Adventures...

I am pretty sure that there will be no adventures for me in July.



Unless you count going out each day to find our daily geocache. And at nearly three years of caching every day, we're having to drive around 20 miles each way to find one, because we've done all of them near our house.

Or the adventure of having work done on the outbuildings at the farm, which is pretty exciting (and long overdue), but can't hold a candle to setting off to explore new places. My feet want to press the gas pedal and the clutch, and head off in the MX-5 with my camera, to see what views I can find. But that will have to wait for autumn.

I want to hike in the mountains, and feel the sand between my toes on an ocean beach. And I want to sit on the deck at our cabin, with a glass of wine and a good book, and watch the sun go down.

Instead, my wandering feet will have to stay close to home, so I can be on hand to make decisions about trim and paint colors and whatever else comes up each day. But that's OK, this is going to be fun!

Torn...

It will be an interesting month, this first month of 2018. Two weeks into a brand new year, and already I feel like I'm being pulled in three directions.

DW and I are still on our geocaching streak, heading toward 1001 consecutive days of finding at least one cache a day. It gets us out of the house, rain or shine... a good thing. And we enjoy getting together with people we've met through this fun sport.


A Bug lost in the woods... in the Danville-Georgetown open space. 

The second pull (yank?) on my time is quilting. This is the year I decided to learn hand applique, and I really don't know what took me so long. I started by making blocks for a sampler quilt, and now have three applique quilts in work. All are applique and embroidery, another love of mine. It's been fun to have a basket of blocks to work on each evening, once we settle down after dinner to watch a movie.

And finally, the this is also the year I'm determined to get more proficient with my Nikon dSLR, and finally make the move to manual mode. To that end, I've signed up for a year-long online photography class.

I know that I will feel pulled in all directions this year, and hope to find the time to keep up with regular entries in Electric | Journal. It was hard last year to keep up (and I didn't). But however things work out in 2018, I will certainly not be bored

Recess...

I'm heading off for a week on the dry side of the state. First a few days with friends, some hiking in search of Ellensburg Blues, and a lot of barn photography. Then five days at a quilting retreat with other friends, women I've come to know and admire over the past six months.

The Pilot is packed with the Featherweight and a box full of accessories, and another crate packed with nine projects to work on. I won't finish half of them, but I'll sure enjoy having options. And I'll enjoy the time to focus simply on creating new quilts and sharing time with new friends.

The weather on the east side will be unpredictable, just like it's been at home the past week. But the chances are good for some sunshine, and that will be very good indeed.

See you in a week!

Scene & Story | March 2017

The first one showed herself as soon as we got out of the Pilot and headed toward the beach.

In the tangle of huge boulders that reached over my head, a well-fed tabby with a dark markings and a brick nose. She peered at me from behind a rock, as if to make sure of me before she ventured out onto the path.

She was the advance guard, and slowly the others came out from between the rocks to check us out. As I took pictures, I noticed food and water bowls tucked into alcoves, and cardboard "roofs" set in place to provide some shelter.

These two were obviously friends; the smaller one rubbed her head repeatedly against the larger, white bib shining in the shadows.

We've read that this band of feral cats is well cared for by the locals, and they certainly looked in perfect health.

By the time we left, there were seven cats sniffing around the Pilot; after everywhere we've been today, there was a wealth of scents for them to enjoy.

Linking up today with Sarah and Lee on Scene & Story  for March

Hidden...

It was back in 2002 when I first explored this old cemetery, once part of the coal mining town of Franklin. My work schedule gave me every Friday off, and when the weather was good, I'd be off in my Explorer, driving the backroads and looking for photographs to take.

That long ago December morning I set out toward Mount Rainier, armed with my Pentax SLR and a stack of CDs I'd picked up from the library the day before. I popped in a new one from Brooks & Dunn, and on the first track I was hooked. Singing along with "Only in America," I turned off the highway toward the old Green River Gorge bridge.

Looking idly out the side window, I slammed on the brakes. There, just beyond a small clearing, I could see the top of a pointed headstone. I found a wide spot to park in, and hopped out with my camera. As I walked toward the headstone, the details of this wooded place started to show themselves, among the tangle of blackberry vines. Tall concrete pillars on either side of an old gate, and a sagging chain link fence. Headstones that peeked out from underneath a tangle of brambles and brush.

I pushed my way through the overgrown grass and brambles, looking at the inscriptions and thinking about how these people must have lived (and died) on this remote slope of a mountain. Many died young, and were most likely employed in the nearby mines.

On that cold winter day, I snapped a few photographs then left as quietly as I came. This is a peaceful place, not at all haunted.

I never stopped to see the cemetery again until a few days ago. I came down the winding road, and noticed that the parking area had been cleared out, so I pulled in to have a look. The cemetery was a beautiful oasis of green grass behind the saggy chain link fence.



The blackberry tangle was gone, and the headstones were standing proud. And those beautiful concrete pillars were still there, still covered in moss.

Whenever we take a road trip, we always try and stop at the old cemeteries in the small towns along the way. I love the windswept hillsides, the towering trees, the history of a community. It makes me think about my own passing, and whether my own history will include the name my parents chose for me, chiseled on granite.

To those who walk the cemeteries and record the history found there, for the knowledge of the rest of us... you have my heartfelt thanks.

Shared today on Scene & Story.

First...

The first day of February dawned clear and bright, and beautiful. But I played yesterday and plan to go out again tomorrow, so I turned my back on the day and caught up with chores. The wind howled all day long; not pleasant to be outside anyway. Or so I told myself.

DW worked on the laundry room and I browsed through directories of photographs, then we went out for our daily cache. With a fire in the wood stove, the house was cozy and warm, and we had the last of the soup for dinner.

Fingers are crossed for another clear day tomorrow.

One of those...

Moss creeping across a stone pillar, Franklin Cemetery

I couldn't sleep, and at 5:45 I finally rolled out of bed and pulled on sweats. Thirty degrees and cloudy, but no snow on the ground... or the horizon. Bummer...

Between household chores (yawn) I worked on a quilt, then pulled myself away to start the laundry. And on the very first load, the washer broke. Really? It was the end of the day before hubby could take a look, and 15 minutes later he knew exactly what was wrong, and had ordered the $8 part to fix it.

I love that he can fix anything that breaks.

Paint...

    E. R. Rogers house, Steilacoom

This is the year to paint our 1923 farmhouse, and everywhere I go I look for paint colors on historic homes. I know the perfect combination is out there: house, window trim, and accent color.

Our little farmhouse is shingled from top to bottom, and has wide trim boards and molding, and wide boards frame the double-hung windows.

In Tacoma and Steilacoom, we saw many homes with our architecture, painted in a soft sage green with white or cream trim. One had dark rust for the accent color (and front door), one had dark mulberry, and one had dark green.

I really liked the mulberry.

This beautiful house was built in 1891 and has been a private home, a boarding house, a restaurant, and is currently a law office. It's been completely restored, and stands along the waterfront with views of the Anderson Island ferry, the south sound islands, and the Olympic mountains.

Tuesday...

I woke to icy roads and cars in the ditches... snow turned to freezing rain and delayed schools, but all was well by 10:00. So I went to my quilting group, where the foot pedal for my antique Featherweight shorted out. A friend brought antique quilts to share, and a beautiful green and white hexagon quilt came home with me. I cached solo along the Green River, and made cabbage soup for dinner, with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from the cellar.

It was my favorite kind of winter evenings... a fire in the woodstove, a cat sleeping on a pad in front, and hand sewing to work on.

Ice drops...

Heading east, to the central Cascades, where we'll find snow and blue skies and cold temperatures. Good friends, good food, a winery party, and lots of time to relax before Christmas.

Our snow is over for now. The icy cold days were such fun and I loved being outside with my camera.

Winter officially arrives in a few days... I hope it's a cold one.

Giving thanks...

We are on our own this year for Thanksgiving. I can't even remember the last time we didn't spend Thanksgiving with one or the other of our families. Usually all of DWs family gathers at one of DWs sister's houses; they're the only ones with a house big enough for all of us. But this year, Mike & Karen are in Hawaii, and Mary and her family are spending the holiday weekend at their cabin. The rest of us are on our own.

But it gave me an idea: why not spend Thanksgiving weekend at our cabin? And that was the plan, until the weather turned so soggy and awful. So instead, we'll wait for the weather to clear a bit, then go out in a few days, and take Madison with us. We still need to close up the cabin for the winter, and there are caches to be done on the Peninsula.

I will miss seeing the family, but there is much to be thankful for this season. Health and happiness, family and friends, and a wee cat named Madison.

Time...

I feel a bit lost today. The past couple of months have been so busy, it's been hard to catch my breath sometimes. A long road trip to visit family, shorter road trips to geocache and explore, hiking and backpacking, and the crown jewel: volunteering to watch over a lookout.

Now that the summer is past, I'm looking forward to a slower pace, time for friends and family, time for photography. Time to slow down and watch the leaves turn gold and copper and red.

Time for me.

Routines...

I haven't written in Electric | Journal recently, and I'm nearly a month behind. I have taken my camera out and about more, and we had a great mini-holiday in Oregon last week. Lots of geocaching, lots of photography, and lots of exploring some new back roads. But I do feel bad about turning my back on my blog.

My days have returned to something approaching a routine. The early morning is for sewing, with a mug of tea by the machine, and a cat stretched out in the windowsill. Once DW gets up, I cook oatmeal and we have breakfast, maybe watch a bit of television, catch up on e-mail, and I read my friends' blog posts from the previous day.

In the afternoon, I bring up a stack of quilt blocks to pin, and the next morning I sew. It's become a comfortable routine, something I've been craving for a while now.

The quilt I'm working on now will go up on the wall in the living room, I think. The center of the quilt top is done (after a lot of struggle getting the star blocks to play nicely with the 4-patch blocks). I just need to choose fabrics for the narrow and wide borders and get them attached, then I'm ready to start hand quilting. I think the colors will be perfect with the area rug and the new chairs.

The good in the day...

Cutting my nails too short, then realizing how thin it makes my fingers look. That my long brown hair has just a bit of gray. Dancing at Emily's graduation party. Singing the oldies with Karen and Mary and Jessica. Enjoying Leonetti merlot from Bruce's wine cellar. Talking with Val about art and the thrill of finding those special places to paint (or photograph). That my farmhouse is 93 years old this year. And that Madison at nearly one year, still loves to play.

Random...

June has been a month of unconnected days, of waking up thinking, "What shall we do today?" No planning other than a few appointments, just following our noses (which some days led us no further than the living room).

The weather has followed suit... hot sunny days followed by misty rainfall, enough to keep the gardener in me just a bit off balance. The result is some perennial beds that are overgrown with things that don't belong, and others that are manicured and tidy. The orchard trees, with suckers pruned in early April, are full of tiny orbs: red apples and green pears, yellow plums and purple Italian prunes.

In my mind I see them in full ripeness and color, but today they're tiny and green, hiding among the leaves.

Back seat...

    Beaver pond near Koeneman Lake

My camera has taken a back seat to just about everything else lately. Instead I've been quilting, and hiking, and trying to find time to work in the garden when it isn't soggy (which has been hard the past week).

I've gotten out of the habit of carrying my Nikon with me wherever I go, relying instead on my camera phone. But it's just not the same.

I feel different when I have the weight of my big camera in my hands. That I'm doing more than just capturing a brief moment, but instead thinking and focusing and looking for the story. Letting the lens show me the best image, not settling for the first good shot. Changing settings and trying different things, in search of the best photograph.

So my promise for the week, and from now on, is to make sure the Nikon is always with me.

Even if I'm just going downstairs to work on a quilt.

In six months...

Madison has grown from kitten to cat, but still hasn't grown into her feet. She tops the scale at just over 12 pounds, and is still growing. Her tail looks like it belongs on a squirrel, and she carries it straight up in the air. Her hair is so thick, you can't see her skin. She can finally jump up onto her cat tower without having to first jump onto a chair... pretty soon she'll figure out she can jump up on the counters; yikes! She sleeps at the foot of the bed, and gets up two or three times a night to check to make sure we're still there. She's changed from a medium-hair cat to a long-haired cat, with long hair between her toes and guard hairs down her back. Her eyes are still amber and green.

Six months ago today, this sweet kitten came home to our house. Everyone thought Maine Coon, but we're pretty sure she's a Siberian. Which don't stop growing until they're five years old. Oh my.

Transition...

Winter was back this morning, hopefully for the last time. I woke to a chilly 33 degrees, but it warmed up quickly once the sun came up over the hills.

I fixed oatmeal for both of us, then headed out to run errands and go fabric shopping. I've made a sizeable dent in my neutrals and civil war fabrics with all the quilt kits I've been making, and found some beautiful replacements. Dave headed out for some solo caching, ending up in North Bend.

The garden is in transition. The lilacs are fading, and the camellias are gone. But there are buds on the poppies and the peonies, the bachelor's buttons are in full bloom, and the hostas and liatris and garden phlox are already tall.

Catching up...

The rain has been endless, but we've had some sunshine, too. I don't mind the rain... I'm not ready to tackle the garden yet, and if the weather was good, I'd have to put my quilting project aside for a while. And I'm having too much fun.

With hours spent in the sewing room each day, I've been pretty bad about keeping E|J updated. I still start each day writing in my journal, and sometimes I write last thing before bed. So the words are there. And my camera still goes wherever I go, and I've enjoyed trying to capture sunshine one day, and a monsoon the next. There are puddles everywhere, and trying to photograph reflections is something I'm working on right now. So the pictures are there, too.

I promise that my words and pictures will make it into my blog soon.

Daily bread...

There is comfort in routines. My favorite time of day is the early morning, when the house is quiet and the day hasn't really gotten started. I fix a mug of herbal tea, feed the cat, and settle down with my book. When DW gets up, I fix our favorite steel cut Irish oatmeal. Topped with Craisens, sunflower nuts, coconut, wheat germ, and cinnamon, I think it's my favorite meal of the day.