found the most delicate songbird skull. i gave a lot of the bones away, but i still have this little jar full of gopher jaws and mouse teeth. when the weather clears we’re going to have a bone scavenging reunion of sorts. hoping the owls are kind to us.

on a related note…

i think i’ve found my perfect shirt.

forever_collecting_dead_things

wellidy.

i did a shamefully sloppy job ricking firewood for my dad. i was trying to beat the storm — which i managed to do — but i could just see him stepping out onto the porch after i’d gone and scratching his chin as he sized up my shoddy job. when his shoulders were less arthritic and stiff he would have rearranged the ricks until they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. now he’ll likely just give an inward sigh. at least the firewood will keep dry in all of this rain we’re having.

all around the cabin (and all around the valley, really) toadstools and mushrooms are cropping up. there are finally jack o’ lanterns under one of the dead trees. i’ve been wanting to dye some yarn with those, and also to see them phosphoresce after dark. came upon giant, maggot-y boletes in the woods. found some peziza growing on the sandy ground near my dad’s water barrels. i always find it strange when a plant or fungus doesn’t have a common name. there are so many clever and amusing names for fungi. dryad’s saddle. amethyst deceiver. king alfred’s cake. scarlet elf cup. witches’ butter. destroying angel. fool’s funnel. vomiter. monk’s head. devil’s snuffbox. indigo milk-cap. green parasol. but i don’t know of any common name for the little brown peziza(s). i don’t understand why they don’t have common names. i started trying to make my own which gave me a kind of satisfaction even if i’m the only one who will ever refer to peziza as bauchan’s punchbowl or brownie dishpans. or ouphe’s cauldron. or goblin thunder-pots.

peziza

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red_bolete2

strange dreams. somehow they’ve been very cozy and comforting sorts, but also tinged with a bit of longing. a most welcomed break from the kind i ordinarily have.

received correspondence from a fella i haven’t exchanged letters with in quite a long time. felt a little guilty for being such a shitty, feckless correspondent. should have made a resolution for the new year to be a bit more on the ball when it comes to replying. argh. i always love receiving letters and emails. just somehow stumped when it’s my serve suddenly. fumble the shuttlecock.

jaltomata mystery solved. it’s bernardelloana. loaded with flowers. she’s even set some little fruit. hopefully the storm doesn’t knock them all off. saw a little crocus blooming nearby, too. hooray.

jaltomata_bernardelloana1

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and now i’ll burrow into the duvet, listen to the storm rage, and watch the candles flicker below the wall of ancestors.

wellidy.

i’ve had wicked insomnia for days now. ponderous fatigue. mind weary but body alert. or sometimes, the novel sensation of experiencing the reverse. (whoopeee!) finally fell asleep at daybreak. it was still dark out because of the heavy sky. heard the rain pattering on the tin shed. i had an extraordinarily vivid dream. brain outdid itself. i frequently have flying dreams and sometimes they’re lucid. had them for years and years. they usually terminate in my waking up crying, laughing, or a night hag sitting on me. (once they ended with a night hag/sleep paralysis, my locked bedroom door flung violently open, and when i was finally able to master my own body and tried to turn the light on, the bulb blew violently. quite inexplicable. and the experience repeated again several years later, minus the exploding lightbulb.) but this one was interrupted by a noisy delivery of firewood, so i’ll never know how it was meant to end.

i was on a seacoast. i can’t articulate how intensely real it was or how beautiful. it looked like the north coast. a bit big sur. but also looked like some of the rocky beaches of the pacific northwest. rocky at the shore but with expansive, sandy bars between fingers of promontory. for some reason i had driven an old jeep down onto the sand. or at least, i was in a jeep on the sandy beach, a bit dazed, and decided that i must have driven there, for how else did i get there? the jeep didn’t show signs of a crash, nor did i. looking at the water to my right i thought it was an ebb tide. i felt relieved for some inexplicable reason. there was water rushing under the wheel wells, but not enough to cause alarm. there were huge storm clouds and low sea frets scudding along the headlands. i could hear voices above me on the bluffs. i couldn’t tell if the storm was receding or moving ashore. everything was confused. i just knew i wanted to get off the beach and somewhere warm and a bit safer. i suddenly saw a small white truck coming from my right. the driver and passenger were gesturing frantically at me, but i couldn’t make out what they were trying to tell me. they drove past me. as i turned to watch them, thinking they must know the way off of the beach and that i should follow, i saw that the water to my left was swirling in a terrifying eddy. it grabbed the truck and pulled it into deeper water, but the wheels somehow managed to touch down long enough to pull free. i realized that i was in terrible danger. then i was floating out of the jeep and looking down on treetops. i could feel the wind buffeting me. i could see the fine crenulation of new leaves at the crown of trees. i saw that the jeep had been parked at the mouth of an estuary and the creeks feeding it had swollen into churning rivers. water was everywhere. everything flooded and inhospitable. i was in a panic about where i would land. each time i came near a perch the water would rise, unmooring trees and upsetting boulders. heart racing. i drifted down helplessly between the steep walls of a ravine and the sound of rushing water set up a violent thrum in jaw and sternum, made my head throb. the water was rising to meet me and i was on the verge of tears. then suddenly i thought, “but i’m a bird. i could just fly on.” and that’s what i was doing, in the greatest state of relief, when alexander the woodcutter dropped off a load of firewood and woke me.

been trying to write. doing some editing of stories written in the past. i finally have some ideas about where to send them. that does help motivate me.

seed orders are arriving and catalogs, too. i was sent some lovely storage type tomatoes of spanish origin. looking forward to adding those to the italian ones i grew in years past. and finally, after years of searching, i obtained seeds for lemon myrtle (backhousia citriodora) and cinnamon myrtle (backhousia myrtifolia). the lemon myrtle seeds are winging their way to me now. the others i have to wait for a while longer while they’re harvested. still waiting on hyoscyamus muticus that i ordered last year, too. my heart skips a beat when i think about those lovelies. also awaiting a parcel from a kind botanist in poland who always has the coolest stuff to share. and in other botanical nerdiness, one of my weirder jaltomata varieties is loaded with flower buds. i am absurdly excited to see which species it is. three years ago when i planted them, the cats decided to play a game of ninepins in the middle of the night, and i woke to tiny peat pots all over the place sans labels. i know which species i planted (weberbaueri, ventricosa, bernardelloana, herrerae) but i don’t know which is which.

visited with my dad this evening. brought in some firewood. it’s crummy outside and he moves slow these days even when the weather is fine. he told me again about witnessing nuclear bomb detonations at frenchman flat in the 1950s. he was there to study how radio waves were affected by the blast. he was in the signal corps. he said that his convoy travelled down from fort lewis, going 35mph on the highway all the way. at one point, they got lost and the whole convoy had to cycle through a standard gas station where they stopped to ask directions. he paused in the telling, looked at me archly, and said, “how fucking embarrassing is that?” in any case, his takeaway from the whole experience is that anyone who would willingly unleash such a force on the earth is insane. agreed.

wellidy. that’s all i got.

glad to see the back of 2018. lang may yer lum reek, folks.

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Lang may yer lum reek.

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the last month of the year. spent mid-december making wreaths, talking to lawyers, and preparing for train travel. last year a local potter bought a wreath from me. she has a shop of her own now and commissioned some wreaths like the first. hiked into the hills with the mothership to gather snowberry and rose hips and lace lichen. banged out wreaths. quick to make. netted me a tidy sum which was most welcome in the aftermath of my employment clusterfuck.

 

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snowberries

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brambles

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traveled to the big city. lovely visit. filled my bags with so many books i could hardly hoist them onto the train. but my dad was over the moon with his yule gifts. it was worth it.

trudged the cloud forests of the botanical garden in the best of company (even if he did make reading placards nearly impossible). a most loyal friend. heart of my heart. spied a little shadow tail. and i’d never seen nicotiana otophora in bloom. it did not disappoint.

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returned from my adventures. hiked the lakeshore with the mothership. spires of blowzy coyote bush. the air was hazy with glittering pappus. a ruby-crowned kinglet landed in a branch a few feet from me. i’d never seen one. he flitted to and fro and flashed his red crown. gave me a tune. i sang back, “the wren, the wren, the king of all birds.” but he was neither wren nor king. only kinglet. his honor still great, however.

visited my father. made sure he was well stocked with firewood and victuals. five deer under the oaks along the drive. bucks all. then cresting the hill, does in equal number. white and freckled cattle. white cattle, black lashes. black ears. as i unstitched a sack of cat food to satisfy his cats, my dad saw me pocket the red twine. he said, “hey, kid, there’s plenty more where that came from. i didn’t know you saved it, too.” he told me to look beneath the kitchen counter where he keeps odds and ends. a red ball of twine. he reckoned it’s a genetic condition. like father….

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spent the 25th with two fine gentlemen. exchanged yule gifts in the sharp, unremitting wind. developed an earache, but it was a wonderful time, and the hugs were warm even if the weather wasn’t. developed a bellyache from laughing. my friend made for me a beautiful pair of earrings in the shape of single foxglove blossoms. and i was gifted a vintage plant press as well. it is gorgeous, something i’ve wanted for years and years but could never afford, and one of the most thoughtful gifts i’ve ever received. cockles warmed.

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and now i’ll enjoy my yule books and julbocks and wait for the return of the sun. hot tea and marzipan. seed catalogs. cozy duvet. on the first day of christmas my true love gave to me, a surfeit of raspberries. those raspberries.

wellidy.

 

 

 

 

the other evening there was a prionus beetle on the screen door. i actually ran and hid in the car until it had been dispatched. i’m not generally afraid of creepy crawly things. in fact, i have a fondness for most of them. the tarantulas and jerusalem crickets, cow-killers, millipedes, and scorpions of this world delight me. but the prionus beetle undoes me. i literally cannot control myself when i see one. i scream like a little girl. i make high-pitched cries and whimper unintelligible words declaiming my fright. i’m frozen in my tracks and have to muster every scrap of will to best my own inertia and run away. it is totally mortifying. and what’s even more humiliating is that i will abandon any companion to his or her fate and save myself like an utter coward. you win, nightmare beetle.

tuberose are back at the farmers market. i do love them. when i burn palo santo it smells like tuberose but it’s no substitute. primarily, because palo santo also smells like dill pickles. got some peaches at the market. baklava. making eggplant salad for my lunch as i go back to work in a few days. blech. i ran into my former co-worker in the grocery store last night and she said i was missed. it did make my heart to melt. i miss her, too, and my colleagues at that library. good folk.

last year i wrote to an herbalist and researcher whom i admire. it was a long shot, but i thought maybe she could answer a few questions for me. she replied that she didn’t have time to help me. it was disappointing, but hey, she wrote back. i guess that’s something. i later discovered that she is married to another researcher who is friends with one of my very favorite botanical explorers, who grew up about eight miles from me, and who is in turn friends with one of my very favorite authors. weird.

it has been ungodly hot here. at night i roll about unable to sleep. when i do sleep it is fitful and dreamless. but last night i dreamed i was in russia on a camping trip and my companions left me behind. at dusk i wandered into a park area where a professor in elbow patches stood beside a park ranger and lectured a troop of students. i sidled up to a student and asked in english if he had come with the same group of students and researchers i’d arrived with. he spoke french though and wasn’t from my group. i decided i’d walk to saint petersburg. in the dark. i was climbing the first curve in the mountain road out of the park when a woman approached. she was smoking a black cigarette. she was blonde and very familiar. she asked if i recognized her, and i hesitated, but then felt very happy to see her. “you’re my friend,” i said. and she smiled. she offered me a ride in her hatchback. she was an insane driver. her english was bad so she spoke to me in french. she prattled along while we took the curves at breakneck speeds. the headlights failed and she chuckled while violently fiddling with the indicator arm. i wanted to vomit from fear. finally the lights came back on. far off on the horizon the tops of the mountains were still pink with snow in the setting sun. we finally arrived in saint petersburg and she took me to the hotel she was staying at, telling me i could share her room and catch a flight out in the morning. but in the lobby we met her friends from the university and adjourned to a bizarre foyer tucked along one side. most of the men were wearing breton tops. they told me i was in the turkish quarter. we smoked copious amounts of black cigarettes and the air smelled like anisette. i fell in love with a gawky, unearthly tall gentleman, but seduced a swarthy man in a stupid suit. in the morning, my blonde russian lady friend drove me to the airport. she spoke to me in her native tongue and i understood her perfectly. i said good-bye in perfect russian. i woke up.

wellidy.

walked out into the yard last night to escape the heat inside the house. was looking at the moon and mars. didn’t see that one of the black cats had planted his bottom just in front of my feet in the dark. took a step forward and nearly fell on my face. he cried to be picked up so i obeyed. a moment later i heard rustling just behind me and thought it was the other of the black beasts. without looking i knelt down and stretched my hand out. but there was no familiar head bumping my palm, just a very wary juvenile opossum scuttling by a few feet from me.

went for a night walk tonight. haven’t done that in a spell. too hot indoors. outside albizia is blooming. and honeysuckle. datura by the train tracks. all beautifully fragrant. walked into the woods. stood in the moonlight and listened to a barn owl screech down from the darkness and grab up its furry intended. then the sounds of death. when i walked back through town a very talkative black cat jumped from its porch and accompanied me a ways until i consented to scratch behind its ears. a man on a moped nearly ran me over. i ate plums in the dark. stole a bundle of sweet marjoram stalks frowzy with spent flowers. listened to cicadas and crickets. murmured conversation coming from a candlelit porch, “your best move is to say no. stop giving in.” and then guarded silence as i passed.

went with a friend i hadn’t seen in ages to a beach i hadn’t visited in ages. ate fish and talked about art. laughed harder than i have laughed in a very long time while at the same time wanting to cry for him.

installed a new window in my dad’s cabin. it was hot as hell and the wasps wouldn’t stop trying to drink my sweat. saw a bobcat. buried my nose in vanilla-scented milkweed blossoms. sucked some sumac berries. there are more of them this year than i’ve ever seen. so sour that just thinking of them makes my tongue tingle and my mouth flood. i love them even if they have an aftertaste of odor of boxelder bug.

wellidy.

cobweb

sumac

manzanita

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been spending some time on the carrizo. last sunday morning one of the ewes dropped twin lambs. white as milk. i had to cross the paddock she shares with a ram and another sheep to get to the paddock on the far side where yet another ewe and her three young lambs reside. i slipped on an amniotic sac and nearly landed on my crown. i have no regrets.

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it was really cold on the plain. kept a fire in the wood stove and spent my evenings toasting my haunches in front of it, reading a book. it was lovely even if i did feel a twinge of guilt every time the barn cats came and scratched at the window to be let in.

tracing a shirt pattern on swedish paper. new pinking shears to replace the old ones. soft flannel. box of notions. my grandmother’s iron.

today i scattered desert bluebell, clarkia, and bird’s eye gilia seeds all around the homestead. supposed to have a storm this weekend. get them watered in. my young red baron peach had six flower buds last week and today two of them had opened. the deer will probably eat them before they set fruit even though i have the trunk girded with a wire cage. crafty beasts. the quince is unfurling leaves. the elderberry too. apple buds swelling. young peony leaves pushing up pink. tomorrow i’ll plant bababerries which are a cross between cultivated raspberry and the wild raspberry of the coast ranges. they’re my perfect fruit. and who doesn’t love raspberries? the thought of them turns me quite boneless. pure jelly.

finally able to read halldor laxness’ salka valka thanks to the amazingly kind efforts of a friend who drove all the way to ucsb library and hand digitized it for me. i very much enjoyed the read. so good. incidentally, discovered that salka is a diminutive of salomé which was my great-grandmother’s name. i think i like that.

wrote a poem. working on a story. retelling of a baba yaga tale. thank heavens for the gentle persistence of my best pal and his unorthodox methods of persuasion. what a dear.

wellidy. catching cold, i think. must attend. ginger tea. and so.