Some days I do not take any pictures. Others, I take pictures after every few steps. For better or worse, my sensing there is something worth capturing has become quite intuitive. This surely has as much to do with my mental state and receptivity as it has to do with how patches of sky, reflections, and plants dance together in the changing light as I walk around Hill’s Pond.
There are similarities, but also quite a few differences in the photos below taken during two separate pond walks this past spring. Nature has a way of quietly reminding us that there is also a positive aspect to the continual change that none of us can escape.
All four of the carved wooden boxes were described as coming from Norway, and that made sense given the Telemark acanthus leaf designs and the notches in three of their lids that fit over projecting tabs on either side. The smallest of these “tines” was the perfect size to hold one special ring. Perhaps it was my Oslo ancestor, but I could not resist this charming collection.
The fifth quite different box is a model of a Norwegian stabbur. These charming storehouse buildings are raised up on stone or wooden pillars with a gap above the steps to protect their contents from marauding vermin. You can imagine the fragrance upon opening that door from grain, flour, cured meat, root vegetables, dried fish, fruit and sometimes also clothing.
The wall-mounted cabinet was perfect to hold this box collection. Then, at my request, my Aunt brought me a troll back from her travels to Norway. I was glad that I learned trolls come in all sizes from small to gigantic. I sat the troll so he he seemed to be staring into the stabbur’s front window, but as the pouch slung on his back was already full, perhaps he had already completed his troll-like mischief.
By the time the Lily of the Valley is seducing bees with its scented white bells, this one has completed a remarkable progression from deep pink buds to white with pink dots. The first photo below shows the colorful midpoint. The others show the 12-day progression from start to finish.
The last photos shows how it looks most of the year.
It was quite cold this spring. After several years of very little snow, we had several inches for most of the winter and that took its time melting. Then we still had nights below freezing and cold days for quite a while. Still there were signs. The daffodils started blooming on schedule. There were buds here and there. And when we got a few warm days towards the end of the month it was catch up time.
Noticing an icy flower on the car’s roof when I looked out the front door on a chilly morning, I ran for my camera. The last time I saw such large ice crystals on that car was in late November, 2019. Fall and now spring – still, the conditions must have been just right for that to happen.
When the temperature is below 0°C (32°F) and supersaturated humid air flows over a textured surface, ice can be deposited directly without first going through a liquid phase. And as you can see, the results can be quite spectacular.
The snow had piled on snow this unusually cold winter. I wondered if I might find interesting patterns in the woods or at the pond now that it had finally started to melt.
Slick icy paths could be treacherous, but this year the inches-deep snow was mostly hard and crusty. I did not sink in as I added my prints to those left by dogs, people, rabbits and others.
In contract to Indonesian ikat, Mudmee cloth from Thailand makes use of resist-dyed weft (horizontal) yarns. Originally, special designs were reserved for nobility with simple patterns for everyday use. While Indonesian ikats tend to use fewer colors, modern mudmee can have quite a range of vibrant bright colors, especially when the cloth is intended for use by young women.
Traditional patterns often had strong horizontal or vertical bands, like the silk weaving shown below. Vibrant and highly complex-patterns are created with the help of modern looms, as was the case with the last two examples below.
Betsy White told me that the Indonesian ikat she had listed for sale had been purchased when her family was living on Sulawesi between 1976 and 1978. That island did not seem to be the type of place that the average American tourist would visit, and there was something about Betsy’s few words that hinted there was a great deal more going on.
As luck would have it, Betsy had recently published Balancing Act: Mountains, Family, Career. That proved a perfect way to learn more about what showed every sign of being a fascinating life. It occurred to me that lessons she learned during her many mountaineering adventures must have helped Betsy live her (multiple) dreams. Besides mountain climbing, her husband, Gene, loved textiles including rugs, and he collected them wherever they went during their extensive travels. Betsy also has ikats from India, and central Asia.
When they lived in Indonesia, Gene would travel from island to island working on projects to improve access to fresh water during the long dry season. He would make it a point to visit remote villages and ask if they had any ikats for sale. I could tell that Gene and I appreciated many of the same qualities to be found in these lovely weavings.
The influence from specific island cultures is clear, but each piece also bears the stamp of the individual artist-weaver who put so much time and effort into their painstaking work. In addition to describing the textiles’ varied designs and fascinating cultural contexts, the books below include wonderful stories about individual weavers:
Between the Folds; Stories of Cloth, Lives and Travels from Sumba by Jill Forshee
Textiles of Timor; Island in the Woven Sea edited by Roy W. Hamilton and Joanna Barrkman
Gift of the Cotton Maiden; Textiles of Flores and the Solor Islands edited by Roy W. Hamilton
Ikats I purchased from Betsy are from (top to bottom): West Timor, Sumba, Flores, Sumba, an antique fragment that is likely from Flores, and lastly, an “everyday” sarong from West Timor.
In a recent talk I gave about Japanese gardens, I did not include many snow images – just the wonderful results of a very light light dusting, and moss peaking out from snow as it melted around a water basin.
Reviewing photos of my Japanese inspired tea garden, I found a variety of different effects from delicate “snow blossoms” to deep mounds of snow left by blizzards.
Betsy White’s book had me thinking that not many of us would be willing or able to push beyond so many expectations of what is possible. Still for all of Betsy White’s pioneering achievements, she is the opposite of intimidating. I have found that is often the case for those who truly love what they are doing. Betsy warmly welcomes the reader to her world as she shares with open honesty about her struggles and the real rewards of her considerable efforts.
Betsy met and married Gene, a man who shared her passion for mountaineering, and her humanistic impulses. His civil engineering work providing access to fresh water in many developing countries made it easier for them to add international summits to their “life lists.” The couple did not allow their peripatetic life style to get in the way of raising a family. They found creative solutions to inevitable unanticipated problems with their gift for making friends who could offer them guidance and support. As a result, their lucky children got to experience a variety of cultures as well as wonderful mountain climbing adventures.
Betsy’s career focused on developing training programs and other practical resources for supporting human, and specifically women’s rights. Her cultural sensitivity and willingness to put in the effort required to learn the language gave Betsy rare access to Muslim women in the various countries where she lived and worked. When Betsy decided to pursue an advanced degree, her ground-breaking dissertation focused on how expectations placed on Muslim women affected their countries’ overall development and level of wellbeing.
Part way through the book, it occurred to me that Betsy’s mountaineering experience might have had quite a positive influence on her multi-achievement “balancing act.” It would teach the value of seeking out good climbing companions, careful planning, adaptability and finding creative solutions when things do not go as planned. The extent of her mountaineering experience would certainly have honed her intuition about when it makes sense to take risks, and when it makes more sense to turn back.
I found many valuable lessons like these in what Betsy shares. While most of us do not have the resources or degree of freedom that Betsy had to truly live her large dreams, many of us probably do not dream large enough. A great deal is possible. We risk short changing ourselves and the world by not carefully considering what risks are worth taking to include what we truly care about in the precious time that is aloted to us in this life.
Radiant Refuge 