Many Trails
March 27, 2014
by Adrien Taylor
Mar 27, 2014 | 1611 views | 0 0 comments | 108 108 recommendations | email to a friend | print
January can be a downright icky month, as it was this year. We had 31 days of unremitting cold, preserving the remains of a snowstorm earlier. So most of us were glad to see little ole February appear on the scene, and in the last week or two of the month, the willow trees assumed the first blush of green buds, telling us that winter would be over, for sure, some day.

March confirms the promises of the last of February. This March has been unusually warm, so the fruit trees have been fooled into blooming. They are beautiful, but the fruit is probably doomed. Our last threat of frost, for years, has been April 15 (tax day), and I have little hope or trust that Father Frost is already done with us until the middle of October.

I looked on jealously as daffodils and other early spring flowers appeared around town. The place where my daffodils are planted is on the north side of the house, and was also covered with a veritable glacier, due to the proximity of the air handler, during the first couple of months of this year. The daffodils are now up, but show no signs of buds yet. A joy yet to be felt.

—ajt—

The members of the newly-formed Canyonlands Fiberarts Guild met at the home of Anne Worthington recently to learn some of the secrets of indigo dying. The mentor was Pam Ramsey, from La Plata Farms, near Durango. Indigo is one of the oldest practiced, and colorfast natural dyes, and so, by afternoon, there were skeins and skeins of various shades of blue hanging from the clotheslines. My observation was that every shade in the sky that day was reflected on the clothesline. Eye candy.

Then, last weekend, Sam Cunningham had scheduled her sheep for shearing and had rounded up all the spinners she could find, plus a gaggle of other people, and had three tables of wool-sorting and bagging going on. It’s the first time I can remember that the sorters were able to keep up with the shearers. There is nothing like the sweet smell of newly shorn fleece. That goes for the ewes only. The boys stink.

Sam also puts on a great feed at lunchtime, so her place is a great place to be during shearing.

Meanwhile, back at No Tengo Rancho, I am still knitting away at my Olympics projects. The intent of Olympics projects is to start them on opening day, and finish them in time for closing ceremonies. I seriously missed that deadline. Oh, well.
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