Spring Sprang

Last weekend, on a day just as it should be this time of year, we had some rain, some wind, some sun… and the Spring Fiber Sale at Abernethy Grange. It was market day for vendors and buyers of all things for spinners, knitters, crocheters and weavers.  Last year at this time, I shared how it puts me in mind of market days of the past. The scents and sights; the background hum of sellers chatting with shoppers; the reunions with folks from small farms in the hills; it’s all a ritual of time-worn regularity. We come together with the hope of exchange of goods and news, just as our forebears did. It’s pleasing to know these market days still take place, though they are surely less common than they once were.

Right on time for the Spring Equinox, the lettuce in my milk jugs awoke. There it is! Look close.

See the previous post for the run-up to that.

And best of all, when I came home from the Fiber Sale, I found a new stranger in the sheep shed.

This is the first lamb of 2009, a ewe lamb, grabbing her breakfast. You will notice the look of warning I’m getting from her mother, Paige. Paige does not take any messing around with her lambs. She is the alpha ewe in our flock, and you can perhaps see why. She is in command from the first moment.

It seems to us that primacy in the flock is passed on from mother to child. It is always the aplha ewe who breeds and delivers first. As a result, her lamb has a head start over the others who will arrive shortly after. That first lamb is a few days older, has her feet on the ground, is boss from the get-go and ready to tell any rivals just what they are made of before they have a first thought. So, naturally, the Main Sheep’s lamb is the Main Lamb: the Crown Princess in this case.

We asked our friend Ava to give a name to this year’s first lamb. Therefore, I give you: Ava the Lamb.

Ava, you might notice, is a palindrome.

She’s the same both ways.

Small Gratification

How silly is this?

For… what? six weeks I reckon, I have been dying to plant things. I’m sure it’s partly the harsher than normal winter we’ve had, and the looking out at a devastated landscape where the new house is rising but any semblance of a garden is gone. And part of it might be the usual thing that happens more or less every February when the seed catalogues start appearing in the mailbox, the lengthening of the days becomes evident, and the gardener in a woman just wants to bust out into the dirt. All that. But this year we have no place to start seedlings, and no herb garden to clip and tend on a dry weekend in winter, nor any unexpected blooms peeking from garden corners.

I did come around the wall and spot these happy souls this afternoon.

But it’s not the same as having a real garden. It’s even too early to plan much because I can’t yet see the shape of the land around the house.  And though we will have something wonderful in the way of a greenhouse when it’s done, it isn’t there yet.

So Skepweaver was shuffling through old seed packets, sighing disconsolately, and wondering what to do about it, when her eyes fell upon: empty milk jugs waiting to go out to the recycle bin. And for some reason, she thought of greenhouses just then, little greenhouses. And she took out her scissors, punched holes, cut the jugs in half, filled them with potting soil left over from last summer, and pushed in a lettuce seed, one for each jug. Then she taped the tops back on, leaving the lids off for ventilation, and set them out in the feeble March sun.

Somehow, this lacks something.

That was last weekend. During the week we had days of sun. Cold sun, but sun, and I imagined my jug garden to be nurturing potential captive in the chill.

I peeked inside this morning.

It doesn’t seem like much is happening. Huh.

Well. It’s a start.

Winter’s End?

They say it’s nearly spring. After all, we’re in Lent. It’s the time hints of winter’s end are lurking in corners. Cross through the orchard, and discover first buds tightly wrapped.

Come around the end of the studio, and see pussy willows in fur:

The hens seem to know it’s almost Easter…

Except for the matter of this morning’s dawn snow…

we’d think we were on our way to a new season.

I’m ready to reconsider the joys of wool and woodfires. Really. ‘Nuff winter.

Construction Update: Buttresses Take Flight, Settle in

Every now and then we see a dramatic change in the appearance of the house.  Long periods pass when little shows on the outside, and than, Whammo! something big happens.

Last week the buttresses that will support the greenhouse wall ( or roof, maybe?  I’m not sure how you know where a slanted wall becomes a roof…) came in. This was a very big day! Here is the first one getting a lift from the crane.

The steel buttresses weigh 2400 pounds, are 12 inches in depth, and nearly 48 feet long.  It’s dangerous work, this matter of placing big pieces of steel exactly where they need to go. The general contractor moved his crew out of the way and left the job to the steel workers. It’s amazing how these men can take an enormous machine and perform delicate little adjustments with it.

Here, below, the buttresses are settled into place.

This is what they rest on:

The bolts are 1 inch in diameter. Note the adjustable bracket to create the proper angle with the roof (the real roof above the greenhouse), seen here:

Here is the view from the southwest, showing the four big buttresses in place:

It gives the house its final line — we can see the shape it will actually take. We knew this from the model we made, but it’s different to see it in actual stone and steel. It changes the proportion of things altogether. Shrinks the house to normal size, I think.

Meanwhile, around the north side, we can take a look at the back door.

This is kind of a ratty picture because of the work going on and the angle of the sun this time of year, but it will give you an idea of what we’re trying to do. The wooden forms are for the switch-back ramp that will provide no-stairs access to the attic. The bulky space beneath the ramp will be earth-filled, extending the earth-sheltering of the north side to include the second floor. Meanwhile, we’ve echoed the arch of the studio workshop in the arch of the attic entry. Trying to decide what to call this, I just looked up “portico” to see whether that word can apply to an entry without the colonnade I associate with Greek architecture. And I came up with this delightful noun, courtesy of Merrian-Webster:  ambulatory: a sheltered place (as in a cloister or church) for walking. This is surely the ambulatory to the attic. It will have a little bench where a person can sit and take off the muddy boots, set the trash about to go into the recycle bin, or rest the load of provisions coming in. The door under the arch will be sheltered from wind and rain. It is, in all, a lovely ambulatory. And, yes, I think a portico can do without the colonnade.