We had barely stepped out of the truck at our cabin

when we heard dry leaves rustling, and then up popped this newborn fawn.

It napped, alone in a sunny spot right in the front yard, all afternoon.

We fretted about the fawn the whole time.

Maybe something happened to its mama.  It could be an orphan.

We tried to come up with a game plan.

Where can we buy a bottle for feeding?  Would it drink cow's milk?

Should we put a blanket over it at night, if the temperature got down to freezing?  Or would we just bring it inside?  Are we nuts?

Very much to our relief, mama returned at dusk for nursing and a bath.

Then she led her baby to the woods for the night.

And we all got a good night's sleep.

There is a fun  antique  junk  store  place near the Illinois/Wisconsin border.  I don't know the name of the business; it very possibly doesn't have a name.  Most of the time when I'm down in that area there isn't time to stop, or it's closed for the day.  But today I was passing through at a normal time.  The old wooden shop doors were wide open.  And I had time to putter.

This place's owner is an antique dealer/artist/junker that clearly loves being amongst the vintage and often obscure items in his jam-packed store and yard.  He loves to talk about it all.  Today he showed me a pendant made of fossilized dinosaur dung, albeit not for sale.  I did buy two of these "junk jars" filled with old pieces and parts perfect for mixed-media jewelry and collage.  And I spent the rest of my drive thinking about where in my house I could possibly set up that old portable confessional booth.

I have a confession.  The junk man and I, we're sort of kindred spirits.

My nephews are in their last weeks of the school year,

and my sister wanted to give a little gift to their teachers on the last day.

So each teacher will get a bracelet that was custom made for them, by Auntie!

The 5 year old chose the beads for his teacher's bracelet,

based solely on the notion that they look like the lightbulbs at the school.

Proving that inspiration can come from many sources.

Growing up, I remember my Mom telling of her Great Aunt Dorothy's beautiful flowers.

Her yard was full of flowers; she worked outside from morning until night.

That's Dorothy on the left.  To her left is her brother Oby, my Great Grandpa.  Then my Great Grandma Louise, and to her left is Dorothy's husband Art.  The occassion was both couples' 25th Anniversary in 1936.

What I remember most about these stories is that when Dorothy went somewhere,
she always brought along a bouquet she gathered from her garden.
That has always impressed me, and I've never forgotten it.

In fact, I'm carrying on the tradition.

We're having an Art Day at Jody' house today,
and I'm bringing along this bouquet gathered from my garden.

There's not a whole lot blooming yet, but it's a little something to say
"from my heart to yours". 

Oh, and from Pompeii's heart too.

From Blogger to Logger...

We finally decided what to do about the uprooted trees in our yard,

after a week of him-hawing about it. 

(Que the wood chipper)



It's kind of fun feeding a log through the chipper and watching it come out as mulch.

When the wagon is full, we spread the mulch under the trees along our property line.

One of the trees we lost was a big old one.  I'm not really a tree-hugger type, but I am a nature-lover type (well, I think there's a difference somehow).  Walking around the downed tree this week, deciding what to do with it, waiting for the insurance inspection, gave me the chance to look closer and appreciate its beauty - before I shoved it all into the chipper.

I'm fascinated by these bunches of baby pinecones that were growing all over the tree.

Look what I found nestled among some branches and pine needles,
right underneath the spot where the full weight of the tree top fell.

Aah, the lost possibilities.

Maybe that's what makes me sad.

I'm gonna go hug a tree now.

"It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. 

How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? 

For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. 

That is where the writer scores over his fellows:

he catches the changes of his mind on the hop."

-Vita Sackville-West

Photo taken in my garden, 2007

I found this quote while searching for something else online.

I just like it.

I snapped this picture from my porch this afternoon.

Today is a celebration of several things captured here...

• It is a fabulous Spring day. Finally. A whole day of sunshine!
• The farmers are finally working in the fields around our house!  It makes me feel close in spirit to my parents and "home" on the farm in Illinois.  See the tractor in the background?
• I'm loving spending creative time making jewelry to sell this summer at the farmer's market.
• I recently picked up three of these vintage wire hanger display thing-ies at a rummage sale for 50 cents each!
• I can smell the blooming daffodils in my garden as I type.
• I'm hoping you, too, take a little time today to smell the daffodils.

 

The other day I got this old tin full of buttons at an antique store for 5 bucks.  Not sure what I'm gonna do with the buttons yet.  Maybe make them into a bracelet.  Or use on purses I've been meaning to make, with the vintage fabric I've been meaning to use.  Or maybe nothing.  I just like looking at them.

Yesterday my friend Jody and I headed up north to a coffee & gift shop

where we sell our jewelry.

We dropped off lots of new creations,

in preparation for the summer tourist season.

Jody at Colours & Creme - Sayner, WI

Don't you love the fun colors?

It's been a whirlwind couple of days, quite literally.  On Monday we had some snarky weather come through our neck of the northwoods, with lots of rain and heavy wind.  Two trees were uprooted in our yard; they just toppled right over.  As luck would have it, one tree knocked over the propane tank and mangled the gas line, and the other tree knocked down the power line to our house. 

It gets very dark out here when the yard light is out, and I get pretty cranky without heat.  So we decided to spend the night at a hotel in town.  The Dog was quite pleased to be included in the adventure.

In the background, you can see the styrofoam cup I'm using as a wine glass.  It wasn't all glitz and glamour, but we made do.
 
This morning our power was restored, and we have a temporary propane tank for a few days.  They'll have to trench the yard to lay a new gas line, so I fear we're in for a big mess.  But it's better than the alternative, of having no heat. 

We wouldn't have made very good pioneers.

All that I am, or hope to be,
I owe to my angel mother.

-Abraham Lincoln

Photo by Kellie Bucci

These little doves perched on my porch railing for quite awhile.

Seeking shelter from this crazy cold weather, like the rest of us.

GOD BLESS OUR MILITARY

GOD BLESS U.S. A.LL

That is my Grandpa on the right, his cousin is in the uniform. 

I posted a few days ago about the going-out-of-business sale at the local bead store.  I believe I said I was going back one more time with a list.

I lied.

I went there FIVE times in all.  When I wasn't at the bead store, I was wishing I was at the bead store. 

Today was their last day of business.  I am kind of relieved in a way.  I need to stop buying beads.

Photo by Jody

My friend Jody was there almost as many times as me.  Here's her loot:

Photo by Jody

The only thing better than a super-duper clearance sale at a bead store is being at a super-duper clearance sale with your creative friends!  And if they would serve cocktails, as Jody suggested.

I've been having a ball with my new beads.  Made some artsy free form bracelets while I watched the Royal Wedding live on TV. 

To Patti, who told me about the sale...much bead love to you, my friend.

These little pretties were brave enough to bloom in my garden this week!   

Today I'm celebrating the first garden bouquet of the season.

Bring on the blooms, baby.

I'm SO ready.

SHE NEEDS BEADS

I should lock myself up in the studio and get some things made.

I'm getting twitchy.  Itching to create.

Have some projects and deadlines coming up, need inventory for this summer's craft sales.

This week a local bead store is having a retirement/going-out-of-business sale.

It's a BIG sale.

I've already been there two days in a row.  Tomorrow I'm going again. 

This time I'm sticking to my list.

I didn't have a brother the first half of my life.  But then I got a big brother when my sister married Mike.  It's strange to think that we've both been alive longer with him in our lives, than without. There is no doubt that I would be in an entirely different place in my life, without his influence.   We've been able to see the world - literally - because of him.  I rarely make a major decision without asking his advice, or at least considering what he would think.  We haven't always agreed on everything - believe me.  But isn't that the way it is with brothers?

So, what birthday gift do you get a guy like that, who means a whole lot to your family?

HOMEMADE SOUP!

He and my sister are health-and-fitness-conscious, so I thought it would be a fun gift for his birthday to give him a sampling of some healthy low-fat homemade soups.

 Sweet Potato Soup

Vegetable Soup

Cheddar Cheese Soup

 And some baked tortillas for dipping

All wrapped up and ready to go

The low-fat brownies just came out of the oven.  They are made with apple sauce instead of butter.  They came out of the oven with a row missing!  Just kidding.  I had to do a taste test, to make sure they are gift-worthy.  I think they are.  Maybe just one more taste, then I'll know for sure.

I'll be delivering my gift tomorrow.

I put my foot down today.

I walked out of a step aerobics class half-way through it.

My cue to leave wasn't when I tripped over the step while attempting the Straddle Down.

Or when I looked up from my feet to realize I was the only one in the room facing east.

My cue came when the instructor said "Ok, let's put it all together now!"

I sheepishly picked up my step, returned it to the closet, quietly exited the room.

I so did not want to be THAT woman, giving up before the class was over.

But I could not take another eight-count of it.

I had forgotten that my sister warned me about step aerobics.

Oh how I wish I would have remembered that this morning.

Apparently the aversion to step aerobics runs fairly deep, genetically.

This is the start of my third week of "EXERCISING". 

I'm now a card-carrying member of the YMCA.

I've fought it as long as I can,

despite the advice from a doctor, counselor, and my sister,

that exercise would change my life.

I'm keeping an open mind, trying a variety of classes and fitness machines.

I'm in the learning process. 

 This morning I learned that I do have standards.

This is NOT what I envision my garden path looking like this time of year. 

The snowpiles had finally melted along our driveway. 

Once in awhile I could catch a sniff of fresh rain and wet dirt.

A few spots of green were poking through the mulch in my flower garden.

And this morning I awoke to see it all covered with fresh snow.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

My miniature violets are happy in their spot on my kitchen windowsill.

About five years ago, I bought a miniature violet at a backyard plant sale.  I had never seen such teeny little leaves on a violet plant.  I admired its dark green velvety leaves with purple undersides, and I told it so.  All the time.  It rewarded me with an enormous amount of mini buds that bloomed into mounds of lavender and purple flowers.

I think it liked being talked to.  Ok, I admit it also sat in an ideal east facing window.  And was watered from the bottom in a saucer lined with pebbles, fertilized with African violet food, and pruned with manicure scissors.  But it also received a lot of good karma.

Eventually the little violet outgrew its pot, and I had to divide it.  I fretted that it wouldn't survive the transplant shock.  It surely won't ever bloom again.  Where was I going to find another miniature violet around here to replace this one? 

Well...                             

Not to worry.  The little violet survived.  And thrived.  And multiplied.  Like bunnies.

I gave a mini violet offspring to my friend, where it sits in an east facing window, in a saucer lined with pebbles.  But the little plant hasn't grown or bloomed.

She just laughed when I asked if she talks to it.