Diesel the Wonder Dog

Though I know many of you will be insulted by this statement, I have to admit: I am not a dog person. This should be obvious merely from the number of cat photos published on this blog. Now, this is not to say I'm a dog hater. Far be that from the truth. Towards most dogs, I practice a friendly ambivalence, a cordial respect and regard. I recognize that dogs have their needs, and also that I have mine, and I expect the dog to recognize this, too.

Most dogs, I've found, are good dogs. A few are bad dogs, and fewer (in my experience) are great dogs. I'd be hard pressed to tell you exactly what attributes are required for a dog to be great, but I know it when I see it. There's never a dog that starts out as good and earns its way to greatness. Great dogs are born, not made.

Knowing what a hard-ass I am about dogs, and also knowing that we have a good (not great) dog named Diesel, you must be able to anticipate how hard Diesel strives for my affection. He tries. He tries very, very hard. My love and affection is to Diesel a golden horizon, a promise he works towards with undying vigor, day after day. There's just no way to tell the poor guy that cordial respect and regard is the best he's going to get from me.

I'm one cold-hearted woman, aren't I?

Anyway, this is a tribute to Diesel: the loyal, courageous, enthusiastic and very much overlooked Boston terrier with whom we share our house. Who can walk a log bridge like no one's business.

Bluets.

Foamflower

Miterwort.

This one's for my mom

Photo by Kathy Morris.

This one's for my mom.

Almost everything I know, and everything I like about myself was given to me by my mom. She's the most resourceful woman I've ever known. She taught me the promise in a seed, and the beauty in the everyday. I share with her an urge to celebrate the small things: a dragonfly's wing, the flash of an oriole, a row of dewy seedlings. When my parents left New York City (and their careers) for a neglected upstate farmstead, it was my mom who kept us fed as my dad struggled to build his business. She became a disciple of lentils, a stockmaker, a grower of long rows of peas and potatoes. The best snapshots of my childhood are from her kitchen: me whirling around with a doily on my head as she simmered a soup pot, us decorating Halloween pumpkin cookies together, she and my grandfather taking shifts basting the Christmas turkey, me dramatically confessing my crush on Matthew Nichols as she patiently scrubbed the dishes, the holy ritual of two women working together in the kitchen, dicing mountains of vegetables for Thanksgiving stuffing.

She's an artist, a maker, a planner. She's the coolest Mom I know, and I'm awfully proud to be her daughter.

Happy Mother's Day.

Pasta + anything = dinner.

When the sun finally broke through the clouds after a week of solid gray, I knew the time was right for a pre-dinner hike. I had only to burst through the door and day to Patrick: "CV?"

He looked up from his pedal steel just long enough to nod.

Ten minutes later we were out the door and off to "CV," Chenango Valley State Park.

This post really isn't about the hike, though. It's about what we cooked after the hike. With our empty stomachs baring their hungry teeth, and the light fading precipitously (as you can tell by the picture), we needed food, and fast.

But lo, for yesterday I had made a much-anticipated pilgrimage back to Frog Pond, my local produce mecca, and returned with a pound of beautiful fresh spinach, from across the border in Pennsylvania. With a recipe from Moosewood Kitchen Garden for inspiration, the pasta water was heating and the spinach was soon on its way to wilting.

Pasta with Spinach, sundried tomatoes, fresh herbs, and a little feta

1 lb pasta-- we used orechiette (which means "little ears" in Latin, isn't that cool?) but really, anything would work.

1/2 cup sundried tomatoes

2 tbsp butter

4 scallions, sliced thinly

1/2 cup vegetable broth

1 lb fresh spinach, large stems removed, torn into pieces
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/3 cup chopped basil, dill, or tarragon
2 oz crumbled feta, or more to taste
1/2 cup grated parmesan
salt and pepper to taste

Start heating up a big pot of water for the pasta.

Also begin heating a little water to soak the sundried tomatoes in. You only need enough to cover the tomatoes; soak them for at least ten minutes.

Meanwhile, warm the butter in a large skillet. Add the scallions, and saute for about a minute. Then add the spinach and stock, cover, and let steam until the spinach is well wilted. Toss with the fresh herbs, and remove from the heat.

Drain your sundried tomatoes, and chop them up.

Once the pasta is done, drain it very briefly and return to the pot. Toss in the spinach mixture, sundried tomatoes, remaining ingredients, season to taste, and serve.

This would be great as a side for a meaty meal, or maybe even cold, as a pasta salad. Marinated artichoke hearts would be an excellent addition.

Here's some pictures from our hike:

I was playing with the color accent mode on my camera in the above shot.

Fringed polygala.

Wonderful mushrooms.

Pink azalea.

Have a good weekend, everyone! Hug your moms lots.

Small snap pouch tutorial

This pouch is a great way to show off a couple of favorite fabrics you have very small pieces of. Both fabrics I used were actually scraps left over from a couple of recent refashion projects, but you can use any cotton or cotton-blend fabric you like.

The whole project took me about 15 minutes, start to finish. This pouch would be a special way to present a gift card, or perfect for laundry money, a few dollars, or postage stamps. Enjoy!

Any finished pouches can be shared at the Sweetfern Handmade Flickr Group!

Supplies:

Two pieces of coordinating cotton fabric, each no less than 6 x 10"
Graph paper
Scissors, thread, sewing machine
Ruler
Snap punch with snaps
Credit card, or something similar in size, to create your template

Everyone should own a snap punch. They're darn handy, and useful. I bought mine (complete with refills) for about $8 at Joann Fabrics. If, of course, you don't own a snap punch, you can make this almost as easily with sew-on snaps. Or a button, if you want to be fancy.

Anyway.

Step one: Tear off a sheet of graph paper. Set your card down on the paper, in the middle near the bottom of the sheet. (But not too close.)

Draw a box around it, following the graph paper lines.

Slide your card up above the box you just drew, and draw another box.

Add half an inch (graph-paper squares) to the top of your drawing.

Extend the two sides up another inch above the top:

Now, find the mid-point, and draw a line up from the middle of your diagram. Make the line about three inches long (that's 12 graph-paper squares)

Break out your ruler, and connect the tops of the lines into a point. This will be the flap of your purse.

You should have this:

Now, add an extra half-inch all the way around.

Cut it out, and you have your pattern.

Trace around your pattern once on each of your fabrics.

Cut them out.

Lay the two pieces on top of each other, right sides together.

Starting at the bottom, and using a 1/4 inch seam allowance, stitch almost all the way around the perimeter. Make sure you leave a gap so you'll be able to turn it right side out!

A close-up of my gap:

Trim your corners:

Turn it right side out, gently using a crochet hook or pencil to poke out the corners.

You can iron it now, if you'd like. Because I am lazy, I did not iron.

Find your gap, and turn the raw edges to the inside. Finger-press, and topstitch across the bottom.

Now, fold up your pouch. One seam left to go!

Starting at the bottom of one side, stitch all the way up and around the outside of your pouch. I used a 1/4 inch allowance, again.

Fold the flap down, and figure out where you want to put your snaps. Mark where they're going to go on the flap and the body of the pouch.

Following the directions on your snap-punch (or using needle and thread) affix your snaps to the spots.

Load it up and you're ready to go!

Follow your bliss (or, how to avoid colliding with a semi)

Commutes are funny things. Now that driving to and from work takes an hour out of my day, I've found myself adjusting to the Communte Mindset. Zone out, transition, tune in. I like it. There's no shortage of verdant pastureland, lazy riverbanks, and frowsy flowering trees on my daily drive. It's relaxing, a good time to put the day behind me and start thinking about the evening.

Yes, sweet evening. How shall it be filled? Faced with the six sweet hours at the end of the workday, what, exactly, would be the optimal combination of activities to occupy it? Yesterday, in between the frowsy trees and munching cattle, I started fantasizing about stitches. In my mind's eye, I blissfully considered the perfect tidiness of a machine-sewn seam. I craved the beautiful orderliness of straight stitches, the way they transform ratty raw-edged fabric scraps into the nicest of projects. Suddenly finding myself oblivious centimeters from the bumper of a semi, I roused from my reverie and shook my head: had it been, in fact, two weeks since I'd last applied a foot to my trusty sewing machine pedal?

Yes indeedy, two weeks. This would explain my momentary obsession, then.

Once home, I sought relief from my symptoms by applying one pair of Gingher dressmaker's shears to a few ratty raw-edged scraps. Patient status: cured.

The fabric you might recognize from here.

Stay tuned tomorrow (hopefully!) for a quick little pouch tutorial.