Daffodils

A fresh new season is making its presence felt in the Ozarks! The days are warmer and balmier, and the grass is beginning to green up. Looking out over the treetops from a high vantage point, there is a distinct blurring, indicating the soon-to-pop-open leaf buds. Serviceberry and wild plum add a bright spot of white in the dull gray of the late winter woods, while redbud and wild cherries lend splashes of pinks and purples to spring's first bouquet. The lime green of sassafras buds in the fencerows let us know that the time has passed to dig their roots and make tea. Birds are singing up a storm and pairing into couples, and we can hear the peepers when we stand outside at night. There is new life everywhere...baby calves, goats and ducks abound. This season truly celebrates life.

If there is one thing that speaks spring to me, it is daffodils. What a miracle they are! Plant them once and then just sit back to be rewarded, year after year, as they faithfully rebloom and multiply, while requiring no care whatsoever. Could there be a more perfect flower?

My favorite rite of spring is to drive the backroads around our farm, looking for these dependable bloomers at the old abandoned home sites that were once busy farmsteads. I love to imagine the women who planted them and wonder how they came to be here. I think of wagons packed somewhere back East, with  little room to spare for luxuries. But surely space could be made for a tiny bundle of bulbs, dug from a mother's or grandmother's garden. Carried across the wild frontier to a new home in a strange place, tenderly planted as fall's winds blew colder and colder, the daffodil bulbs with their promise of spring were also a living connection to loved ones left behind. To think that they still bloom today, scores of years after being set out, seems a real wonder! 

When I was growing up, we called them Easter lilies. I guess they are mere imitations of the real thing, but I much prefer a fruit-jar bouquet of simple, yellow daffodils to any delicate hothouse plant. Their golden color and sweet fragrance are such a welcome bright spot after the long, dark winter. 

So off I go on a warm March afternoon, in search of an old, tumbledown shack that was once a family's home. Sure enough, scattered all around the place, coming up through the refuse and rubbish and weeds and tangled vines, there they are. Hundreds of them, faces turned to the sun, as they fulfill their promise, year after year, without fail. And after I've gathered a bouquet, once again, I pull out my shovel to dig some clumps and set them in one of my flowerbeds. They won't be missed here, and I'll enjoy them for years to come. That sharing,that began so long ago, continues to this day....

A Snowy, Knitty Day

It's one of my favorite kind of days... snowy, blowy, wintry and knitty. Knitty because I'd LOVE to spend the entire day knitting, and knitty because it's the perfect day for wearing knitted things, like scarves and gloves and sweaters.

This day is especially appreciated because it is so rare this winter. It's our first snowy day of the season! The first snow day for school children and their teachers, the first time to take snow photos, the first day that's a genuine excuse to stay inside and watch the world go by. Not that much is going on out there ... even the chickens are staying inside.

 But the horses love a good snowy frolic, and they are liking this first snowy day, too.

Unfortunately, this snowy day is also Monday, and that means I must work, whether it's snowing or not. Knitting must wait. Instead, I've written payroll checks, paid bills, balanced the checkbook, cooked lunch, washed clothes, and finally, I've just finished a story for our local newspaper, a weekly for which I'm an occasional contributor.

You'd love to meet the subjects of my story this week. They are a 90-something pair who inspire me to no end with their positive attitudes, youthful outlook and willingness to be of service to the community. That is the reason for the story: these two sweet people are mega-volunteers. They suffered the loss of their home last year in the Joplin tornado and were forced to move to our town to be near their daughter. Instead of sitting back and bemoaning their losses, they forge ahead, seeking new ways to serve. I want to be just like them when I grow up ... or old. Whichever comes first. Besides all that, they are devoted to each other and their love just shines through their eyes. It's a real sweet Valentine's Day story, perfect for warming up this cold February day.

Now back to knitting. I keep doing that ... going back to knitting. I'm wanting to make a quilt and have a great idea for one, but I can't seem to put down my knitting ... or at least, my thoughts of knitting. Last night I started a new project, always a time for rejoicing. I love, love, love starting something new.

This is a cowl, knit in the round, with a sort of lacy look about it. I didn't want to use real lace yarn ... to fine and spider-webby ... but I think it's going to be nice made from this worsted-weight blend of merino and silk.

 And oh, this blue! I adore this color.  I hope the person for whom it is intended loves this color, too, because this yarn is dear to my heart, and I'd be sad to not have it appreciated.

Last week I made another potato chip scarf. Yep, I couldn't have just one.

This version is slightly smaller and a bit daintier. I think I like it better this way. This can probably be worn when it isn't exactly cold outside ... more of a necklace than a scarf. More of a fashion statement than a garment of warmth and necessity. I love it.

You know, I'm not a big fan of necklaces. All the chunky, showy ones that look so fine on other women just make me feel weighted down. But in winter I rarely go anywhere without something draped around my neck, and it's almost always a scarf. Here's another new one.

 It's a cowl, too ... called a Bandana Cowl, because of the pointy front resembling a cowboy's bandana tied around his neck. I made one for a daughter for Christmas. Wondering if the other daughter wants one, too. I sort of like this one. The yarn is so yummy...Mochi Plus, one of my true favs. Love the luster, the colorways, the silky-smoothness of this yarn. Back to the pattern ... if you'd like to try it, it's free here: http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/bandana-cowl.

Let's talk a tiny minute about Ravelry. If you knit, you surely know about this wonderful place. It's simply fantastic for finding inspiration, free patterns, help, friends, supplies, whatever you need. I could almost live in Ravelry, if they had food online...

Speaking of food, all this snow and cold and tramping around playing with the horses has made me hungry. Time to go rustle up some grub. Hope you've had a wonderful snowy day, too!

Welcome to Pens and Needles, my new blog for a new year. I call it Pens and Needles because these are some of the most important tools I use; pens for writing, and needles for any kind of needlework, from knitting to sewing to quilting. I think of them as the tools that hold my busy, fragmented life together.

As I go about my day, whether I'm doing laundry or pulling weeds or paying bills or cooking meals or picking up tractor parts, there is a pen going, in the back of my mind, writing away about today, yesterday and tomorrow, about our life on a farm in the rocky, rugged, beautiful Ozarks. Sometimes I manage to pick up a pen (or let my fingers fly over a keyboard) to commit some of those mental words to print. Writing things down helps me organize my mind and my life.

And when I sit down at night, I pick up my needles and my fingers fly with yarn or thread. As I knit, purl or otherwise stitch, I feel the cares of the day fall away and the repetitive rhythm slows me down, letting me relax. Soft yarn, colorful fabric--the beauty of these textiles is a soothing counterpoint to the random and sometime rough mix of everyday life. Scraps of fabric, tossed together in a basket, are a jumble; stitched together into a simple pattern brings them into order and beauty. A ball of yarn is...just a ball of yarn. But wrapping it around needles turns it into a scarf to warm a neck or a hat to adorn a little one or a shawl to encircle the shoulders of a hurting one.

I have a fond vision of my great-great-granddaughter. Her name is, perhaps, Janet, and her beloved grandmother, Emma, says this is something she must see. The two of them, one young and one older, climb into the attic of our old, abandoned farmhouse and find a trunk. The younger one (who looks a lot like I did at 12, straight brown hair, questioning eyes, a mind that wants to know what it was like back then) rakes the dust and cobwebs off the top, her grandmother pries the top open, and with delight they find it full of old things.

A quilt, crafted of pinks and blues, is folded on top. Pinned to one corner, a label declares: "My first quilt, made in 1992, by Janet Ebrite Taber, 1951-20??"

Wrapped inside the quilt, there is an old-fashioned doll, its china head and hands and little feet still attached to a cloth body, its calico dress faded but still bearing a pinned label: "This doll belonged to my beloved grandmother, Ola Pitchford Kirkpatrick, 1914-2007."

Under the quilt are other items. Tissue paper shrouds a glass bowl, embellished with colored teardrops and taped to it, a note reads: "This was my mother's bowl; she said it was as old as me, and she gave it to me in 2006. I always used it for holiday meals, to serve salads. My mother, Bonnie Kirkpatrick Ebrite, lived 1934-20??."

A wooden box opens to reveal a lovely set of silverware, the real thing, eight place-settings engraved with the letter "E." The little girl reads that "This silverware belonged to Fay Bushong Ebrite, my other grandmother, who loved pretty things. She was a teacher and saved diligently to buy china and silver. She died too early, at the age of 60, and the silver passed to me, her only granddaughter. I treasured it and hope you will, too."

From inside an old pillowcase a somewhat ragged-looking red shawl is unwrapped, the ancient smell of mothballs still emanating from its folds. A subtle leaf pattern appears across its surface, and its label declares, "Most of my knitting consisted of smaller items, and most were given away. This shawl, however, I kept for myself. It took me three years to complete, and by then it belonged to me. Made in 2009-2011."

At the very bottom of the trunk, the two find a nondescript binder, with three metal rings inside, like none the little girl has ever seen. It is filled to overflowing with pages and more are falling out. It will take a while to read, but the little girl sees that this will become her most prized treasure, for it is entitled: "Family: Who We Are and Where We Came From." Her great-great-grandmother has truly given her a gift worth unwrapping, for here is her very own history.

I will never know if my vision comes true, but I'm doing my part to make it happen: creating the contents of that trunk. Pens and Needles are the tools I use.