235/365: sorry pooch
A humorous, yet powerful illustration. Perception is everything.
If you believe the shackles hold you, it doesn’t matter how flimsy they really are.
Saturday we visited the Mill City Museum & Farmer’s Market. We got a free threshing lesson using a method called flailing – basically beating a pile of dry grain stalks with a simple log and chain tool until the seeds come out. We were surprisingly good at it. But, then, we’ve been flailing for years.
A full day of making in the studio finished up with loads of local harvest prints. Exciting to be back in this season of plenty. I’ll be glad to create some mouthwatering new images while dreaming up the next meal. Getting ready for Art at St. Kate’s a week from Saturday. Let there be sun…
There are some flowers that seem too exotic to grow here in the midwest. Dahlias are on that list. True, they would never survive a winter here. That they grow here at all – gracing our northern eyes with rainforest levels of resplendence -seems remarkable. I gape at them like a true provincial in the face of such strange and wonderful beauty. Golly gee, but that’s a pretty flower.
271/365: purple & white dahlia
Oh, my gosh, I think I’m going to cry. Not because the radishes are spicy, but because I am FINALLY caught up with the blog after my week+ vacation. Whew!
Yesterday we enjoyed a trip to the farmers market. Growing season is really kicking into full gear; the tomatoes will be here before we know it!
We enjoyed a perfect summer Sunday in the city (Minneapolis). A Baker’s Wife donuts (still warm), bike ride around the lake (a first), trip to Kingfield Farmers Market (our favorite) for Foxy Falafel (the best!) and a good old-fashioned sing-a-long with the Roe Family Singers (old-timey) who make us happy when skies are blue and on beautiful sunny days, too.
I have that feeling of panic right about now. The tomatoes that were so abundant just weeks ago are tapering off; there is only one left in the bowl that used to overflow with a dozen or more at a time. Last night, I went out to the garden to pick another bowl of ever-bearing beans only to find the vines shriveling in the autumn sun. Can it really be too late? Again?One minute I couldn’t chop or chew fast enough to keep up. The next, I can’t scrounge up a cucumber for the dinner salad.
Or maybe not. Maybe there is still time. Time to gather up the green tomatoes and the tender herbs. Time to dust off the dehydrator and line up the Ball jars. Time to bring home bushels of this and that from the farmers market and make good on the season’s bounty. Time to make hay while the sun shines and, perhaps, to make pickles. For that, I favor dill.