In Public

 

That's where ten guild members met to knit this morning.  One of the members got permission for us to gather on the City Deck which is the boardwalk along the river downtown.  It was a fine warm day with lots of sunshine and a nice breeze off the water.  There was even a big slab of shade for us to sit in until around 11:30.  It was fun.  


 


I cast on the leaf section of the second Chrysalis & Butterfly but only made it about halfway.  Too much talking, I guess.  The rest of the knitters loved my little toy.




Instead of knitting more when I got home I read a couple magazines and then went downstairs to start sewing the black floral linen Dress no. 1 I cut out last week.  There are garments I'd rather be sewing but I have black thread in both my sewing machine and the serger so I'll finish the things that need black thread first.  I looked at what I just typed and thought, oh for the love of god, it isn't that hard to re-thread those machines, and yet I avoid it.  Ah well, I'll finish that dress tomorrow and put black wooly nylon into the serger so I can sew up that swimming suit experiment I cut out a couple months back.  I haven't forgotten, it's in the pile.



Well, spring is really here.  I got my first mosquito bite of the year last night when I was getting into the car in the Goodwill parking lot.  This did not surprise me.  We've had rain off and on and now it's getting up into the 80s for a few days which is optimum skeeter hatching temps.  I'll probably contract West Nile virus or encephalitis or something.  Or not, since I can't find the bite spot anymore.  It didn't even itch much.  (oh, I probably shouldn't have said that, should I? now my skeeter bites will be super itchy. me and my big mouth.)



The bridge was up the other evening when I was crossing the river.  See?  This is why I keep a dishcloth knitting project in my car door pocket.  Many cars.


 


 


I got books in the mail today.  One is from a Canadian wool company with lots of Fair Isle knitting tips in it (I can use all the help I can get) and the other one is a guide with descriptions of all of the Yellowstone geysers, hot springs, and fumaroles.  My neighbor stopped over a few weeks ago with her treasured stack of Yellowstone guidebooks for me to look at.  I really like this one and thought it'd be good to have along on our western adventure in August.  (which is coming up at a gallop, or so it seems to me)









8 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

Early October was a busy season in my garden.  Lots of things were ripening, so that week I spent hours in the kitchen canning and freezing my produce.

            Spending so much time in the yard and garden, I found myself looking at them with an artist’s eye.  I was horrified to realize that everything was lined up in straight rows like soldiers on parade, and even my flowerbeds were regimented and stiff looking.  I wonder if I’ve appeared as stiff and boring as my garden all these years, I thought. 

             Friday evening, I sat with a pad of graph paper and plotted out my plantings as they were.  Next, I got a piece of my watercolor paper and drew and rearranged until I had something much more pleasing.  Then I pulled out my paints and planned the colors, but not too rigidly.  It was hard not to line things up, not to make sure there were corresponding plants or colors on either side.  It went against my instincts not to make it symmetrical.  But I liked how the paint blended on the moist paper and realized how much more soothing the look of the garden would be.  I fell asleep planning to get a start on revamping my yard the very next day.

Bright and early Saturday morning, I drove to the garden center with my plan in my pocket hoping the last of the zone 4-hardy perennials weren’t too picked over.  I’d penciled in the names of the plants I already had in the garden while I had breakfast, and made notes of what I could add that might look good using a seed catalog as a guide.  It was a perfect autumn day, sunny and warm with just a hint of the approaching winter on the breeze. 

I had already made a circuit of the greenhouses and the plants on the racks outside, and was making more notes on my plan when I bumped into a tall, slender, muscular man with sparkling blue eyes and beautiful gray hair wearing a Garden Center shirt and a nametag that said “Abel.”

“Oh, excuse me.  I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No harm done,” said the man.  “I’m Abel Baker.  Can I help you find something?”

“Mr. Baker, I’m so pleased to meet you.  I’m Gail Logan.  I enjoy your column in the Kingman Times.”

             He waved away my praise, “How can I help you, Mrs. Logan?”

“I’m thinking of redoing my flower beds and maybe my garden.  My plantings look so controlled.  I want something more relaxed and, well, relaxing.”

“I can help you with that.  Got a plan?”

I unfolded my now-crumpled paint sketch.  Soon we were bent over a potting bench debating the merits of the plants I wanted to move and the ones I thought of adding.  It took me a few minutes to realize that Mr. Baker had an objection to nearly everything on there.  I tried to keep my temper when he said, “It’s a wonder any of this stuff is growing at all.  Didn’t you think before you planted anything?

I could feel my fingers curl around the strap of my purse.  He’s just like Bert, I thought, always having to know better than I do and never hesitating to tell me what to do.  “All of my plants are doing quite well, Mr. Baker.”  I heard the old lady echo of Aunt Mame in my voice and didn’t like it one bit.

“How much shade you got around here?” he asked, pointing to an area on the plan, ignoring my remark.

“That area gets direct morning sun and partial afternoon shade so I thought I’d plant hostas and maybe some dahlias.”

“Well, your hostas will do fine there, but your dahlias like full sun… although, I suppose they can stand a bit of afternoon shade.  They might do better here in front of your porch.  Did you mark the trees on your plan?”

“Yes, here, here, and here,” I said, stabbing the paper, miffed by his comments.  “I’m experienced enough to realize you can’t plant flowers without knowing where your trees are, Mr. Baker.”

He bristled.  “You wouldn’t believe some of the foolish ideas people have.”  He picked up the paper and started to walk away.  “Let’s see what’s left on the racks and maybe we can get your new garden into the ground before winter.”

I trailed after him, wishing I had run into anyone else in the place instead of this crotchety, bossy man.

Paul McCartney's giving a concert tonight in the Packer stadium about a mile from here.  I thought about driving over to find a place nearby where I could hear him but it just seemed like too much trouble.  Man, I am such a disappointment to myself.
--Barbara