Welcome St. Patrick!!

 

Bring us green! Finally, Narcissus.

For me, the austerity of Lent goes with winter, but dear St. Patrick, why give up anything more than flowers? 


A Point of View in Winter

March is a long month here. Down east, spring has already budded, but here, folks are still cooking hearty meals and careful about when to get outside. There is some gradual greening, but against a yellow-brown backdrop of hibernating hills and a leafless tree-line. Perennials are dormant, most underground and invisible. We are told not to plant because "there'll be another frost," maybe even a hard freeze. "Just hold off," they say, "till about Mother's Day." 



Hoarfrost on a distant mountain-top


I've learned that the last snow days are not as romantic and festive as the first few, but I've also learned that if I will just get outdoors, or sit by a window and look out, there is color and texture everywhere. I get inspired to pull out fabrics and create something. Each year, I try to make at least one treasure I can keep; it's become a tradition.



Wall-hanging for Christmas





This tradition began when my friend Sherry brought her sewing machine for a longer-than-usual winter visit. The visit was to be longer because she was fighting Hairy-cell Leukemia with chemotherapy and trying to stay away from crowds of people while her white cell count was down.
 

 
She brought the sewing machine because she was busy making heirloom treasures for her daughter, Nicole whose wedding was to be held in August, under our cherry tree. We spent a lot of time outdoors that winter walking and studying the colors and textures of the landscape. Sherry was upbeat, postive and cheerful. She was also busy creating beautiful things.
 


Sherry working on an appliqued quilt.



Frozen Pond



Puple and Ochre Near Tracks in the Snow

My Wall-hanging for Valentine's Day



Sherry's Wedding Shawl for Nicole with the Cherry Tree in the Background



Gift-bags made out of a pair of old jeans.


Lately I've enjoyed scheduling Sew-Days with another group of friends. We call ourselves (mostly all Scotch-Irish descendants) the Creekies, because we all live on or near Helton Creek in Ashe County. It's the old sewing bee renewed. 


Creekies, with a healthy Sherry visiting 8 years later

 

Snow Melt



We think of something to work on, gather fabrics and trims, spread it all out and start combining things. Even friends who have never sewn a stitch like to match colors, cut patterns, and iron the seams flat. Three of us who sew put our machines on various sides of the long dining room table and piece things together. Someone puts out food and serves beverages, and we have fellowship of a priceless kind. Then we take home small treasures to give away. Last year, we made gift bags and this year pillow-cases.



Gift Bags for Special Occasions







Small Pillowcase for a Grandchild


Yesterday, as I was looking for inspiration in the library, two new titles caught my eye. The first was about how friends and family impact your life, and I felt happy that I have learned that lesson. The other I checked out and brought home, Peaceful Pieces, Poems and Quilts about Peace. I recommend it for the beautiful words and pictures, especially if you read to children. (Click on the title to see the book.)

St. Patrick is known for his way of teaching Christianity to the pagan tribes of Ireland by successfully incorporating nature and familiar traditions. So, here is my tribute to St. Patrick as I wait for the greening of Spring and the blooming of Easter. I keep hearing, "It'll be here before you know it!"




Table-runner for Easter



 
 

Unexpected Warm Winter

I need winter for writing.

This is a warm, dry January day and I am sitting on the porch with alpha dog Rudy in my lap as I would on a summer day, soaking in sun rays and making vitamin D in a month when I usually hide indoors. The gushing of water through the narrow creek bed and the soft roar of a breeze through the stick trees are punctuated by the repetitive flap of the flag and the click of its clips against the pole.

Stella, Clara's frisky small dog, whines to play fetch but I am writing and reading and stroking another dog. Bandit, preferring a lookout perch hides in the upstairs study. Dogs don't want me to write. This sunny day should be for playing.

It doesn't feel like fall or spring, just a strange winter day with flies buzzing and bulbs pushing green spears through soft ground. "It is JANUARY," I want to shout. A soaring crow mocks me. "Ha….Ha...Ha, ha, ha."

Only the evergreens are glossy and rich with color. The hills are brown. But the cherry tree at the end of the stepping-stones reaches for April. I hope the sap isn't rising. My fear is that its buds will be nipped and we won't have cherries in July.  And there are the apples, pears, blueberries and hickory nuts. So much is at stake, beauty…and sustenance. Even migratory birds can be fooled, and if they come too soon, their food supplies and habitat will be altered.

Oaks are never fooled, nor peonies. Locusts appear to be so dead that I want to cut them down for fence-posts. Several years ago, in autumn, Traylor cut five and stripped the bark for posts on the cottage porch. Last year, he cut more to make an arbor out back. It seems no one mourns a felled locust tree.

We've had more rain than usual, so if it were colder, we would be buried in snow and I would be wishing for spring and whining about how hard it is to get out. But I know it's just talk. I love the change of seasons and the mood each brings. For me, the sights and sounds, the textures and scents of each season feel like the essence of life, a necessary cycling.

So I will relish this unexpected gift, grateful for the frisky dogs that are causing me to get up and walk the mile to the mailbox and back, savoring the scents along the way of mud and damp straw and leaves, the warming needles on the spruce and pines. I will bare more of my arms to the sun and squint and sweat on the uphill climb. I will live the life that is in me.

I can always write when winter comes.