Catherine Friend's Blog, page 4

Colors on the Way

My friend London, who's been helping me dye my yarn, finds herself without time, thanks to training for a career change. So this means--YIKES---I'll soon be on my own. She's going to help me one more time next week. We'll dye about 40 skeins, and I'll hang on her every word.  Then I'll do the remaining 60 skeins on my own. (Have I said "Yikes" yet? Oh, yeah, I have.)  Here's a photo of pot dyeing from last year:

 








I ordered my own supply of dyes from the Dharma Trading Company. The color strips on the company's website are tiny. After I studied them for awhile, they all started looking the same. And it's overwhelming---do I want to make yarn that's bright and colorful, or subtle and moody? Do I go heavy on the greens and avoid the yellows? Who knows.




I just made my classic "I am confused but am going ahead" face, and placed an order. Here are the colors I've begun to dream about:



Deep Purple

Caribbean Blue

Teal Green

Kelly Green

Deep Magenta

Peacock Blue

Cayenne Red

Plum Dandy

True Turquoise

Amethyst

Pecan Brown

Persimmon

Silver Grey

Emerald Green

Moss Green

Forest Green

Poinsettia

Extreme Blue

Cabernet

Intense Iris

Saffron Spice



I see now that I'm heavy on the jewel tones. Hmm. Interesting, but not surprising. Here's a photo of paint dyeing from last year:















My task now will be to put these colors together in combinations of 3 or 4 dyes, and pray that the result looks like something you'd knit and wear, not something you wouldn't even ask your dog to wear. Stay tuned!

Library Tour in Lake Country

There are at least 15,000 lakes in MN, and I think most of them are in the region I visited last week. As I gave 12 presentations at 9 libraries (most of them in small communities) in 5 days in north central MN, I kept my blog readers in mind, since Kristie had asked what a library tour was like. What images could I share with you?




As I approached the area last Monday, I fell in love with the beautiful lakes. I decided I would photograph each one.









This would have kept me in the region until July, so I gave that up. Then I was going to write all the lake names down, but then I would have driven off the road. "Hole in the Day" Lake was my favorite name (named after Chief Hole in the Day.)




This area, between Brainerd and Bemidji, is know as the home of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. When I saw my first Paul Bunyan statue, I knew that's what I'd share with you. This area is CRAZY for its statues!







All sorts of statues... Here's a chicken on a store roof. (Store didn't sell chicken.)







Pelican on top of store that didn't sell pelican.







Another Paul Bunyan...







And another.... (good photo op---have kids stand in Paul's hand!)







Quick tour story. At the end of reading The Perfect Nest to a group of five-year-olds, and talking a bit about sheep and our farm, I asked if there were any questions. A boy in the front row immediately raised his hand. "How do toothbrushes become electric?"




Ha! That'll teach me not to be specific. I didn't say "Any questions about farming or about sheep?" I just said, "Any questions," and he had one. I didn't attempt an answer...



Here's Babe, the blue ox...









And Babe again... I finally figured out there was a regional theme, and nearly every town had a Babe.







Here's an Indian....(might have been more impressive before the tree grew up in front of him.)







Buried arrow... (what does this mean???)







Here's Paul and Babe together in Bemidji. (Very tall statues!)







I was even part of the visual art in one community...







The librarians were all wonderful, and I enjoyed meeting some fans, and hopefully making a few new ones. I became quite adept at setting up projector/laptop/screen, but continued to point my wireless remote at the screen instead of at the computer (not very effective....)



And these were just a few of the statues. I also saw some lovely art sculptures in Bemidji---that city is filled with art. 



The trip's highlight? Finding an Elvis 'Babe' in front of a bank. I rarely turn around when I'm driving (just ask Melissa), but I did for Elvis.  :-)  It was a fine tour...but as an introverted homebody, I'm VERY glad to be home...

Lost Blogger Found and Returned to Her Office

Where the heck have I been? I'm so sorry to have disappeared. I don't know where the time has gone....



Perhaps in worrying how much writing energy email and blogging and facebook actually consume in a writer's life...



Or recovering from a bad bout of irregular heartbeats that plagued me 24/7 for 2 months. Not life-threatening, but when your heart feels as if it's trying to beat its way out of your chest, it can be a little distracting. Drugs weren't helping, so started taking magnesium and CoQ10. Now I have relief 50% of the time...



Or focusing on losing weight. (Gained 30 pounds in the last 3 years, my brilliant solution to stress. Grrr.) Have lost 10. Only 20 left to go. I'm following Weight Watchers, which is a fairly easy program. I can eat whatever I want. The only thing I'm really avoiding consistently is food.



Or starting my annual speaking schedule (7 done so far, 13 in May, only 4 in June!)



Or trying to keep the house cleaner... (Okay, no, this one's a total lie. Gaack. A vicious dust bunny bit my ankle the other day.)



Or adjusting to once again being the Primary Farmer as Melissa brings home the bacon, so to speak. 



Or working on a new novel (almost done with first draft...lordy, what a mess.)



Or trying to develop a new nonfiction idea (lordy, what a mess...)



Or knitting socks....



Or drinking wine and little squares of dark chocolate....



Or watching this stupid video---makes me laugh..not sure why!












 




 
Whatever caused my disappearance, let's hope I don't get lost again. Please, let your last few months have made more sense than mine!

From the Cutting Room Floor

In Sheepish I mention the names of a few places on our farm, including Nacho Hill. What I edited out of that final version was how the name Nacho Hill came to be.  It's a bit petty, but what can I say?....





...As Melissa and I built the farm, we quickly learned that the places on the farm also needed names. It didn't work for Melissa to say, on her way out the door, "I'm laying water pipe over by where the hill goes up a little, behind the trees to the south, back by that fallen log. Could you come help me in an hour?"

    No, I couldn't, because she'd just described about four places on the farm. And this was in the days before cell phones, so I couldn't just walk around the farm calling her number and listening for the ring.

    So since we are so deliberate about naming, we sat down at the dining room table and drew a huge map of the farm, including the current fencing and buildings. Let the naming begin.

    The land to the north we brilliantly named the North Pasture. And in the North Pasture there was the Native Hill, a steep hill Melissa had planted with native grasses. And the Tree Pasture, which was basically trees bordered by a thin strip of grass. Not much food there, but it was a great place to stash the sheep on those hot August days.

    Cross south over our little bridge and you're in the Creek Pasture, a boggy spot that forms a jagged pasture along the creek. Then the East Pasture, upper and lower. Come up the East Pasture toward the house and there's a long, skinny pasture with a little extension half way down its length. The thing sort of looks like a squat T, so this became the T. That little extension ends in a sharp point, much like those cone bras Madonna used to wear on stage. This is now Madonna Point.

    Leave the T and you enter the Bowl, called that because that's how its shaped. Next is the Sacrifice Lot, which isn't what you think. Animals aren't sacrificed there, but the grass is. When we feed hay bales all winter long here, the pressure of the animals living in one place for so many months tends to be hard on the grass, so we've 'sacrificed' the grass.

    You've got your Grape Pasture, which is, not surprisingly, next to the vineyard. Then there's the West Pasture, north and south. Then the Driveway Pasture. Beyond that is the Alley Pasture, a long narrow acre of grass between two rows of trees.

  

    While everything on our farm was named deliberately, the name for one place evolved more organically. Our fifty-three acres horseshoes around the neighbor's property—a house and seven acres. Both we and the neighbors thought the property lines followed the tree lines, so we expected our land stopped at the trees. We were sure the hill gently sloping down to the little creek belonged to the neighbors. It was a sweet hill, loaded with grass, and would have been a great place to graze sheep out of the wind.

    But when we had the land surveyed before we put up fencing, we learned that the property lines didn't follow the tree lines. Instead, the line cut through the trees and followed the little hill. We were stunned. One of us said, as if we were talking to the neighbor, "Oh, that's not your hill."

    With apologies to those fine neighbors, when said with a bit of attitude, "That's not your hill" became "Not Yo Hill," and eventually deteriorated into Nacho Hill.

   

....See? Petty, but the name stuck.

Head Farmer Once Again

What happened to winter? Not only was there no snow, but it went too fast. Melissa started back to work full time on Wednesday, so that means I'm in charge of the farm again. I must admit that I took a break over the winter---Melissa did all the chores---so it's going to take a day or two (or twenty-seven!) to get myself back into 'chore' shape.





Life in the barn is tricky this week. Because we're shearing this Sunday, and the weather was predicted to be rainy (and it has been), we locked the sheep in the barn to keep them dry. This means that instead of the sheep serving themselves from the hay feeders outside, I must bring their hay to them. We are SO not set up for this. 





Basically I must pitch hay from the steers' bale, the closest to the barn, into a wagon, then drag the wagon into the barn. I'd rather the steers not be around when I do this, since they like to chew on my sweatshirt and nuzzle me in places I'd prefer not to be nuzzled by a 500-pound steer.





So I trick the steers into their pen in the barn and lock them there. Here they are, wondering what sort of game I'm playing...



 



The sheep are milling about, telling me in no uncertain terms that being locked in the barn just isn't funny any more. 





Tucker the llama hums angrily at me the entire time.







I begin pitching hay---hot, sweaty work. I tell myself it's all exercise! (Although in the Weight Watchers' list of exercise, I doubt I will find 'pitching hay.') Finally get the sheep fed so they quiet down.



 



Tucker the llama keeps humming at me. 

   I get the cattle fed so they quiet down.



Tucker keeps humming, but I fill the water troughs and head back to the house. Only when I get inside do I realize why Tucker was so upset---I'd forgotten to feed him his treat. Too exhausted to make the trek back up there, I resolve to do better the next day.

And I do. 

Even though the thought of doing chores nearly every day for the next eight months makes me want to crawl back into bed, I must confess that I do enjoy doing them. It gives me 'animal time,' which is one reason we're living this crazy life.

What's ahead? Once shearing is over, then I must wean the steers off their corn, and get them out into the nearest pasture eating grass. (They're already nibbling, but it's too short for them to get much.) I want to get both the steers and sheep out on pasture as soon as possible so I can keep the fastest-growing pastures eaten down.  It's going to be a challenge, but one I relish. 

Bits and Pieces, #1

Sometimes when I'm stuck in my writing, I sit down and write to myself. It helps me figure out what I'm supposed to say next. Here's a little bit I found in my files that helped me focus when I was stuck while writing Sheepish. Focus in memoir is so important, as is structure. It's fun to go back and see that the book basically does what I struggled with here, which is a huge relief!





My head is full of more than anyone needs to know about sheep and wool and the history of sheep and wool and the environmental impacts of sheep and wool and the impact of free trade  on sheep and wool and how to weave and why you would and how to knit and why you would and how clothes are made and why we should even care.



But how do I put this all down in a way that makes sense? I need to spin what can be a painfully dry history of wool into stories that captivate. I need to weave together our modern view of clothing with the patriotic actions of colonists during the Revolution. I need to knit together the environmental impacts of wool, cotton, and other fibers.



Spin...weave...knit.  The language of fabric has thoroughly been woven into the fabric of our lives.  See?  The words circle back on themselves. We can't talk about life, about complexity, about interconnections, unless we use the language of fabric.  We may think sports metaphors are deeply embedded in our language, and they are (tackle the job, hit one out of the park, ball's back in your court, time out, etc) but using the act of making fabric, something we humans have been doing for thousands and thousands of years, is even more firmly embedded.



The problem is most of us are so far removed from the process that we don't recognize it.

 

Writing to yourself is a great way to make things clear. I need to do it more often!   

Lost Doggies Lost No More

Late yesterday afternoon I turn off the highway onto our road. In the ditch I see two dogs: a black lab and a St. Bernard... a BIG St. Bernard. These dogs don't live on our road. I have no idea whose they are.





I pull over and open my window. "Hey, guys, what's going on?" They raise their heads and begin ambling toward me, relief written all over their faces. Maybe this lady can help us get home.





As I climb out of the car, a van pulls up. A woman had passed the dogs on the highway, gone up to the turnaround, and returned, concerned they were about to wander onto the highway. The dogs mill around our legs as we talk, so we grab their collars. No ID tags.





"I wonder if they've been dumped," I say. It happens a lot. People who take their dogs and cats into the country and push them out of the car to fend for themselves should be strapped in a parachute, flown to Antarctica, and pushed out the plane.



But I digress. "We can't just leave them here," the woman says.



I offer to take them, but not very enthusiastically. The woman says "I'll take them." She lives 1 1/2 hours to the south, and she's heading north to a conference or something. "I can shift some of the luggage around." Turns out she has a car filled with kids, luggage, and a pregnant sister. And still she's willing to make room for about 200 pounds of dog. This is an animal-lover.





We discuss the animal shelter in Red Wing, 25 miles away. The pregnant sister wants to take them there.



I sigh. I'm tired. My irregular heartbeat is bugging me. I'm hungry. But I've lived in the country long enough to know that these dogs are my responsibility. It's a rural thing. Lost dog, sick neighbor, whatever, there's no dodging the responsibility.You just step up and help, no matter how tired you are.





"I'll take them. I live around here. We'll make some calls."





The woman is skeptical, but I insist. We open the back of our Saturn Vue and the St. Bernard climbs in. There is no room left for the black lab, so I put her in the back seat. She doesn't seem to know that she's supposed to step in, as if she's never been in a car before, so I must lift her in. I give the woman my website in case she wants to email to learn how the story ends.





As I'm driving home, part of me is thinking we will take them to the shelter and be done with them. Another part wonders that if no one claims them, will they be destroyed? Can we make room in our lives for an enormous St. Bernard? We've recently gone from three dogs down to one, but we'd resolved to not add more for at least a year.





Melissa loves the dogs. The black lab is so happy she whimpers with joy when we pet her. 





Time for the phone calls. The dogs don't belong south of the highway, so if they're from the area, they're from the north side of the highway.



Melissa calls the first person. The woman can't think of anyone who might own those dogs, but she suggests Melissa call a second person. The second person isn't home, so the phone is answered by a kid, maybe eight or ten years old. The kid doesn't know anything, but takes down the information. Before they hang up, Melissa reminds him once again: "If your parents know anyone with a "Beethoven" dog, have them call me."





Beethoven dog! Brilliant. The kid shouts, "Hey, I know who has one of those!" St. Bernard meant nothing to him, but the dog in the movie? Melissa says she doesn't know much about kids, but she speaks their language like a pro.





Melissa looks up the phone number of the name the kid gave her. The woman who answers nearly falls apart with gratitude. They've been searching for two days, calling the sheriff, the shelters, driving in circles around their home. The dogs only live, as the crow flies, about 1 1/2 miles away. They'd wandered too far from home and couldn't find their way back.





Ten minutes later she's in our driveway and hugging the stuffing out of the dogs, Lucy and Rosie. We stuff Rosie into the backseat. The toddler strapped into the carseat is nearly buried in St. Bernard tail, but his grin reaches from ear to ear. "He's been so worried," says the mom.





The whole episode only took one hour, which is a pretty small investment for reuniting a family with their beloved dogs. 



And what's the woman going to do first thing this morning? Order ID tags. And me? I'll be cleaning the dog slobber off the back of the seat.







 

Am I Coming to Visit?

    Years ago when I was writing but not selling anything, I dreamed of a life in which I was a successful writer with enough money to travel all over the country doing research for my next book.

    I haven't reached that point, but that's okay, because I am traveling to promote my books and earn an income. I just need to get more efficient and work some research into every trip. :-)

    So here's my schedule for 2012, so far. If I'm coming to a city near you, and you have suggestions for libraries/yarn shops/bookstores I might contact, please let me know. If there's something interesting in that area I should see or research, don't be shy!  (And if you know of a responsible person in my area who might want to do chores the days I'm gone, let me know. We have one person lined up, but we're going to need more.)

Feb 16-20  San Francisco Writers Conference (and post-conference workshop on memoir)
March 2-3, Aquindneck Island, RI, "March into Reading" school visit and public booksigning
March 16, The Loft, Minneapolis (MN Book Award nominees)
March 18 Women's History Month, Quatrefoil Library, St Paul
April 14, Class on writing memoir, Anderson Center, Red Wing, MN (Contact the center to sign up)
April 20, N.Wis Lutheran Church Librarians, Eau Claire, WI
April 21-22, Wisconsin Spin-In, Milwaukee
April 28, Yarnover, Hopkins, MN
May 8-12, a whole mess of libraries in NW Minnesota
May 22? Fergus Falls library
June 1-3 Hoosier Hills Fiber Festival, Franklin, IN
June 7, Writers on Writing, Stillwater, MN, ValleyBookstore
June 22-24 Charlotte Fiber Festival, Charlotte, SC
July 12-14? Iowa City Book Festival, IA
August 11-12 North Dakota Fiber Festival, Grand Forks, ND 
August 17-10 Michigan Fiber Festival
Sept 8-9 Wisconsin Fiber Festival, Jefferson County, WI
Sept 12, Rochester Tech College Garden Party, Rochester, MN
Oct 9-10 Augustana College, Sioux Falls, SD
October 27-28, Southeastern Animal Fiber Fair, Asheville, NC
November.... collapse
December...continued collapse!
January 2013...Rest and relaxation
Feb 2013...more rest and relaxation
March 2013...Where should I go next?
I hope I'll be able to meet some of you on my travels. 

Can You Say "Iron?"

I hate practicing in front of people, but there's no way to test this thing without doing it. I want to post an audio file directly in my blog. Will it work?





(No, it won't. All I can do is post the link, which requires that you download to listen. Gaack. Any suggestions)





What is the download? The audio file is a blooper from when I recorded Hit by a Farm. The audio book is now available, but I wanted to share this blooper first.





In this blooper, I've forgotten how to say the word, 'iron.' Remember I'd been closed up in a little sound booth for days, with no contact with the 'outside' world but a 12x12 inch window so I could see the sound engineers, etc. I'd been talking for days. My mouth muscles had started to lock up. I began hating every word I'd written. And normal words begin to look like alien things I'd never seen before... like 'iron.' Look at that word. Of course it's i-ron.



Quick note: The clicks you hear between 'takes' are made with a dog training clicker. When I wanted to redo a sentence, I'd click, and this created a spike in the file so it would be easy to find and make those repairs later.





http://www.box.com/s/3luxvt5z5iuq0ruyx3q7

Farmers in Florida

We get off the farm so rarely together that I thought I'd share a few photos. When we spent the holidays in Florida with my sister and brother-in-law, we didn't do Disney World or Epcot or any man-made places. We pretty much stuck to nature, which I guess isn't surprising. 



We went sailing one afternoon with Sandy and Rick. Here's the Head Farmer at the bow of the boat, watching to make sure we don't hit any crab pots.



 





Here's the Backup Farmer actually driving the boat (oops, I mean piloting!):







Here's my sister and her hubby:





Their neighborhood was all decorated for the holidays. The big thing in this area are inflatables---Santas, snowmen, nativity scenes, elves, etc. They are inflated on timers. During the day they're allowed to collapse. In the evening they all rise up like ghouls and take shape. Here's a deflated one. Cracked me up. During the day the whole neighborhood was littered with deflated beings:





The coolest part of our trip was visiting Blue Springs State Park, a manatee refuge. It's a 1/3-mile long spring-fed creek that feeds into the St. Johns River. Because the water is warm, the manatees come here to survive the winters (they can't take water much colder than 65 degrees or so.) They rest and warm up in the spring, but must venture out into the St. Johns every day to find food.





We saw turtles...



.



Alligators...







And of course, manatees. Here's one coming up for air:







It was such a lovely place. Those gray shapes are manatees hanging around the bank of the creek. 











The heated water is incredibly clear, since it's coming from a gash in the earth. The gash itself is only about thirty feet by ten feet.





But get this. The crack descends130 ft into the earth, and is riddled with caves. 





Apparently people actually strap on tanks and descend into this gash in the earth.



Suddenly farming doesn't sound so crazy.