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..."
Thursday, October 15, 2015
A Day in October...
I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. ~Anne of Green Gables
The dye pot (just an old crock pot on the back porch) has been simmering night and day. First, there were bundles of cloth rolled in leaves, so now there are more of my mother's scraps of old, old flour sacking imprinted with autumn leaves. They make a wonderful canvas on which to stitch, I think.
The half-circle cloth, which Mother had probably cut for a small scarf, will be just that...a scarf. Unlike Mother, who would have hemmed and edged in properly, I will leave the rounded edge ragged. I will, however, do a small backstitch around the piece to control how far the fraying can go, should it want to go. I also doubt that she would have approved of leaf markings on her scarf.
I finished reading the final book, Frightful's Mountain, in Jean Craighead George's My Side of the Mountain Trilogy. I enjoyed this final book immensely, and haven't been able to get thoughts of migration out of my mind.
Ms. George wrote, "The happening was migration. It was full upon the Northern Hemisphere. The shorter hours of sunlight and lowering temperatures were telling millions of birds to go south." One of my winter projects will be to embroider the migrating Frightful on the leaf-stained and frayed-edged cloth.
The girl is still borrowing clothes, much to the chagrin of her sisters. We have decided that she shall be dressed in brown to match the old button. There are not many pieces of brown left in my fabric stash, but we will make do, even if we have to turn again to the dye pot filled with black walnuts.