drawing the threads together

i know i just lamented that autumn filled me with dread, but this evening, on the way home from my weaving group, it was just gorgeous. small tendrils of fog sneaking into the low spots, the blueish light that contains hints of the winter ahead descending, leaving trees to stand as starkly beautiful silhouettes, still clad in their leaves for now. it's strangely warm, it was still 13°C this evening, which probably explains the fog. it was a good day, spent at two different small museums, stretching my brain around how tablet weaving works, as well as how to create different patterns and a wider band on a small band loom. i am so fortunate to have amazing women in my life who know all about these things and who are patiently helping me rewire my brain. once again, i am struck that in weaving, i find deeper meaning - how we draw together the threads of our lives and find depth and beauty. my threads are still a bit tangled, but days like today move me in the right direction.

dear autumn

dear autumn,

you and i used to have such a great relationship. you used to bring with you the promise of a new semester, the excitement of all of the new books to be read from a fresh syllabus, the comfort of a new university sweatshirt and the impending trip to the seminary co-op bookstore. when i close my eyes, i can hear the crunch of leaves, feel the crispness of your air in my nose. i'm enveloped by the memory of a new brown suede coat wrapped around me as i walk down 57th street and turn on woodlawn, so i can pass by the classic lines of frank lloyd wright's robie house as i head for campus. the golden sunshine is stunning on the red and orange leaves, making the day look warmer than it actually is.

these days, autumn, you fill me with a bit more dread. there's no new semester beginning, there's just the impending darkness of winter ahead. short, often grey days and relentless rain, wind sweeping in off the distant north sea to the west, the trees denuded before they even have a chance to change to glorious jewel tones.

autumn, you give way too easily to the darkness of winter in these latitudes, and that's why you fill me with dread. please be kind this year, with a few glorious golden days to look back on when the darkness comes.

your old friend,
/julie

the view from sunday night

it was the kind of weekend that happens all too seldom. still, sunny days, not too warm, not too cold, just hours and hours of glorious sunshine. we spent as much time as we could outside. me, fighting with the lawnmower, which for some reason is puffing out billows of smoke. we briefly thought it was because we had accidentally put diesel in it, but it seems not. it's going to have to go to the lawnmower doctor if i can find one that can be trusted. when i couldn't mow, it meant i had more time to go for a long walk and to sit in the sunshine with a cold drink and a good book. i've just started salman rushdie's latest, quichotte. just a little ways in and i'm getting a humbert humbert vibe from the main character, though so far, he's exhibited no pedophile tendencies.

the elderberries have all been harvested and i got 8 bottles of dark, deep purple cordial. our blueberries are still producing and i'm not yet done picking them - they're all going into the freezer for smoothies, aside from the ones that i threw together with the last of the blackberries and made into a lovely, jammy dessert that i invented after reading this recipe and this one (sorry, you'll need a subscription to access those).

there was a harvest market at our local little historical museum and someone was selling the most beautiful baskets, so i had to have one - it's important to support local artists, and how could i resist with that hole-y stone attached on the side? paws mcgraw approved the purchase.

these autumn days feel slow and a bit lazy, i poke around in second hand stores,  finding treasures. i'm also gathering and preparing second hand textiles for the rug i'm going to weave for the kitchen. while i'm doing this, i'm still pondering what's next. i'm not sure what it is, but i'm starting to feel like i need to figure it out and i'm wondering a bit why i haven't. and feeling a little bit stuck that i don't even really know how to go about it in a more active way.

friday randomness

little chocolate-colored flowers from the garden on the windowsill. i've been collecting acorn caps every time i go out to the barn as well, to try my hand at lisa's famous felted acorns. i want a more natural look to our christmas tree this year.

i thought the raspberries were finished after we had a couple of frosty nights in recent weeks. but they were most decidedly not finished and the frost seems to have rendered them sweeter and more delicious than ever.

* * *

in the wake of the recent weeks of madness in the US congress, i find myself wondering what passport i will have when the US completely falls apart? will illinois issue passports themselves? or south dakota? or arizona? and what will the requirements be? place you were born? where you last lived? where you hold your driver's license? or will i qualify for asylum in denmark as a stateless person?

* * *

have you seen these fabulous dressed sculptures? they bring hipster to a whole new level.

* * *

i'm missing the child, but she's having a wonderful time in st. petersburg. and thanks to the wonders (and ubiquitousness) of wifi and FaceTime, we've been speaking to her daily. things have most definitely changed since i studied in russia nearly 20 years ago (holy crap, it was nearly 20 years ago!)

* * *

our local scouts hold a big two-day flea market every year at this time and i can't wait 'til the doors open at 2 so i can go to see what treasures are there! photos will most surely follow.

* * *

happy weekend, one and all.

oh what a beautiful morning

i'm finally feeling better after battling a low-grade fever for several days. i think i've got it licked now.
or maybe it's just that the sun came out and it was a glorious morning.
the chickens love hanging out near the horses.
as soon as i let them out in the morning, they run over there.
it's like they're friends. or maybe they just like horse poo.

* * *

and the nobel prize for literature 2013 went to alice munro.
oddly, i've never read her.
actually, not so oddly, as i don't often read north american writers.
except jonathan franzen, barbara kingsolver, paul auster and siri hustvedt.
and david foster wallace.

* * *

did you know about the bandcamp website?

it's full of cool, indie music. 

like this - something fierce by marian call

or this song - cats and netflix that i suspect is about me.

bandcamp might be myspace for hipsters. 

in a good way.

magical teeny tiny mushrooms

hello there monday morning

our weather has taken an autumnal turn, but it makes for gorgeous mornings. we've had such a good summer (the first one since i've been in denmark), that this year, i don't feel my usual impending sense of doom over the approach of autumn and our dark time of year. that's nice, as autumn was always my favorite, since it so often brought with it new books for new classes and cuddly warm clothes.

the farmers are busy, harvesting the fields. tractors rumble past our house out in the countryside all day long and well after dark. i love the golden stubble and the big bales dotting the landscape.

and the morning fog is wonderful. it lends such a quiet hush to the world and gets the day started at a pace a monday morning brain can comprehend.

happy monday, one and all.

a morning wander with the camera

somewhere along the way, i got out of the habit of a morning wander in the garden with my camera in hand. maybe we had such a sunny, glorious summer that i began to take it for granted.

a few days of blustery wind and rain and much cooler temperatures have us thinking of autumn, so when it was sunny this morning, i grabbed the camera and headed out for a wander in the garden. this year, i don't dread autumn like i usually do because we had a real summer. that makes such a difference!

and besides, with autumn comes our raspberries, which are the late sort. the first few are ready, but so far it's only enough for a taste as i wander the garden.

not even enough to toss onto a bowl of yogurt and müsli. but they will come soon enough.

our mirabella tree is loaded this year after not having any at all for the past couple of years. i wonder why that is? i guess the conditions were just right this year. i've already made one batch of mirabella jam from some i got from a friend, but i'll soon make more, as we have a market coming up at the end of the month and i want to sell such things there.

the barley in the field next door must be nearly ready to harvest. but for now, we get to enjoy the golden expanse.

frost on the pumpkin (sans pumpkin)

it's a good year for mushrooms

the mushrooms are amazing this year. it's been a very good year for them around here - very wet and strangely warm (it was 20°C yesterday) - perfect conditions. i swear there's something magical in the way they spring up overnight in whole groves. and then they linger on until they're picturesquely withered and look ancient. i've got nature on the brain because i'm reading roger deakin's wildwood. in it he waxes poetic on forests and the pleasures of sleeping out in a shed in a remote corner of his property. and pencils. and i hope he does something about mushrooms too, but so far he hasn't (i'm not that far in). if he doesn't, i'll have to do so myself.

a pretty as a picture

amanita muscaria - gorgeous. and not as deadly a beauty as i thought. if the reindeer can eat them, why not us? they sure are plentiful this year.