Finding nature

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

You know I’m trying to live a routine.

Like I lived before

with Clark

It’s not the same, but 

somehow he is both the empty place

and its fulfillment.

For instance, this morning, when Zing and I returned, as I plan to do every week, to the American River up there somewhere off Arden, where it's like Phipps Park, by Lake Jackson in Tallahassee, where we used to run in the Red Hills. It is familiar — both Zing and I were feeling it. 

Love,

k

New home, new habits

Written last night

Dear Ones,

Except for packing boxes, I haven’t exercised since Clark died two months ago. Before, I had this routine — Monday and Friday, classes at the Y; Wednesday, Zumba at the other Y; and on Tuesday and Thursday Zing and I would hike for at least an hour through the sandy hills of Phipps Park.  When people told me all that exercise was good for my health, I would often point to my head and laugh, “Yes, mental health!”  I would also snub my nose and deride exercise machines. “Looks like a torture chamber!” I would sniff. “Not for me!” In our dreams, Clark and I envisioned  Zing and me nosing for miles around midtown Sacramento, returning with juicy tidbits of street life to share with Clark. (Never, never was Clark a walker! He just liked it that I explored on foot.) 

Well, today was a turnaround. No gorgeous woods, no rambling the streets,  no dancing the mambo — Instead, I began the day with repetitions of 30 each to strengthen my thighs (previously disdained as boring — not my thighs — the reps) and in the afternoon I tried out the stationary bike at my condo’s exercise room. I went at 2 p.m., when I figured (rightly) that I’d be alone.  I didn’t care to have anyone see me fumble over how to operate the bike. And the reps — moves recommended by the knee clinic —  I maneuvered in the hotel room, and I can tell you privately that I did not always get to 30 without stopping. 

I want to strengthen my legs to get rid of the knee pain, and this is supposed to do it. Besides that, wow! it might clear my head as well. When I can walk better Zing and I will go exploring. The clinic said it might take four to six weeks.

Today also brought two mildly serendipitous meetings. I crossed paths with Anita, the mail deliverer, as she was sorting envelopes at the condo. She is just the kind of person Clark would love: she’s from Indiana, down by where it meets Kentucky, and fell in love with California while she was in the Air Force here. She’s been delivering mail in midtown Sacramento for about 25 years, so she's an expert on zip code 45814. I’m sure she and Clark could talk forever.

I also stopped at my new home on the twelfth floor, just to claim tenuous ownership again, and as I got off the elevator I saw a man bending over something on the floor outside my door. It was Bill, the contractor, getting ready to leave. He seemed delighted to see me. “I was going to call you over the weekend,” he said, “but it’s better if you see for yourself.” He re-opened the door, and we examined the wood floors, which he is installing meticulously. One minute later and Bill would have been on the down elevator. 

(I love having perfectionists do such work, but … it's taking so long! I can’t wait to move in.)

My friend Joy has been considering what makes “normal.” She said she’s not normal and neither am I, and that’s a good thing. I agree.  Joy wonders if “assimilated” might be closer to what I mean when I say normal.  Yes. I am painfully cutting new grooves and habits into my life. Assimilating.

Love,

K

Eyes wide open: Panacea & Phipps Park

If it looks like a beginner drew these, that's right. These are "assignments" from the great Susan Shie drawing class I took online last month. I'm going to keep on drawing! It suits my voyeuristic inclinations. 

Panacea, FL, is an unincorporated community that shows a rather tacky public face and keeps its sudden beauty quiet. Down a sandy road, past untended yards and simple houses needing paint, you can drive straight into a heavenly bay. Hoist a sail upon your car and you will soon be in the Gulf of Mexico.

 The story is that a Yankee bought some land here after the Civil War and named it Panacea, trading on the supposed healing powers of nearby springs. The name stuck, although they say a few old-timers refuse to use it, even today. 

Now some people want to make Panacea an incorporated city. But that is far from a sure thing. Florida House Bill 593 would allow the residents to vote on whether to be incorporated or not. The bill unanimously passed one House subcommittee in March, but it has two more committees to go. There are those who say it wouldn't be right, because some landowners live elsewhere, so they can't vote here. Others say the residents should control their destiny--especially their miles of coastline. 

 Panacea's population is about 800. The signs that are going up on lawns and in stores around town say: "Yes. Panacea Incorporation. Opportunity. Self-government. No New Regulations/Taxes" and also a great big NO sign over the words "Panacea Incorporation."

Zing! and I like to run in Phipps Park. We take the same trail every time, yet it's always new. We had not seen a butterfly all winter. This is the first of the season. Sometimes we go the whole way without seeing another dog or human. This day this man didn't see us. He was lost in a book. 

Green mornings

Twice a week my mornings are quiet and green -- Come see what I mean:

Starting

To the right and to the left

American water lilies

View from the wooden lookout
Late-morning shadows are of the gentle hillside to the east

Zing! waits for me to catch up

Near the end

Photo class: Making background blurred or detailed

Who dares call this butterfly common?

Upside down on the cardinal guard plant in our backyard

Shallow depth of field achieved through wide aperture and luck

Fast shutter speed stopped rivulet  running down  the blacktop where Miller Landing Road meets Lake Jackson
 

Same rainy morning at Lake Jackson
Fast shutter speed stopped the waves made from raindrops
(above and below)

I'm not sure how I got this, but I like the shadows, reflections, and underwater grass
It's a closeup, obviously, and probably fast shutter speed
It's hard to make notes while shooting

More water stopped with fast shutter speed on the way downhill

Pine trees at Phipps Park, via wide-angle lens and fast shutter speed.
This looking-through-the-wrong-end-of-a-bottle distortion may be a cliché , but I like it

Homely wildflower: shallow depth-of-field through wide aperture

Detail all the way back through fast shutter speed
(above and Lake Victoria, below)

Storm

Monday Zing! and I were running at Phipps Park, in the low area by the lake bed, and suddenly we were chased by storm clouds. It was sunny when we started, but ...  Just the day before I'd been scared off our front porch by a lightning storm. Still, I have to admit I considered bypassing this wooden viewing tower. I thought we might outrun the storm. However, Zing! persuaded me to be careful, and I'm grateful. Shortly after this photo, we relaxed on the bench upstairs and watched the grasses flatten and the trees bow down. Birds stopped singing and butterflies disappeared. We heard only rain on the wood roof. Lightning. Thunder. It reminded me of being at anchor in our old sailboat the Partnership during one of those wild Great Lakes storms. I loved it. Even Z! put his ears down and relaxed after a while.

It was a long and private time.

Then the rain slowed, the weeds stood straight, and I began to hear birds and swat mosquitoes. As we jogged again along the path, we were confronted by a big spotted tortoise. I've never seen one in this part of the park. Then a deer poked head and shoulders from the protecting trees and seemed to find everything satisfactory. I imagined these creatures were, like Z! and I, quietly exulting for some unknown reason.

Fall flowers

Mexican Sunflowers
8" x 10"

Mexican sunflowers are tall, orange knockouts with graceful leaves. They're annuals and that's about all I know. Except that I love them. Through late fall, they flourished at Gate B of Phipps Park, where I run. Some wagged on stems above my head. They're saturated color for sure. Recently I've been inspired by Penelope Gottleib's bright -- even harsh -- acrylic and ink paintings of flowers in pure color. Never mind that she sometimes includes bomber planes and other surprises among her blooms.  Following Gottleib's lead, I sat before the flowers in our yard and out at Phipps and made three flower pieces, using saturated colors. They're 8" x 10", mounted on canvas-wrapped board. 

Mexican Sunflowers at Phipps Park

Cardinal Guard

Fall flowers

Quail Pot Pie

Sidewalk sign in front of Savannah Moon

 I should have brought one home: quail pot pie. I sometimes hear quail call when I run at Phipps Park, and I've talked to people who shoot quail. Some former cotton plantations here in North Florida and South Georgia turned into quail plantations after the Civil War. People pay money to hunt on the property. But I never tasted quail, and don't want to. (I've heard it's "better than chicken.") So I passed up the bird in the pie when I was shopping today in Thomasville, GA, a charming town 30 miles north of Tallahassee. I feel bad that I didn't think Clark might want to try it. Well, next time ...

Downtown Thomasville, GA

Seasons at Phipps

Fall

I've finished Seasons -- again.

I decided to make a bigger quilted piece for each season to rest on. This is what Jean Wells calls a portrait finish. You can't see the quilting lines here -- too bad!  Got to see them up close. I hope the stitches extend the feeling of each little quilt.They are about 17" x 19 1/2" each.

Spring

Winter

Summer

Winter 4: the bird saved it

Winter
14 1/2" wide x 16" long
cotton, purchased and from used shirt, cotton batting 

Winter is finished, and I love its control and symmetry.  Didn't know I had that in me! For a time I hated the quilting -- I carefully designed the stitching and then all at once I loathed it! The lines on the pines seemed dangerously dart-like. I'd used heavy #12 thread, as Jane Sassaman does. I brooded awhile, and one gloomy day I decided to rip it all out, at risk of messing the piece beyond use. I crazily took my little orange scissors and snipped wildly at the right corner. I worked outside because that makes me calmer. I was snipping madly, not getting very far because of the close stitching, when a big wet plop made me stop. The ultimate insult: a bird flew over and pooped on my quilt! I ran inside and washed it off. That's when I realized all I needed to do was rip out the heavy threads. The rest was fine. Now the quilting is all in regular thread, which is right for this piece. Thanks, bird!

Winter 1

Winter quilt: Choose 3 shapes.

Jane Sassaman said -- I may not remember perfectly! -- get your shapes from flowers & other natural forms. I follow the lines of stuff I pick up in the woods -- longleaf pine from Phipps. First I drew on regular paper, then cut the design out and traced around it on heavier 70-pound paper. I did manage to draw the spirals, using my flexible rubber ruler. I enlarged it on Staples' copy machine. Jane also says simplify the shape -- so I will reduce that sawtooth effect on the pine. I decided not to use the curvy shape -- it may come to life in another piece someday. The middle-sized spiral fits best: winter wind in pines. This all took much more time than you would think, but finally I settled on three shapes for winter: the pine needles,  the spiral, and a skinny, straight-ish piece for the tree wood, which is not shown here.

Fall

I made this little (14 1/2" x 16") quilt using Jane Sassaman's guidelines -- from her workshop here one Friday & Saturday in November. If I remember right, on Friday we made shapes & on Saturday we played with them. But it's not that simple. I did most of the work at home. Jane told us to use three colors (I chose brown, gold, purple.) and then to simplify and exaggerate three natural shapes. I used leaves I'd picked up in Phipps Park off Miller's Landing Road. The swirl I copied from Marsha. I call it Fall and decided to make a series of the seasons at Phipps.

Autumn at Phipps

This looks so much like Fall that I'm going to make three more -- one for each of the seasons, inspired by Phipps Park wildlife. These are simplified oak leaves, and the others are from a red-leafed spray I can't name. The yellow branches are from an element Marsha designed. I cut it down the middle into two narrower curves. It's 16 1/8" x 14 1/2".

Feather signal

Friday Susan & I (& Zing!) were walking where Lake Jackson used to be before it got sucked down a hole; I noticed a red hankie tied to a bush by the path. Susan saw the feather.

What's it feel like?

Slick

Bumpy (Phipps)

Spiky (Phipps)

Lyric Kinard is leading me in a study of art + quilt – her book of design principles and creativity exercises. I've got a notebook & folder of studies in fabric. Part head, part gut = art. Lots to learn.

Boo perfect

The Halloween spider spun this perfect web just for me by the lake Monday morning.

Snake & Eggs

This snake looks like it swallowed a dozen eggs. Bumpy. Susan spotted it by the side of the path when we were walking at Phipps a couple of weeks ago. Probably a gray rat snake, she said. It didn't move, & neither did Zing! We proceeded hastily past, as I kept the dog on a short leash. A couple of days afterward, I was chatting with a city parks employee who said learning about snakes is the best way to lose your fear of them. Stephanie, who now works at PetSmart, said she's heard of two dogs dying recently from snake bite.

To see the lake

They're building an observation deck at Phipps; it's halfway through my run. A worker told me it's "para mirar al lago," to look at the lake. But Lake Jackson has receded. Far to the west you can see a line of blue. Closer, it's a lake of reeds & green, with birds, not fish.