Pleasures and Treasures

A perfect day -- sunny, clear, and cool. The white irises are illuminated and even the trees sparkle in the sun.

On the edge of the woods, a native flame azalea reaches for the light.

A glistening galaxy of dandelion seed trembles just before going nova.

And in the box beds I was weeding, I met a tiny toad.

How tiny? This tiny.

The size of a large netsuke.

He looks so wise for one so small.

This shitake, on the other hand, was HUGE -- larger than my open hand.

Pleasures and treasures of a perfect day.

 

  THIS JUST IN! Kathryn Stripling Byer has included Miss Birdie and me over at her Poet of the Day blog!

About Those Quilts

Star asked, concerning my Easter party pictures: "Did you make all the quilts yourself? and why do you hang them up on this occasion? Is it significant or just a form of decoration for the walls of the barn?"

The tradition of hanging up quilts at our Easter party began back in the 80's  when our community of friends was in something of a quilt-making frenzy. We were cranking out group-made friendship and wedding and baby quilts for each other at a great pace and the Easter party was a perfect opportunity to show off what we'd been stitching the previous year.

,
Community Quilts, the book a friend and I co-authored, tells the story of the quilts.

As time went on, the quilt making slowed. Not so many babies and lots more distractions to keep us from quilting. But we'd gotten used to seeing quilts up at Easter -- they're a nostalgia trip and they make the woodworking shop look festive.

Most years there are one or two new quilts on display -- some of the children who once received baby quilts are getting wedding quilts and grandchildren are beginning to arrive -- meaning more baby quilts.

These days, the quilts tend to be a mix of our community quilts -- old and new, antique family quilts, collected quilts, solo quilts I or my friends have made, and even (blush) a few store-bought quilts from China. (There's one in the background of the first picture.)  

Folks say it's like seeing an old friend when we hang a quilt we all worked on twenty or so years ago.

Our friend Bob (the original of Doc Adams in the Elizabeth Goodweather books) always comes over Saturday afternoon to deal with the fiddly job of hanging the quilts.

Quilts at the Easter party -- part of the tradition, just like the barbecued pork and the egg hunt.

These pictures are from several Easters -- not just the most recent.

Taciturn Thursday

Rhododendron

Hosta

Weigelia

Lily of the Valley

Siberian Iris

Bearded Iris and Pansies

and

An impatient Clematis

Groundhog Young Uns

As I was driving down the road yesterday, a scurry of movement below the big barn caught my eye.

Four  Three bold young groundhogs, venturing out to take the air.

The lush green grass is calling...

One cautious sibling stays behind.

The Day After

The party's over... 

The barn that was so full of life and color on Sunday . . .

. . .is empty.  

Time to pull down the crepe paper, fold up the quilts . . . Time to inventory leftover plates, cups, and party necessities; to make a shopping list for next year's party (more balloons); and to return the wood working shop to its true purpose. . .

The beer keg is all but empty; the cider keg is gone; 

and Shopping Cart Lady has only a few cups left... 

Party's over.

A Fine Easter Weekend

It was a great weekend with perfect weather, lots of friends and family . . .

Easter eggs were hidden and found ...

The barn was full of food and the air was full of music ...

And various good times were had...

 

Easter Greetings!

Happy Easter, Pesach, Spring . . . 

 (Make that Happy Autumn to my friends in the southern hemisphere . . .)

Oh, Spring!

 Our annual Easter party and egg hunt is tomorrow and today will be full of preparations, not to mention lots of family in town for the fun.

  I'll leave you with pretty pictures for the time being ...

Phacelia . . . azalea ...

Swallowtail... buckeye ...

Trees in new green ...

And  polished iris buds, poised on the point of bloom . . .