The unaccompanied minors arrived safely on Saturday, and with them the rain. Yesterday morning we went down to the lake for a swim, grandson H. exclaiming, “I remember every turn in the road to get here,” as we drove down the wet highway. Granddaughter K. came in for a swim but Grandpa John and H. sat under the spreading fir to stay as dry as possible. I love swimming in the rain, love the sound of it in the woods beyond the lake, love the mist over the small islands and the far shore. This morning the rain had stopped. K. and I and Grandpa swam while H. read his book: Sir Tony Robinson’s The Worst Children’s Jobs in History. Chimney sweeps, workhouses, peat cutting, human headlights (or link-boys), and other horrors. He ate a granola bar and drank raspberry and orange juice while he read.
Yesterday K. and I prepared 11 feet of ramie fabric (ramie is a plant in the nettle family and this is a lovely coarse weave, almost like linen) by twisting and tying it with hemp string.
This morning we worked out the ratios for a mordant (soda ash and alum) based on the weight of the fabric. This is the kind of thing that baffles me but K., daughter of a mathematician, was cool and careful, telling me it’s the stuff you learn in grade 3. Anyway, the fabric is simmering now in a big pot of mordant and will sit overnight; tomorrow we’ll prepare the powdered madder root to dye it. K. wants curtains for her room in the new house she’s moved to with her parents and she wants them to be pink. Let’s hope the process works well. (I’ve dyed with madder root once before and the results were gorgeous.)
This was the inspiration for the curtains — though the fabric I used last summer was a linen-cotton blend. K. loves the swirls and marbling! And lace. She asked for lace. We’ll see what we can do.
Tonight we’ll go to the Backeddy Pub for supper. Looking down at the docks, we’ll see the boat we’re all going out on when the others arrive in August. A tour of the Skookumchuck Rapids, by water. For decades we’ve hiked to the two viewpoints, in every season, to see the surging tides, the sea lions who once raced across to the rocks we were standing on, once an octopus in the clear water, urchins in the tidepools, tugs pulling barges of gravel from the other side of the inlet.
And then tomorrow, another swim. Fabric soaking in powdered madder root, a cat hiding under the bed. The kids have been feeding the chickadees, waiting on the deck until the tiny birds land on their hands. Two jays have been visiting, one with a crest that looks like someone took scissors to it and the other with the most raucous call. These are the days I dream of in winter, the warm ones, the ones gritty underfoot with sand, the ones ending on a tired note, but happy.
One of these mornings
You’re gonna rise up singing
Yes you’ll spread your wings
And you’ll take to the sky
But ’til that morning
There ain’t nothin’ can harm you
Note: DuBose Heyward’s lyrics are from “Summertime”, composed by George Gershwin for the opera, Porgy and Bess.
Thank you for sharing another lovely family tale. Now I’m dying to know how the fabric turned out – I’m hoping you’ll be posting about that too, please, with pictures, of course. And Theresa, I love that. you ended with the lullably from “Porgy and Bess” – super sweet and poignant touch! pp
Thanks, Pam! Yes, I’ll post some pictures of the fabric once it’s dyed. I haven’t worked with ramie before but I think it will be like cotton and linen, where the dye actually penetrates the fibre for really great colour. Fingers crossed. And you’ve reminded me that I forgot to include a citation for those lyrics! (Just fixed it.)