One River and 46,000 Glass Tiles

During the summer of 2008, when the Iowa River reached far beyond its banks and wreaked havoc across the state, the University of Iowa was in the process of building a boat house for its women's crew team. They stopped what they were doing, watched the partially-built structure submerge, and once the river subsided made flood-proofing alterations, knowing that the river would inevitably rise again. The result is  a LEED-certified structure that sits at a bend in the river, affording views both up- and downstream.

 

One of my favorite features in the boathouse is a mosaic of a rower, gliding across the river's turbulence. It was designed and constructed by Des Moines artists Rebecca Eckstrand and Tom Rosbourough and is constructed of 3/4-inch glass mosaic tiles—46,000 of them—laid by hand and designed to withstand flood waters. Take three minutes to check out this video that shows the mural, the process used to create it, and the boathouse.

In June, my husband and I stopped to see the mosaic at an open house and were surprised when the tour guide ask us if we'd like to try rowing. I've long admired the sport, but have a few injuries and wasn't sure I could row. Here was an opportunity to find out.

Suffice it to say that not long after I signed up for a two-day learn-to-row workshop and survived. And after that, I joined the Hawkeye Community Rowing Club and have been on the water two and sometimes three days a week. Each time I'm both thrilled and terrified. I'm also surprised how much focus it takes. I never noticed Paul on the river bank, taking this photo (that's me in the front, my first time in a two-person scull). Suffice it to say that I am in love—with learning to row; with being on the river at 7 a.m., when only a few hardy walkers stride the banks and our boat scares up an occasional egret; and with the knowledge that my body can still take on, and meet, a challenge.

A Real Headache

The daughter of some friends recently underwent surgery for a brain tumor. She's a college student, 20 years old, and it was a frightening event for all concerned—hell, it was every parent's worst nightmare.

Despite this, her parents were paragons of calm—the mom told me that she felt that she needed to hold it together so that her daughter wouldn't be even more frightened before the surgery, but that she sobbed after leaving her daughter en route to the surgical suite.

Fortunately, things seem to be going well. The tumor was benign, and though she had to be re-hospitalized for a few days, she's home and the stitches are out.

While friends brought the family meals, and while I knew that was highly useful, I decided on a (totally impractical, particularly for a 20-year-old young woman) sock monkey. This time, I followed the directions while making the monkey. E's school colors are red and black, so I made a hat from a crimson baseball sock and embroidered a black "E" across the front. Then I made a pair of crossed band-aids from wool and french knots and stitched them on the head, where they can be hidden under the hat. (Indeed, I got the sweetest thank you note from E, who said that now that she'd gotten her stitches out she had one less thing in common with the monkey.) I used scraps of my Woolylady wool for both the band-aids and eyes and was reminded what a pleasure stitching through wool can be...like butteh!

I was a little worried about giving her this rather odd gift, as I don't know E all that well, but was gratified that the entire time I visited she kept the monkey in her lap. And I am so, so happy that she seems to be doing so well. I think their experience is part of what informed the last paragraph I wrote for my recent Etsy post on The Oxford Project: "Sorrow and fear, passion and joy will find you, and the completely unexpected can happen whether you strike out for parts unknown or move just down the block."

Clothespin Pleasures

People who hang out clothes get lots of environmental brownie points. But long before clotheslines represented doing without for the greater good, I loved to clip sheets, sleepers, and socks to the line. I actually felt guilty about taking the time to do something so pleasurable rather than using the much quicker and more efficient dryer. Hanging clothes on the line was and still is my very own brand of hedonism.

The appeal is not just the smell of freshly hung clothes, or the fact that once hung, many need no ironing. And it’s not just feeling the sun on my back or hearing the wind swish through the walnut trees, or of catching sight of kingbirds chasing white moths or the oranges and pinks of blooming daylilies. 

It’s the way clotheslines display textiles, threads splayed to catch the sun. And I get to handle each piece of fabric twice…once in it’s limp, mangled, wet stage and again when it’s crisp and flapping. And when I do I am reminded of where each textile fits into my life. The red-and-blue dishtowels I wove more than 15 years ago that still get used weekly, the hand towels monogrammed by my mom, even the rags that used to be my favorite nightgown or a diaper that belonged to my now-grown children—these fabric bits and pieces conjure everyday kinds of happiness. 

I adore my antique quilt and the silk-embroidered table runner from Iraq, textiles so precious that I protect them from fading and friction. But my clothesline let’s me feel the density of knit sweatshirts, the airiness of linen skirts, the raised stitching on days-of-the-week dishtowels. It feeds my obsession for the tactile and visual elements of textiles, past and present, and lets the daydreams and memories unfold with the napkins and fly with the sheets.

Old Friends

I think that every quilter was attracted to a traditional quilt at one time or another. Whether you were fortunate enough to have one passed down through your family that you snuggled under at night, or a quilt caught your eye as you perused the merchandise at an antique store, old quilts often are what got us quilting in the first place.

But just because we loved or were intrigued by an old quilt, doesn't mean that's the kind of quilt we want to make. My initial interest in piecing came not from a family quilt, but from patchwork-y things I made in the 1970s, like the purple and brown floor-length patchwork skirt I stitched in high school. In recent years, it's contemporary fabrics that make me want to sew and I'm an unabashed color whore color hound (but I am pretty promiscuous in my love of color).

So I was surprised to find myself bringing home an antique quilt. Every year there's a show in Kalona and the displayed quilts are a combination of antique and contemporary. I'd gone to see a quilt made by quilter extraordinaire Erick Wolfmeyer  and was sucked in by the antique quilts. There were three that I was drawn to and when Marilyn Woodin (original owner of Woodin Wheel antiques and founder of the Kalona Quilt show and the textile museum there) told me I'd made good choices, I couldn't help but buy one. (When I got home with it, Paul said, "You've been with an enabler." Indeed I was. Marilyn complimented my choices and told me this quilt was the perfect start to my collection. Which doesn't exist. Yet.)

According to Marilyn, this quilt is from the 1880s and the cheddar fabric is likely from the 1860s (it's not just my friend Mary Lou who believes every quilt needs some cheddar). And Marilyn said this is a T-square block, popular with the followers of the temperance movement.

I think it's got a lot in common with contemporary quilts—it's graphic and there are certainly some unexpected colors and fabrics in there. Everything old is new again. I've got it atop the spare bed in my study, where I can see it every day, and see something new in it every day, as well.

Destiny

Okay, so perhaps destiny is a bit grandiose...but when I was in Virginia my mom was packing up her suitcase and pulled out the shoe bags she's used for my entire life and what were they made from? Feed sacks!

It turns out that decades ago my mother went to my aunt's farm in Minnesota and picked the sacks out especially to make these. I took a close look and sure enough, there were the former stitching holes Mike Zahs told me were a sure sign that the fabric had once been a feed sack.

Apparently feed sacks have been tucked away in my brain all these years. And now I'm a little obsessed. In my family, when someone has something you really like, you tell them "I get it when you die!" I told my mom I definitely get these when she's gone.

There's a great outdoor antique sale every 4th of July in nearby Solon. This year I'll have my eye out for feed sacks, for sure!

Have a wonderful 4th of July weekend, everyone!

From My Baby to Yours

Back from some additional travels—we went East to watch my nephew Karl receive his diploma in Virginia. It was a great family gathering that included my parents, sisters, bro-in-law, and even my daughter Rebecca, who flew from NY.

Rebecca's been working in NY for nearly a year now and she's had a fantastic boss who's been a real mentor. She has made it possible for Rebecca to stretch herself, taking on substantive work beyond her role as administrative assistant. She's also a caring person with a good sense of humor (I've actually never met her, but know these things from Rebecca). So when I heard that she was having a baby, I decided that the perfect thing would be to offer Rebecca a quilt to give her. As my sister so aptly said I should write in a card "I hope someday someone is a kind and caring to your baby as you've been to mine."

Rebecca picked this scrappy triangles quilt from my stash of tops and it provided a great excuse to finish it. I quilted it myself and while I did a reasonable job, I can't say that I really enjoyed it. Even when I start out intending to make big loops, my quilting gets smaller and smaller and takes forever. When I got to the borders I decided a series of parallel lines would be fine, and I think in the end, they are.

The piece is a true stash-buster: the only fabric I purchased for it was the graphic red and yellow dots (Beetle Boy by Ellen Crimini-Trent for Clothworks) for the inner border and binding and I am really happy with the way it picks up the colors and extends the wonky center's playfulness. Place a baby on his tummy on this quilt and he'll have lots to look at.

I was madly sewing on binding on the plane and at my sister's house, so that I could send it back to NY with Rebecca. Finally got it finished, and yes, that is a Great Dane (my sister's dog Danish) snoozing under the quilt. But no need to worry—the quilt was thoroughly washed and de-dogified before it was given.

Seed Savers

In my previous post I mentioned a three-hour drive to Decorah, and it was to visit Seed Savers for today's post on Etsy. I'd been to Seed Savers once before, but it was autumn and after a hard frost. It was lovely, but not quite like going this time of year, when the urge to garden is strong (in late October, my gardening instincts are usually ready to be rested and revived by several months indoors).

At any rate, my friend Anne (see post below) and I thoroughly enjoyed our time in Decorah and especially appreciated John Torgrimson, the Seed Saver executive director who showed us around. The work they're doing there is nothing short of amazing. If you haven't read the Etsy story, please do, because it explains some of what Seed Savers is about. If you're really interested, make sure to visit their extensive website, because I could only fit so much into an 800-word post.

One of my favorite facts that didn't make it into the story is that while at the grocery store you might be able to buy 4 kinds of potatoes, Seed Savers has 800 kinds. And they have more than 4,500 varieties of tomato seeds! Their seeds are available online and at 500 seed racks around the country. And if you're in Iowa, make sure and plan an afternoon at Seed Savers—nearly 900 acres, with hiking trails and gardens.

The Egg and I

Earlier this month I headed three hours north for an Etsy story and my friend Anne agreed to accompany me. Anne and her husband live on a farm close to town and there's always much to anticipate as I drive down the road to their house. There's a guaranteed welcome by Penny the dog and the sensory delights of checking to see what's blooming along the path to her front door. (This time—roses. See below.)

Anne and her husband have an incredible amount of energy, and along with the flowers and pets, there's usually something new to admire. Each year they plant an enormous vegetable garden and her friends (me included) wait for the inevitable email saying they have way too much asparagus or rhubarb and we're welcome to stop out any time and get some.

This summer, they've added six chickens to their farm. Years ago they had chickens they butchered, but it's been a long time and these six are likely to be egg-layers only...Anne says she just can't imagine eating them this time around.

Before we left on our road trip, she took me out to the lovely little outbuilding they'd cleaned up for a coop, and we gathered eggs. The chickens pecked at my painted toenails while I shot photos, then escaped out the coop door. We rounded them up without too much trouble and then marveled at the eggs they'd laid—they've been producing an egg apiece daily, and Anne (a former caterer and fantastic cook*) has been making all manner of egg dishes.

When I dropped her off that evening she bequeathed to me a dozen brown eggs and all week I ate omelettes and scrambled eggs with toast. I'd forgotten how simple and good eggs can be, and these were so fresh and the yolks so firm and golden.

Summer really is my favorite time in Iowa for so many reasons—the Farmers' Market and friends like Anne are definitely at the top of the list.

 *An example of Anne's cooking: The lunch she fixed for our road trip—wraps stuffed with a chicken she'd smoked, along with asparagus and lettuce from her garden, and for dessert, vanilla Greek yogurt topped with sliced strawberries, also from her garden. My MO had been to grab grapes, granola bars, and bottled water. Thank goodness for friends like Anne!

Textile treachery

Like many a textile-lover, I'm fond of fibers of any ilk and can't stay true to just one. I love to sew, I love to quilt, I love to needle felt, and I love to knit (crocheting is still beyond me, but on my radar of things to try). This past winter, while it seemed that I wasn't sewing much, I was still knitting. Winter is the only time I get really into watching TV, and knitting is the perfect way to make me feel slightly less guilty about it. So I spent some winter knits curled up with needles, yarn, and Law and Order.

I've always been intimidated by a lot of knitting because it seems so numbers-oriented. But enough people convinced me that even I, a math-phobic, could handle cables. So I gave it a try, joined Ravelry, and made the Gretel beret by Ysolda Teague. And what did I discover? Knitting cables is the most freakin' fun I've had in ages! I loved this pattern because every row was different, but not too long, and I had that incredible feeling of satisfaction from learning to do something that's scared me.

I knit it in a washable wool (I think it was Cascade 220 Superwash) in an orange that I thought would look good with my big ol' brown down coat.

The only problem is that it is huge. The pattern has three sizes and I wanted a bit of the snood look. I started knitting the snoodiest of the three sizes and realized that would be enormous, so ripped it back significantly and went for the medium size. Even then, as my husband said, to make this hat fit I need to grow dreadlocks. I really did swatch it beforehand, but somehow it didn't work out.

Pearl supervised my photo shoot. Sorry I didn't get a picture of it on someone, but I was trying to save myself the humiliation of being laughed at, which is what even my dearest friends have done (they try to be supportive and say it's just fine and then they see it drooping to my shoulder blades and crack up). 

I'd still really love a snood with cables. Does anyone have a pattern they've tried that they'd recommend?

And now for something completely different...

Iowa is the land of cicadas. There are some nights in mid-summer when their drone nearly drowns out conversation. Their carcasses litter sidewalks and lawns and remind me of the feather-weight husks of tomatillos. These signs signal the warm nights of July and August, but they don't exactly make cicadas endearing. Still, when I saw this short about a film being made about cicadas, I was intrigued.

Check out this short feature about Cicada Princess from Kickstarter. (If you're not familiar with Kickstarter, be prepared to spend some time wandering through the amazing projects. It's where the idea came from for the Etsy post about artist Julia Sherman's project with the nun doll museum.