mathematics

I saw a knitted hemp pillow online with a $570 price tag. (the one with the patch is only $525, I think it was. I'm still working out the patch bit. . . . 'now just why are we patching this new pillow? So that it looks old? and we pay more for that? And why was that again?') I liked the cable one, but $570?!

"Ridiculous!" I thought. "I'll make my own!" and so I did.

Two weeks later, I had my own completed pillow - in a beautiful celadon cotton.

At some point, I did the math: OK. Two weeks - but not full-time - but yes, probably a good 40 to 50 hours. If not more! (It's fine yarn on thin needles) and then the materials. Hmmm. At $11 an hour, that's just about $570 for the pillow. . . .

Not that the hemp pillow-people are paying anyone eleven bucks an hour to knit pillows for them, but that's part of the problem, isn't it?! Somehow we've lost our yardstick for what's valuable, and what's worth what. I couldn't make a living making and selling hand-knit pillows because there aren't many people willing to pay $570 for a pillow. And, quite frankly, I don't know that I would accept a job that paid $11 an hour. Yet there are other handmade pillows - knit ones, too - for a whole lot less than $570. That's where it gets scary. Somewhere out there, there are people knitting these things for a whole lot less than $11 an hour. They may even be knitting them for less than $11 a pillow for all I know. Meanwhile, we're getting used to thinking that hand-knit pillows shouldn't cost $570. . . . We fail to see the work that goes into it; we certainly have failed to pay for it!

This is what I get for re-reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged after getting my PhD. . . . Add Ayn Rand, the non-instrumentalization of another person (part of Kant's Categorical Imperative) and E.F. Schumacher's Economics as if people really mattered and you get valid worries over the price of knitted pillows online. . . .

Meanwhile, I've got my pillow, to which I do not ascribe a monetary value. That's fine, so long as I don't fall off the other side of the horse and say that nonascription of monetary value is the same as a zero monetary value, or that there is no monetary value to be ascribed to the ability to create something that is beautiful, that goes beyond even the hours it took to make it.

Thankfully, no, the pillow is not for sale.

canine cookies?! canine cookies. get 'em while they're hot!

Luther would like you to know that he receives absolutely no compensation as spokesdog for Carol's Canine Cookie Rolls (website still under construction).

That's because he isn't the spokesdog for CCCR, although he would like to apply for said position. He'd be a handsome spokesdog, well-spoken.

Remuneration could be in the aforesaid Cookie Rolls - which he'd never tried before last week - but which, after just one smell, he fell head over paws in love with! I've never seen anything quite like it. He didn't gobble the Roll, he inhaled its aroma. He licked it. He gently nibbled at it with his front teeth. He inhaled the aroma again. He finally bit into it and chewed - really seeming to taste it, savoring and enjoying it - and licked up every crumb and looked around for more.

Here's a picture. Carol had sent a bag of assorted cookie rolls (I have no idea what kind they are, but they all smell delicious!) and another bag of wee training treats for Luther through the queen-mum. I took one crappy picture with the business card, which didn't really turn out, but the information is Carol's Canine Cookie Rolls Home of the original Banana Fanny Roll", Carol Beatson, Owner/Executive Chef. They have a web site address, but (like I said) it's still under construction. Bummer! (Carol, go to Blue Oryx Simple Solutions for a quick, easy and inexpensive online sales presence, with shopping cart! No, I don't get a commission there, either. . . .) But for future reference, the Canine Cookies website will be here. In the meantime, written on the back of the business card: "To Order, Please Call 571-313-8284"

Sorry. No clue on cost. Ours were free. FREE! ["CAROL! Please send more cookie rolls, please!" - Luther howling, there. . . .]

It's a diabolical plot. Send free cookie rolls and get 'em hooked on the things. Suddenly the old Milkbones don't look so good any more. . . . They smell like saw dust.

These things look like you could have them with a glass of wine. Not that I did, but I did think about tasting them. But I didn't. Luther loves 'em, and I don't know when we'll be getting any more. If every one of you reading this calls Carol and orders Carol's Canine Cookie Rolls, telling Carol "Luther sent me", perhaps she'll send more. And tell you what, if she sends more, Luther says he'll share.

Course you'll have to fight him for them. . . . He is over the moon for the things. And there's not that many left. . . .

stash selections

We had dinner with dear friends last weekend, a beautiful evening, joint-project cooking, and an incredible setting:

on the water, with candles, fireflies, potted hibiscus trees in bloom and a table setting that looked like something out of House and Garden Magazine (although I said "Martha Stewart" when I complimented daughter J., which I'm not sure she appreciated. I meant it was thoughtfully beautiful, not that it was Martha-Stewart-fussy, which so many people take from any Martha reference. . . . but I like Martha! sorry.)

Anyway, all this leads to my having noticed: the table runner.

J. had put a gorgeous one on top of a lovely table cloth and I was just struck by how practical that is! And then I remembered this - a roll of yarn-dyed linen I am ashamed to think how long I've had, given to me by the queen-mum oh so many years ago (after she'd had it probably longer than she cared to think!)

It could stand a good ironing. But hey! After languishing in several countries in trunks and assorted linen closets, I didn't want waste any more time by just moving it into the ironing pile. . . . who knows when it would see the light of day again?!

I am advised (as I recall) that this was the standard source of dishtowels in years gone by - one merely cut off the desired length and hemmed it.

I've got another roll just like this one that's destined for the portico. With an orange and yellow stripe. To run right down the middle of the tablecloth out there. Thanks J! What a great idea. I'm so glad to have finally found a good use for some gorgeous vintage fabric from my 'stash.'

and. . . .??!

Whaddya do with these guys?

Besides arrange them in whimsical ducky poses?



Seriously - any hints?

No, these are from a friend's garden (although I believe the failed garden might be harboring a squash or two). . . . and no, I don't eat squash either. But hopefully the other greenwood inhabitants and visitors will!

Now. First things first. Do you peel 'em?

They sure are colourful!

History.

As in: "That first-grown tomato is history."

Stay tuned for new veggie pictures! (Be still my beating heart. . . .)

moving indoors

As it's July, it should come as no surprise that it's hot outside. I take that back. It's not really all that hot - still below 90, which officially counts as HOT - but the sun has been out unrelentingly, and I stay out of the sun these days. That means I have a limited window of time in which I can be outside, unless I'm in the woods.

The good news: the house stays nice and cool, so far even when it's pretty scorching outside. We have yet to turn the air conditioning on! I simply close the windows that face towards the sun (and that's the front of the house - and the side, in the mornings) and put the fan on if there's no breeze. At night, the windows get opened again, and the cool temperatures cool the house off by morning.

That's one benefit of having slate floors and a conditioned crawlspace under the house. It's not quite the same blessing in winter. . . .

eat your vegetables. . . .

I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I don't like aubergines or tomatoes, but I am obsessed with the day-to-day accomplishments of them growing!



Look - the aubergines are getting a whole lot bigger.



And here, see the first reddening tomato! Unfortunately, the bugs got to it before I did. . . . but I'm letting it continue to ripen on the vine in the failed garden, just so the tomatoes in the tomato garden have something to emulate. From where they are on the other side of the pasture they'll never see the bug holes.

Also today, I ate my first wild raspberries. Only two so far, but there's lots more where they came from! Still ripening. . . .

4th of July warfare

Coneflowers are said to be pretty nigh indestructible. Bugs don't touch them; neither do deer. They're prickly things, no aroma, but the colours are nice and they come back every year. What's not to like?!

I splurged this year and got one of the new cultivars that have scent, even prettier colours, and gorgeous names! Summer Sky - said to be the most fragrant of this new strain. They're gorgeous.

This morning, something looked wrong. The petals were missing! I walked over and this is what I saw. Note to self: fragrance can invite unwanted attention. I recall that Luther had also immediately tried to taste one. . . . this should have been a sign. Anyway, the culprits (and there were three) were also summarily executed, like the guys feasting on our aubergines! Constant vigilance is the order of the day. . . .

Luckily, I have only one of the Summer Sky's - and the other run-of-the-mill echinaceas are doing just fine, thank you very much. Several of them have been munched on, however, which I blame on the odorific ones. I don't know if they'll last here. We'll see.

They are pretty.

a tale of three gardens.

We now have three gardens. The failed garden that wasn't such a complete failure, the first raised bed garden for the Italian heirloom tomatoes in an undeniably sunny spot in front of the studio (where the black widow was found), and the second raised bed garden in the surprise!-several-hour-sunny spot along side the back of the house, which turned out to have serious water issues. (who knew a stream ran through it?!)

They are called, in order, the 'failed' garden, the 'tomato' garden, and the 'water' garden.

All is not lost. The Italians are thriving, as you see. Are these gorgeous tomatoes, or what?! This one's called Costoluto Genevese.

This one is Dawson's Black Zebra. Hmmm. Doesn't sound very Italian - that one - does he?

Ah well. This one [above] is Martino's Roma. That's Italian enough for anyone, surely. . . . The aubergines are another story. They weren't looking good, nestled, as they were, in the middle of the tomatoes. Not one of our better ideas. It's what necessitated taking down the fence on which lived the black widow, by the way, and leaving the tomatoes at risk to Lutherish depredations!

The aubergines got moved to the water garden - I figured they could tread water and do better than they were doing (which wasn't good) if they got a bit more sun on what was left of their leaves! Once out in the open, I discovered this guy, pictured below, on one of the leaves, and executed him summarily. Nope, I didn't feel bad about it at all. Especially after I found this, a day or two later: Wee aubergines! Yay!!! I can't believe they set fruit, coming from such a bad neighborhood. But they did, and now so long as they don't drown in the water garden, we may have some rather handsome specimens to adorn the kitchen.

I don't eat the things, m'self. But the king may have other plans for them. . . . . In other veggie news, the red swiss chard is flourishing in the water garden, and you should see the new crop of rocquette I planted there, as well! It doesn't look like much yet, but I have high hopes for this spot. Meanwhile, the swiss chard in the failed garden is rallying, having been left alone for awhile. [Note to self: give these guys a little more time before you start robbing them of their leaves for the salad] The tomato plants are manfully setting fruit even in the absence of sun, and the scarlet runner and purple-podded pole beans are flowering in fits and starts.

Life continues at the greenwood. Thank God.

canine capers

Luther had company. Much play ensured.

Leaving all concerned, exhausted. Lilli fared better than the others, but she was wiped out, too.

Eron bounced back.
He kept coming back for more.


So did Luther, even when he looked like he was down for the count!
He hasn't moved since they left. OK - yes he did come inside.

Luther Pendragon. . . .

a.k.a. the hound.

Dreaming of exploits.

along came a spider. . . .

Purty, ain't she?

Yes, I knew immediately what kind she was. . . . No, I didn't ask her to roll over so I could see her belly. The red I could see was close enough to giving me the idea of the black widow red hour-glass on her belly without closer inspection. This was more than close enough, thank you very much.

I saw her right after I'd pulled the fencing down from around the tomatoes and was preparing to roll it up. Oh. Eeek. I'm feeling fine, though, so I'm assuming she didn't bite me. It seems you've got to keep your wits about you when you're weeding, engaging in aubergine rescue operations, and otherwise playing in the dirt!

sheesh.

It's a dangerous world out there.

from the garden

OK, so the the failed garden isn't as complete a failure as I'd thought. Imagine my surprise to see these on the admittedly spindly vines! I was going to photograph the difference between the ones from the greenwood garden [no sun] and the ones from my dad's garden [sun] - but I couldn't tell the difference. If anything, the ones from the greenwood garden are maybe a bit more tender. . . . believe it or not!

Also in the 'failed garden', this beautiful climbing rose. It's so perfect, it almost looks fake.

Amazing, isn't it? I went out to look one last time and found all these peas, the roses, and an actual tomato - still green - growing out there, in the shade. Maybe not such a failure, after all.

Guess that means I'd better weed it. Who knows what else I'll find?!

luck of the Irish

Found, out in the front pasture, by the Sicilian.

I've never actually seen a four-leaf clover in real life, only those pressed into medallions sold in Shannon Airport which (as everyone knows) are so easy to fake. I used to do it as a child all the time: pick two clovers, rip all but one leaf off one, hold the two stems together and - voilà! - a four-leaf clover.

The king said he used to find them all the time. We were walking outside in the evening, wine glass in hand, summer storm pending. He bent down to examine a clover patch, brushing his hands over it and ruffling the leaves. He plucked one.

"There you go!"

My first four-leaf clover.

Ever.

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Later, he admitted that it usually took him hours to find one, if at all. . . . Yes, it's a magical place! Which brings me to the saying: 'the luck of the Irish'. I wonder where they got that? Stop for just a moment to think of the Irish history! Not exactly 'lucky'. But wait a minute, maybe that's the point and I've just never realized it: their luck is as common as the four-leaf clover? Sheesh! And here I always thought that the Irish were supposed to be 'lucky'!

storm

In the words of the song - Storm - "there's a big storm comin'. . . ."

We watched it from under the porte cochère.

Luther was unfazed by the thunder and lightning, which was a relief after his scare the day before yesterday by a crack and a clap of thunder that came out of nowhere. . . . Very alarming. I have been hoping that he will not develop a fear of thunder and lightning, though. To that end, we do not react to the thunder or lightning, and did not respond to his fright the day before yesterday by trying to 'comfort' him. Luther settled down and all was well.

I have seen - and heard - of so many dogs that become intractable during thunderstorms (or fireworks), with devastating results. One former neighbor had an elaborate system worked out, involving as many people as they could enlist, to ensure that their dog was immediately visited in the event of an unexpected thunderstorm. So long as there was a person there - any person - apparently she'd be fine. No person, however, and she would start in on the woodwork, ripping off all the baseboards, windowsills and even the windows.

I don't know whether we've done something right in how we've handled it with Luther, or whether we've just been lucky in Luther's temperament. Maybe a little of both. But we did start early! I recall now, that the day - and day after - Luther arrived, I made sure I was home with him during the Blue Angels annual show here in Annapolis. I sat next to his crate with him, with a book, and read during the whole thing. He looked up when the loud jets first screamed over the house, but eventually settled back down for his nap.

Boy did it feel good to "clear the air"! Nothing does that quite like a storm.

fireflies

Seen, tonight, the first firefly.

And the second.

And - I think - the third.

It was hard to count, competing with lightning flashes on the northwest horizon. The setting sun was almost green tonight, in a perfume haze of honeysuckle. They're calling for severe thunderstorms. The lightning bugs flitted about the top promenade, just at the edge of the woods, going no deeper. I wonder if they're scared of the thunder and lightning?

I can hardly wait for their own lightning show. . . .
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picture is Maxfield Parish's Lantern Bearers

a.k.a. beach umbrellas

I was horrified to discover that these are my husband's favorite flowers for summer.

Petunias.

a.k.a. "beach umbrellas" (as he calls them).

A pot - a small pot - of them sits on our outside table. I hate to admit it, but they're growing on me. They're kind of pretty, up close.

. . . bite thy tongue! Silly petunias. . . .

failed experiment

We had such high hopes for the garden. Such trenchings and roto-tillings that went on, and beans, peas, radishi, beets, tomatoes, potatoes and roquettes that went in! And fencings. Oh, the fencings. All for nought.

The sun has not risen high enough in the sky to throw its rays over the top of the clearing of trees to reach the garden. It gets nothing more than leaf-filtered light and that is not enough. We have huge, stringy radish tops, with wee stringy roots tinged red. No radishi. The tomato plants languish and threaten rot. The beans sprung up and raced to a foot high, where they have remained - apparently unchanged - for the last few weeks. The roquette has already bolted. The basil - well - the less said about that, the better. [it involves slime and slugs] We have a ton of red-toned beet leaves, but I suspect we'll end up with red-tinged roots instead of tubers. Even the chard, which apparently doesn't care for heat and direct sun, is lying about, limp.

Meanwhile, around the corner, on the side of the house closest to the woods which I thought would be rather dark and uninteresting, this is what I found the other morning. Sun.

FULL sun. For several hours!

I don't get it.

The problem is that it's in the part of the yard* that the builder pretty much ruined with compacting and what apparently passed for 'topsoil' - meaning rocks and clay, which (if it ever dried out) turns to concrete. The same problem exists in front of the studio, which is the perfect spot, and which I'd always planned to use as the garden. The problem there is that that soil does dry out, and a jackhammer will be needed to made a dent in whatever it was Tom-builder put there, in place of dirt. . . .

sheesh.

Here's the solution: raised beds.

Okay. Plan B.
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*and okay, okay! Pretty much ALL of the yard has this noxious material on it. It's particularly bad, however, close to the house.