About Blog Title...
As a child, it was one of my greatest delights to visit my grandparents in the spring when the whip-poor-wills began to call. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a remote valley of the Ozark Mountains where there were trees a plenty, and, seemingly, a whip-poor-will, or two, in each one.
My grandmother insisted that a whip-poor-will's call was not "whip-poor-will," but instead, "chip-butter-white-oak." I would listen really hard trying to hear it exactly as she said it was, but all I could hear was "whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,..." But, I never let on to her.
I remember my grandpa watching and listening, with an amused look on his face, to one of these listening sessions. Shortly after that he began to call me, just for fun, "Chip Butter." It is a name I am proud to wear for I still love to hear that long, lonesome call on a warm summer's eve. And, sometimes, when I listen really, really hard, it seems I can hear quite clearly, "chip-butter-white-oak, chip-butter-white-oak..."
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Four Strong Winds...
That was to be the name of the little eight page cloth book I had begun...Four Strong Winds.... For some time, I had been longing for a piece of cloth to hold in my hands on long winter evenings by the fire - a cloth on which I could stitch.
William Wordsworth once wrote, "To begin, begin." So, I did.
A learning curve can sometimes be quite steep, and the fall back down rather hard. I think that may have happened to me here. My idea was to do some weaving in stitch, Jude Hill style of course, something like this... Colorful, but warm, trade blankets to wrap around the shoulders of the wanderers of The Four Strong Winds.
I embroidered row upon row using an outline stitch, depicting warp, over which I would weave, by stitch, the weft. As I stitched, it kept coming to mind that I might not be able to find my way when I began to weave across. But, I stitched on.... And, now I am lost. I will try again. But, I would have never known if I hadn't tried. My mother used to say, "There never was an ill wind that didn't blow some good." I think I see the good...
And, along the Chip Butter Trail, the Upper Pond is ablaze with color, although, I think, not as beautiful as last year.
The weaning heifers have been vaccinated, branded, and given their permanent ID numbers. The Little Twig is such a beauty, and is showing signs of becoming a herd leader, just as her mother is. Here she is in the center chewing on a "twig" of grass, and, secondly, in the chute, behaving quite well. Way to go #24.
At the end of the day, my boots and pants legs were covered in cow manure. I told The Old Indian that I surely did feel like a real cowgirl. He said, "I think you are."