Whether hummingbirds or butterflies or honey bees or bats or scores of other pollinators accidentally doing the work of fertilizing flowers from generation to generation, the appetite for nectar powers progeny. A sweet song of perpetuity. A dulcet dance engendering poppies aplenty.
Papaver Bee-ing, Haiku
By coincidence a poppy pollinator, the bee nectaring.
I wonder, in our quest for mythological nectar, if we ungainly landlubbers might inadvertently be pollinating poppies. Occasionally. Let’s hope so.
I’m fond of the French word, “robinetterie“. In English the translation is “fixtures”. Not quite as intriguing a word, in my opinion. Nor are “plumbing fixtures”, “faucets”, etc. But “spigot“, now that’s a fine word! It conjures the drip, drip, drip… of a leaky spigot.
I know, pretty subjective, and perhaps a little esoteric. But I’m an unabashed connoisseur of words. I appreciate words the way others value gems or cigars or heirloom apple varieties or single barrel bourbon. Ok, I’m pretty fond of the last two as well, but words are my currency. I collect words, romance words, share words. And so far as I’m concerned “spigot” and “robinetterie” are in a class apart.
Leaky Spigot Haiku
Sometimes the soap dish,
sometimes the [leaky] spigot,
always drip, drip, drip,...
Spig’spiration
It’d be tough to be an old house enthusiast without appreciating antique and vintage plumbing fixtures. Fortunately Rosslyn’s kitchen, bar, bathrooms, and hose hydrants have undergone years of rehab, replacement, and TLC. But I live a peripatetic existence, and travel taps into my drippy robinetterie nostalgia from time to time. That leaky spigot in the photo above was photographed on July 21, 2014 in coastal Maine. Even now, I recollect my relief at not being responsible for fixing it!
But the seed for this micropoem was planted by another, Matthew Aaron (@_matthew_aaron_), with the following Instagram post. Thanks, Matthew!
Per Matthew, “the soap dish is everything”. Per me, the spigot is everything. It may not even be a leaky spigot, but I’ve exercised some poetic license. After all, the layers of life patinating the oh-so-very vintage robinetterie speak in drips. Can you hear it? Drip, drip, drip,…
The soap dish is everything (Remixed from photo by Matthew Aaron)
Poetic license bled into the visual domain. I’m not 100% able to explain why Matthew’s photo grabbed me the way it has, but I’m grateful for his permission to include both the handsome original and my derivative remix. A wonder-fueled wabi-sabi water faucet. A visual poem of a leaky spigot.
My mind’s been wandering to watercolor painting during recent bicycle rides. Wondering about watercoloring as a way of seeing and becoming acquainted and interpreting. Watercolor as a way of knowing. A way of storytelling.
I’m hoping to make time this fall for a fresh foray into watercolor painting. It’s been a while. A long while!
Just about everything I cast eyes upon is begging to be added to the list of images to paint. The orchard’s colorful fruit and lush summer foliage, for example. The Amish man, horse, and buggy trundling past Rosslyn early this morning, silhouetted against a magnificent sunrise…
And Señorita Serendipity seems to approve of my plans. While brainstorming a punchlist of September/October watercolors, recent August skies appear to have been watercolored by the universe. Another portentous twist of fate: my enfatuation with bygone barns was concurrently satisfied during two recent bike rides, orchestrating the watercolor sky plus barn snapshots I was able to share earlier today with a “Backcountry Barns Haiku”.
Time torn, weatherworn
byways by backcountry barns.
Watercolor skies.
After yesterday’s runaway rumination on wavy window glass (with a nod at watercolors), this quick post was practically born of necessity.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CS9iHSCrE6a/
I’m sure I’ve touched on this elsewhere over the years, but it’s worth acknowledging that barn architecture, especially minimalist barns, patinated with weather and time, speaks to something practically primordial in me. My earliest hope when looking for a North Country properties was to convert an old barn into a home. I looked at lots of backcountry barns, but I never made a match. Some day I still hope to explore the barn vernacular, perhaps in a modern and somewhat interpretive way.
Until then I’m going to keep massaging this watercolor metaphor a little longer.
Maybe once I dip my brush into paint this fall more meaningful observations will materialize. Perhaps I’ll be able to better articulate why watercoloring (and wavy glass, for that matter) are helping me decipher and describe my process, my pleasure, and my goals.
For now, and for this post, I’ve returned to the Waterlogue app by Tinrocket to create this (and other recent) digital watercolors. I’ve always used the iOS version beacuase it’s a well tuned flaneur’s tool, always at hand, always handy for a quick “field sketch”. After snapping a photograph I usually import it into the Snapseed app by Google for some pre-watercolor tuneups to creatively manipulate the results in a way that will render a digital watercolor that suits my vision. Then into Waterlogue for some empirical playtime… And voila!
Coeur de Boeuf, Cuore di Bue, Ox Heart, Oxheart,… A bevy of bovine bywords for a bountiful, flavorful, and 100% practical heirloom tomato variety that we’ve been cultivating in Rosslyn’s vegetable gardens for over a decade.
And since it’s seed sourcing season again — time to reflect on last summer’s vegetable garden and plan what we hope to begin harvesting in in five or six months — my whimsical mind eschews efficient seed ordering and stalls a moment for an Coeur de Boeuf haiku.
No swollen coin purse
blushing with loot, green thong drawn,
this heart of an ox.
Why Coeur de Boeuf?
The moniker’s derivation becomes obvious the first time you spy one of these tomatoes up close. The honestly do resemble an ox heart, albeit a less bloody and more aesthetically fetching ox heart.
A dozen years ago I tasted Coeur de Boeuf tomatoes for the first time (see “Cuore di Bue“), and I’ve been planting them ever since. The fruit are dense, easy to slice, and full of flavor. Each a feast. And unlike some tomato varieties that just barely contain a geyser of gelatinous liquid, Coeur de Boeuf tomatoes are heavy with fleshy tomato “meat”. The skins are often slightly striped, orange and red, with ridges that run top to bottom reminiscent of a small pumpkin. Or a full pouch gathered with a string at the top. (As I understand it, this variety is especially popular among canners and tomato sauce makers, but we eat them long before preserving becomes a priority.)
As I plan tomato plants for summer 2022, I’m also brainstorming another scheme to accelerate maturation, ripening, and harvest of this coveted vegetable garden staple. Think incubation, jumpstarting transplant date from Mother’s Day to… But I’m saying too much too early. I’ll resist divulging the pipe dream until it’s closer to reality. Or redaction!
In the mean time, if you’re wondering about what tomato plants to grow in your garden, you might appreciate Nan Schiller’s post, “21 of the Best Heirloom Tomatoes“.
Drizzly Day Discovery #1 was this rain soaked vista that inspired an itty-bitty poem. (Source: @virtualdavis)
Drizzly day disappointment is real. It’s a sort of malaise. Perhaps not for all of us, but definitely for some of us.
And yet an inclement day needn’t always disappoint. Far from it, in fact. So — as much to convince myself as to convince you, patient reader — I’ll share a glimpse of two memorable aspects from Tuesday’s rainy washout.
Drizzly Day Haiku
I almost opted out of my morning bike ride because rain was threatening. From early morning “gray light” to sunrise around 5:45 AM to an overcast-but-brightening first hour of the day to… darkness. It was as if we’ve been plunged back into night.
But I pulled on my MAMIL clown suit and headed up to the carriage barn to get my bicycle. It was increasingly clear that raindrops would be falling. Soon. As I pushed my gravel bike outside it begin to drizzle.
Not the most inspiring conditions for a ride, but I decided to give it a go. Over the next 75 minutes the drizzle increased into a full-on rain, then back to drizzle, then a rain scarcely heavier than mist, then back to driving rain. I was drenched. My shoes slurped with each pedal stroke. Road spray blurred with the falling rain. Water up, water down. And from time to time I enjoyed thorough drenching from my flank as a vehicle thundered past. It occurred to me that taking a bicycle through a car wash might feel similar. I don’t advise trying it.
On the positive side, the morning’s temperature was cooler than recent days, and the rain was actually refreshing. Cycling in rainy conditions has the effect of shrinking the world a little bit, decreasing the rider’s focus to a relatively small bubble around him/her while pedaling down the road. This hunkering can sometimes catalyze some pretty useful thinking. Soggy but catalytic headspace!
When I was almost home, pedaling up the small hill at the intersection of NYS Route 22 and Middle Road (where I suspect we may soon confirm Hillcrest Station to have stood a century or so ago), I came across the enchanting view above. It’s a vista that I have appreciated often, but the rain transformed it. Something about the light, the softened edges, the muted palette, and the playful juxtaposition of depth. The tree in the semi-foreground and the Adirondack mountains in the semi-background, both silhouetted as a middle focal horizon between between lush green fields and tie-dyed skies. I stopped and stood awhile absorbing.
And then, as if the soggy haiku wasn’t enough, I also enjoyed another drizzly day discovery in the evening. Our Santa Fe friend and carpenter, Hroth Ottosen, who’s been visiting and helping rebuild Rosslyn’s deck captured a double rainbow over Lake Champlain. Certainly that is some sort of lucky! Although I missed the moment, he snapped some excellent images including the one shown below.
Drizzly Day Discovery #2 was a double rainbow that inspired a micro meditation video. (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
All things considered, this was a drizzly day to reset all expectations. From now on I’ll anticipate good discoveries no matter what sort of weather nature sends out way. And maybe you too have a drizzly day positive story? Hope so!
