Living the Slow life in North Carolina
I carved this stamp of Squirt today. Mama Kitty’s will be along soon. I think it will look good with dark brown ink on gold paper. Today I was playing with Lumiere metallic gold paint, the alphabet stamps that Rice gave me, and some stamps that I carved.
I’m right pleased with this stamp.
I was wrong about the white Nanking cherries. They are ripening and they are good! They’re a bit larger than the red Nanking cherries, and have a pink blush when ripe. And I also discovered that I was picking the red Nankings a bit too early. Last year the birds swooped in and finished them off before they fully ripened. This year, for some reason, they haven’t, and they are very sweet now that they’re totally red.
Yesterday when I went to the curb market, the mulberries beside the bridge over the creek were still full of huge ripe berries. A man was using a cane to hook down a branch for people to pick them and try them. Most people had no clue what they were. After I finished my grocery shopping, I got a plastic grocery bag out of the car and walked down the creek until I found another mulberry tree with huge ripe berries hanging right at eye level, easy pickings! They are extremely juicy and turned my hands bright purple. Late that afternoon, I ate them over vanilla ice cream.
Like most people nowadays, I didn’t know what mulberries were or that they were so sweet and delicious for most of my life. I only knew that if you parked your car under a mulberry tree in May, you’d regret it. Also that the bird bombs were pretty bad this time of year. I lived in a house once that had a mulberry tree and a very old apple tree and I never took advantage of either, even though I knew that the apples were very good. It was a tough time in my life and my focus was not on food, but I didn’t appreciate good food at the time anyway.
Once I knew that they were edible, I found it frustrating to remove the stems. Then I had a mulberry parfait at a Slow Food event at a swanky restaurant, and they didn’t remove the stems. That removed my last inhibition for eating mulberries – I don’t even notice those pesky stems anymore.
I couldn’t find any recipes for preserving mulberries in my cookbook collection, except one reference in Stocking Up that said to treat them as a soft berry. (No kidding – they are really delicate!) I did a search online and the first hit gave me pretty much all I need to know about preserving and cooking with mulberries. I might make some syrup but I’ll probably just eat them raw!
I won’t have enough cherries to preserve, and the fruits are so small that I don’t want to bother with pitting them anyway. But they will make great snacks for a while. Shoot, I feel like I’m on my way to become a raw foodist these days. It won’t happen, but I’ve enjoyed being able to not cook much lately.
And away we go!
This is my sort of weekly post where I write whatever comes to mind until the coffee pot runs out.
I just arranged my first ever ATC trade. Whoop! I’m trading this one for one that she has not posted yet, or this one, but ANY of her needlefelted ATCs would be a treasure. I definitely think that I’m getting the best end of the deal here, but she initiated the trade!
Let’s see, the tomatoes that survived the initial planting seem to be doing well now. Especially the Romas, which were the most important to me, since I’d like to have enough paste tomatoes to can this summer. I’ve had wonderful garden dinners every evening for the past two weeks or so, many times standing next to the pea vines, shelling and eating raw peas on the spot. I never knew how good this was. I may never cook a pea again.
Also the red Nanking cherries finally ripened, and I’ve actually beat the birds to most of them, I think. I took a bag of raw shelled peas and cherries to snack on at work. My co-workers thought that it was pretty strange. I guess it was. 
> The white Nankings have yet to ripen, but there are cherries on that bush for the first time this year. One of my blueberry bushes is loaded with berries. I hope that I can get some, because the bird netting is out. Sandy was furious that the birds kept getting caught in it – I was not happy about it either, but he was really upset. The fig tree looks beautiful, but as I reported a while back, the figs disappeared. It is getting really big.
On my way to work there is a large mulberry tree in a small parking lot. I love to pick the ripe mulberries off the lower branches to munch on. I see branches filled with the little lovelies high above my head. I really need to buy a stepladder.
Here’s the funny thing – I am not really a big fruit fan. Like green beans, I’m more fascinated with growing fruit than eating or cooking it. I picked the kinds that I like the most, and blueberries have a special place in my heart since growing them as a hobby was my father’s passion. The other push that I’ve made for small fruit trees and bushes is that I’m trying to plan for the future, when times might be hard and I will really appreciate that jar of pear preserves or blueberry jam. There are a couple of permaculture principles that I’m trying to put into play here. One is different levels of food producing plants. Another is that I’m trying to devote a good chunk of my space to perennials, hence the artichokes, cardoons, and asparagus.
Well, this turned into a Back Forty Update, didn’t it? S’all righta. Remember the Spanish comedian with the painted talking hand? Oh never mind.
Here’s one last thing – I nearly tumbled completely out of bed last night. You see, I was riding my bike with a friend, and we stopped at a gas station for a soda. I had an argument with the proprietor because his drinks were warm and I insisted that he bring me a cold Diet Pepsi. He brought me a Coke, at which we left and were about to ride away, ridiculing him for not knowing that there are Coke people and Pepsi people and never the twain shall meet. But before we could leave the parking lot, a crook got out of his car at the gas pumps with a pistol! I say “crook” because he was the kind of smarmy guy with Brylcreemed hair that always gave Barney Fife trouble on the Andy Griffith Show. Well. One male customer ran away, and the crook turned his attention to me. So I decided to lay down and close my eyes and maybe he would pass me by. This never worked as a toddler so I don’t know why I thought it would work now. But anyway, he pressed the big fat black pistol to my arm and demanded that I pick up a hunting bow and arrow and shoot the gas station proprietor! I was having none of that karma, so I did a karate move to knock the pistol out of his hand, except it didn’t work, so I tried to roll to my feet to run, and that’s when I knocked most of the stuff off the bedside table and ended up halfway on the floor.
Nighttime almost always brings adventure for me. No wonder TV bores me these days. I’d rather go to sleep.
I spent a good few hours in the studio tonight, so I feel like I’m back on track. Especially because I began my artist’s journal – FINALLY. This is a smallish spiral-bound handbook that came from work and is now out-of-date, so instead of sending it to the landfill (I try not to say “throw away” anymore), I’m reusing it as a journal. I paint over the pages with gesso as I go. Because it is nothing special, I’m not tempted to hang on to it for that “perfect” time to use it. And I’m not showing it to anybody, so I’m free to screw up and experiment all I want without fear. In fact, I’m going to TRY to screw up.
Because I’ve discovered something – artist’s block is fear, plain and simple. And there’s one more thing – you’re an artist too. That’s right, YOU. You may have had the desire or the courage for art criticized out of you, but you could make art. You really could. And here’s the last thing that I’ll say on the subject today – don’t limit art. That’s how you kill it. I believe that gardening and painting and cooking and weaving and decorating and ceramics and dancing and knitting and music and raising children and writing is art. As well as anything else that requires you to put some of your soul into it.
I also wove about a foot on the fabulously ugly scarf III, but I found that my upper back hurt after about 10 minutes of weaving. So it was fortunate that I’ve got so many projects and ideas in motion. This was part of my strategy. Since I tend to have a lot of little aches and pains, if one thing bothers me, I can switch off to another.
Also this week, other than carving stamps, I finished backing and photographing the ATCs. I took a heavy watercolor sketchpad that I wasn’t using and made signatures for a 48 page book, cutting the heavy cardboard back in two pieces to use for covers. When I showed it to my co-worker who is getting married in August, musing over what I might make out of it, she said that she needed a guest book. So I’ll do a test run on this one, since it’s my first book not made from a kit, and then I’ll take her to a local art supply store that has some wonderful handmade papers and I’ll make her a nice wedding present. I’m thrilled about this. It’s good to have a focus. For me, anyway!
The only real problem that I’m having at the moment with my art is that I’m fantasizing a little too much about if only I could attend this school or make art full time or go to this retreat or conference. I’m much happier in the present moment, but not having much to do at work right time is a blessing and a curse sometimes.
Oh yeah – there will be much of this kind of talk this summer. Apparently I can’t cook and do housework and garden and do art at the same time. So the cooking and housework obviously have to go.
I am constantly stunned by the generosity and kindness of people. It makes me think that perhaps I should renounce my curmudgeonly ways. In my mailbox at work today, I found a copy of a short short story by Margaret Atwood, “Our Cat Enters Heaven,” from a recent book which I can’t believe I haven’t read, The Tent
The story was so perfectly twisted that I, of course, having no self-restraint when it comes to books, had to order it used from Amazon. I recommend it solely on the basis of these three pages.
It reminded me that twice in the past two months, Mama Kitty brought a headless squirrel with her when I called her to dinner. I don’t know if it was her statement on the cuisine, but I informed her that dinner was not a potluck, and suggested that from now on she leave the squirrels in the bushes. Preferably next door.
The squirrels were nearly as big as she was. This was one reason that I wasn’t overly worried about the state of her health. She was one tough cat and was obviously functioning just fine.
Anyway, it is a little rough still. The Back Forty will not bring me much joy for a while, I suspect. It’s a shame, because this is generally where I go for comfort – pulling weeds is a meditative act for me during times of stress. Now I’m avoiding it, in part also because of the hovering NDN, with whom I do not want to discuss Mama Kitty’s absence right now.
Mealtimes and coming home from work are the worst. Miss Peanut keeps looking around for her mama, since the only times they really hung out was before mealtimes, when they rubbed foreheads and entwined tails and caught up on the street gossip. After work, Mama Kitty always met me down the street on the sidewalk and made sure that I made it home okay.
This pain will pass. I’m getting better at this grief thing, and I’m moving on, something that used to be very difficult for me. Next week I’ll get her ashes, and I have some of her fur that the vet clipped for me. She’ll join her son on the studio windowsill for now, overlooking the redbud tree where the birds like to congregate. Later I’ll decide if I will return her to the Back Forty. I feel pretty sure that I will.
Through the incredible generosity of Ricë Freeman-Zachery, I am now the owner of all these stamps. Wow. What a kickstart to my new venture in book arts.
My first carved alphabet stamps. I’m filling in the missing stamps from the vintage collection Ricë gave me.
Do you see why I’m totally in love with this woman now? She has become my new mentor. I’ve been learning from her blog and her YouTube videos. And she’s funky and cool and unabashedly human and funny as hell.
I was thinking about my problems with finding a new mentor and teacher, and while I certainly don’t believe that the universe caused harm to John and Suzanne in order to steer me in the right direction, sometimes it seems that when you’re frustrated and impatient that you’re blocked, maybe you just need to chill out and wait. That somebody or something to rev you up may be a minute away. Maybe if I had gone to Italy, I wouldn’t have headed in this direction. Who knows?
Maybe I am destined to go to Italy another time, with another teacher. God knows some interesting coincidences have come to my attention in that area. Such as a pamphlet given to me in an art quilt class at Art & Soul offering classes in journaling and collage and such, which happened to be about an Italy tourism business run by the same couple who have been sending me emails about Slow Food related trips. Well, I didn’t know that the teacher of the class I was taking was going to be teaching in Orvieto next year with these folks.
So today, since it’s good for me to always have some exciting art venture to look forward to, I registered for a week-long class with Daniel Essig at John C. Campbell Folk School to make wooden books. I justify it this way – I don’t have to stinking justify it, man. It’s the way it is. I am an artist, and this is energy coming in. Last fall, a professor counseled me that all my energy was going out, and I needed to find the way to let it in. Or something like that. It was not being replenished, and I was deflating. I really think that she was right.
Anyway, I’m just avoiding going out to the studio because I see the NDN out the window. Maybe I’ll slip out there under the cover of darkness.
Thank you all for your words of comfort.
Her last day seemed very normal and happy. She ate her supper. I went out on the deck to take out some compost around 9:30 p.m. and she was having seizures. We wrapped her in a towel and took her to the emergency vet, where she died about five minutes later.
Those who were privileged to pet her in her last days knew that she was emaciated. We’ll never know what her illness was, but the vet said that it likely was renal failure. But she never had some of the symptoms of renal failure like Squirt did, such as throwing up and loss of appetite. She always smelled good. She went out with class. I don’t think that she suffered long.
I’m being kind to myself. I may not blog for a while, but I’m okay. I’ll make stuff instead. Aloha.
On her throne
Stalking a very unlucky rabbit
Helping me mulch the paths in the Back Forty
“Mama Kitty” Georgia O’Neill
1996-May 18, 2008
She was a free spirit who lived a near perfect life, with humans that cared for her, freedom to roam, and a daughter who loved her. She was a mighty huntress. She had an insatiable curiosity which overcame her fear, and incredible luck to live for twelve years as a peaceful feral cat in a busy neighborhood among other roaming animals. Her spirit is a integral part of the Back Forty.
She gave me the gift of her son, Squirt.
Near the end of her life, she enchanted mine by finally giving me what I needed and craved the most, her love and friendship.
She will be missed. I loved her very much.
And-d-d-d-d-d-d, once again, a weekend passes and I didn’t do any art.
I did get enough work done in the Back Forty that I won’t have to worry about it for a while. I planted the rest of the tomatoes, cucumbers, parsley, basil, and most of the peppers. I harvested peas and Nanking cherries and chard and turnip greens. I pulled out last year’s chard and kale. I put cages up over all the tomatoes. Then it rained like crazy. Made it all happen before the full moon too. Sweet.
Sandy and I went out to the Deep Roots owners’ meeting, where I voted for Joyce for board of directors. We cut out as soon as I voted, since it was a potluck afterwards and we’re still supposed to go out to eat. That chance is becoming slimmer since Sandy isn’t hungry and we are both tired.
We stopped by Ed McKay’s, where I used my credit to buy three books on creativity. I figure that as long as I’m reading about making stuff, I can put off making stuff.
Huh. There’s enough truth in that joke that I’m going to have to get tough with myself. Starting tomorrow. Night. Really.
Before:
After:
I’m sitting out on the deck, looking over the Back Forty, in my jammies, with a perfect cup of organic fair-trade coffee in front of me, the local Sunday paper beside me, the birds singing, a breeze blowing, Mama Kitty napping on the mat.
I was in a bit of a snit last night, as I have busted my butt and given up some leisure activities that I’d much rather have been doing to finish the path beside the fence this week. I knew that if I didn’t complete it this week, the maintenance of this area during the hot, humid, mosquito-ridden summer would be much more work and miserable to boot. My back hurt, my foot hurt, my elbow hurt, yet I did it. I asked Sandy to do as he promised and carry the bags of mulch to the areas that I needed. He acted as if he was doing me a favor and had the nerve to say “You’re welcome” to me as if I owed him thanks. I shot “You’re welcome” back, and he backed out of the argument that began, saying that this was my project. My side was that if you live here, you are responsible for some of the maintenance of the yard. He said that if it was still grass and we had a mower, he would mow it. Which is a real hoot, because when it was grass, he didn’t mow it. He waited until it was 2-3 feet tall and only mowed it when I gave up and started doing it myself. He hasn’t mowed the little patch of grass in the front in about a year. I’ve done it. Jerk.
Then my NDN got weird on me again as I was moving indoors, exhausted. She is talking about spirits, getting obsessed with the water underground again and now has a fixation on a certain kind of vine that grows on the fence. No matter that she has watched me clean up and mulch half of the area along the fence all week, no matter that the rest of the fence is nicely weeded and pruned back. Or that it took the damn city coming down on her for her to begin cleaning up HER side and WE helped her. This woman, who used to freak out in the misconception that I might possibly be using chemicals in my yard, who came over and pulled up poison ivy BY HAND so that I would not be tempted to spray it, now asks me if I would use Round-up along my side of the fence.
I felt unappreciated and put upon to say the least. I don’t even feel like saying, “Bless her heart.” And I still can’t believe that Sandy doesn’t like what I did in the Back Forty. It just blows my mind. It’s the first time that I’ve felt really angry in a good while. So it feels better now that I’ve vented.
Anyway, we didn’t go to dinner last night. We’ll go tonight.
The good thing about yesterday, other than I now have an absolutely beautiful path, is that the reason Sandy was resentful about helping me was that he was on a cleaning jag inside and was purging a lot of stuff he has hung on to for years. This was worth missing dinner out. You do not interrupt a packrat when he has the urge to purge.
slowly she turned 
