Fire in the Sky and a Field of Dreams

Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived a little girl and a little boy.  The little girl and the little boy shared a mother and had been born within minutes of one another.  They were twins.  They grew up in a village on a hill with streets of stone, overlooking the oldest city in the land.  

Across the sea and past the mountains, a woman in a cabin in the woods went to her loom. She unspooled thread the color of the winter fire in the sky.  She unspooled thread the color of the fire flowers that grew in the summer.  And she wove a blanket for the little girl and the little boy.  

For you see, many moons past, she had sat on rocky shores and watched the waves and tasted the salt sea spray along with the mother of the twins.  Both had left their girlhood home to seek their futures far away.  

And so it was, you see, that one day the man with the post brought a package of distant love to the little girl and to the little boy.  It held the magic of a winter night, the brilliance of a summer day.

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Next on the loom are a pair of fairly short warps.  I'm weaving gifts for a very special brother and sister who live in Italy.  When I found out that one of my best friends was having twins, I started scheming as to what I could make for them.  They are now just turned 7 months old, and their birthday gifts are only just going on the loom.  Oops!  

Photo credit: Mackenzie Rohn and 14 Mile Farm

Here in Interior Alaska the summer brings 24 hours of daylight and temperatures sometimes in the 90s.  Winter brings 20 hours of dark and temperatures sometimes 40 degrees below zero.  Fun fact: 40 below is the temperature at which the Celsius and Fahrenheit scales meet; 40 below Celsius is the same as 40 below Fahrenheit.  

Summer paints the fields, the meadows, the roadsides a bright fuschia with the blooming of fireweed.  Winter paints the skies with ribbons of light.

There is such a stark contrast to the phases of the year, and yet the two are two halves of a perfectly balanced whole.  There's a special relationship between twins, between 2 beings who shared an abode in the womb.  I thought this was the perfect pairing for a sweet pair of twins.

Photo credit: Forest & Field Photography and Maya Salganek

This pair of warps is is only the first step in my exploration of paying homage to the fireweed and to the aurora.  All photos were taken here in Fairbanks where I live.  Expect to see more projects along these lines in the future!  I'm already dreaming up a hand-dyed aurora....

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Project details:

Warp of 8/2 cotton 

Crackle threading, draft found here:

Weaving Draft: cw108265, Crackle Design Project, Ralph Griswold, United States, 2004, #13482

There will be at least one piece available for draw off of each of these warps.  

It starts with a sponge

Lately I’ve been needing to be reminded of my own teachings.  Needing someone to tell me the things I tell my students.  Someone to make me hear the truth of my own words.

 I preach self care. I deeply believe in the power, the necessity, the beauty of giving from a full well.  And I do try to practice what I preach.  Yoga, meditation, regular chiropractic care and massage.  My current non-negotiable (next to coffee) is a daily shower.  I arrange my day in such a way to make this happen.  I can generally ensure my daughter’s contentment along with safety while I am in the shower, but occasionally she squalls.  And that is the price of a sane and human-feeling mama. 

I understand how to find small moments of restoration though breath.  Through meditation.  But I’ve realized that I’m not attending to the foundation of wellness.  The Upanishads say “From food are produced all creatures which dwell on earth.  Then they live by food, and in the end they return to food.  For food is the oldest of all beings, and therefore called panacea.”  We are what we eat.  Food is medicine.  My daughter’s source of food – the breast – is also her place of deepest comfort and contentment.

I don’t think I’m eating enough.  I’m not one to count calories, but I’m noticing myself constantly hungry.  A low level low-bloodsugar crankiness pervades too much of my day.  I crash emotionally in what I recognize as a low bloodsugar crisis entirely too frequently.  It is not that I’m not eating.  But I’m eating the way I ate before I got pregnant.  And as an exclusively breastfeeding mom, that is just not cutting it. 

For health reasons, ethical reasons, financial reasons and pure preference my kitchen is one that is full of whole foods: garden veggies in the freezer, fresh veggies from the grocery, bulk grains and legumes, blocks of cheese, canned tomatoes, and so much frozen salmon.  (There’s also a basket of chocolate and I go through ketchup like nobody’s business, I’m not stepping up onto a high horse here!) And frankly?  It is more appealing to retreat to my studio to play with yarn and eat a few almonds, or curl up on the couch with a baby and a quart of water than it is to make the meal I know I need to eat.  It is a weird place for me to be in.  I have taken so much joy in cooking for so many years, and I don’t right now.  It is not that I dislike it.  I’m just not inspired. 

It simply means I need to become intentional about it.  I need to make it easy for me to eat.  Dedicated deliberate work can sometimes get you farther than inspiration ever will.  Inspiration cannot be forced.  But it can be courted, enticed, invited.  You do the work, the craft … and silently, suddenly inspiration may slip in.

And so it is 2 am, I am awake with a fussy baby wrapped on my chest and I am stirring flour into yeast and oats and water.  100 strokes.  A wooden spoon in a bowl of goodness.  Bread starts with a sponge.  An inviting habitat for yeast to flourish before the heavy lifting of leavening whole wheat flour begins.  I am making oat bread, a staple of childhood memories of deep comfort. Oats also happen to be good for milk production.  It’s a hearty, healthy, delightful bread that is best hot with butter. 

I am also taking this as license for daily hot cocoa with whole milk, and plenty of cream in my coffee!

Utter Magic

Today I did two things that blew my mind.  

1: I took a soft! dry! clean! cloth diaper and wrapped my baby's bum in it. 

2: I took wet clean clothes, tossed them into a magical piece of technology, turned a knob and pressed a button... And walked away. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, not only do I have running water and a functional washing machine... I now have a dryer! It uses electricity to run, but propane to heat and dry so there is no fear that it will short circuit our generator or the inverter in our off-grid power system. 

It's kind of amazing.  It's all kinds of amazing.  It is a game changer.  Both for the everyday laundry tasks that keep a household (with a baby!) running and for the wet-finishing process of yard upon yard of handwoven fabric that I anticipate coming off of my loom.  

With the exception of a blissful 6 days before the electric dryer blew out our generator's voltage regulator, we have been drying Avery's diapers (and all our clothes) on drying racks in the living room by the woodstove.  It is a functional system.  The water does evaporate from the fabric.  They end up stiff, with dog hair and lint still attached, and eat up the useable space in the house.  In the case of the diapers, not tumbling them dry decreases their potential absorbency.  Extra bum salve is necessary.  Long story short, an actual dryer is blissful to me.

Remind me, in a year or three, when I'm complaining about the never-ending task of keeping up with the laundry that I'm blessed to be able to do it.