I killed our first bonsai tree, a gift from my sister, back in 1974. It was a lovely little 12-year-old Chinese elm. I'd read that they like being outside, so I left it on the balcony of our apartment in Colorado where it was covered with snow a number of times during the first winter ('73). By early spring, it became clear that my understanding of the climate requirements for the little trees could have been a little more nuanced. I wince to think about what it might look like by now.
Since then, however, I have killed even a few more, mostly due to neglect. That record belies my huge admiration for the art of bonsai. Because I so love that Asian aesthetic, I have leafed through umpteen books and websites on the subject and make a beeline for any display or show. I have started a few and have given some as gifts, but am "caring" for only two, at the moment.
I have seen the notices that there is a local bonsai club, but haven't seen anything about a show until last week. Just one day, Sunday, in Grass Valley. We finished the garden tour just in time to check it out. Tom enjoys them, as well, fortunately.
They were breathtaking! It all took place in one room, and we could see a workshop in progress in the corner. But most of the space was taken up with long tables beautifully arranged, row upon row, with bonsai of all sorts: one as young as two weeks, another 50 years of age. Of course, bonsai is truly a hobby for those with a bit of patience. We have seen them hundreds of years old. That's a commitment.
Hard to pick a fave from the show, but the larch (fourth photo) was right up there. The one before it is a maple; the one after is a spruce--so cool, right? I particularly love the Japanese white and black pines, junipers and ginkos. We're also crazy about the little forests and non-bo (Vietnamese variation).
At the moment, I have a brand new ginko (a month old), and a19 or 20-year-old juniper (one of our Del Mar Fair purchases), that I've neglected off and on for the last 9 or 10 years since we've had it. A little neglect can be a good thing, actually. Gives them character.
Recently, I've bought a few refugees (half-price due to damage of some kind) from a local nursery and am thinking about giving them a bit of dignity by turning them into bonsai. They've been pre-neglected, so they shouldn't be so shocked by my treatment of them. They'll be so full of character soon.
This weekend we had a little fun stomping around in the yards of perfect strangers over a couple of days. The local Soroptimist group organizes this annual garden tour each spring. We decided to support the good cause and explore a few new neighborhoods in the area.
Seven gardens, two days. We decided to split it up.
As with many other parts of California and beyond, the weather pattern has been a bit unusual this year. Saturday and Sunday mornings were 32 degrees around 6:15am. That means it had been even cooler at some point in the wee hours. That fact was confirmed by the obvious demise of some wonderful tomato and basil plants I had neglected to protect, thinking danger of frost was so last week.
So, the tour. We took sun hats and raincoats. And used them both. We started with the two western-most gardens where the elevation is a bit lower and the climate generally warmer. They were next door to each other and located on a hill with spectacular, 100-mile views. Only one of them had a truly interesting garden, however. We loved the 18 kinds of lavender, salvia and other colorful low shrubs--more would have been in bloom, but it's been too cool. That's the photo at right. They also grow enough of all kinds of berries to keep Marie Callender in business. Some inspiring stuff, there.
Higher up, nearer our neck of the woods, some of the other gardens had reported snow flurries. We chose one in the tall pines. Lovely, deep green, forested backdrop with shade-loving flowering plants and a beautiful little greenhouse made from recycled materials. Other features included a wisteria that had climbed up a 70' incense cedar and lots of wild dogwood. It was probably our favorite. Soft ice of some kind was falling from the sky.
Next day, we saw the smallest (1 acre) and the largest (80 acres) in the same neighborhood. Both were lovely. The larger one takes two full-time jobs to maintain even though much of it has been left natural. More giant wisteria, one beautiful lawn area (fourth photo). Apples, kiwi, berries, grapes, and every other kind of edible. More like a little farm.
The last two were up by Scott's Flat Lake, about 15 minutes north of us. The first offered a spectacular backyard view of the forest and lake. Big demerits, though (!), for about 5000 sq ft of fake lawn. Really? On a garden tour? OK, but they gave us brownies and lemonade, so... The last place, on the other side of the lake, was a 40-acre spread with many large ponds and a stream. There had been five gold mines on the property, so the owner has restored part of one (that's me, inside), plus lots of other mining equipment, a stagecoach station, cabins and too much other stuff to mention. There were shuttles to move folks around. Impressive! Like a little state park.
So, we got some ideas (more lavender), became inspired (more berries!), and felt energized to get a few more projects underway outside soon (pathways, more bark mulch, like, everywhere, and a little greenhouse, maybe). That is, as soon as it stops raining.
OH, oh! And after the last garden on Sunday, we had time to catch the last 40 minutes of a wonderful bonsai show put on by the local bonsai club! That's worth a set of it's own photos...
Our good friend, Kyle Becchetti, posted a lovely photo of one of her mother-in-laws beautiful quilts today in Facebook. It reminded me that, a few weeks ago, I scooted over to my favorite fairgrounds (a spur-of-the-moment decision) to view the annual quilt show hosted by our local Pine Tree Quilt Guild (I think it should be Pine Needle Quilt Guild, but no one asks me about these things).
Anyway, quilting is big-time up here. I learned this fact about a month after we'd moved here and I went looking for some solid (unprinted) fabric for some banners someone wanted me to make--and could find precious little (later I learned about the one store that caters more to the "clothing construction" market).
While I have made a few unremarkable quilts in my time, and may, someday, make others, I haven't really embraced that particular craft for myself in a wholehearted manner. 
And I must admit that, since I don't really love most printed fabric, most of the quilts I see, though very impressive to me as handiwork, don't grab me artistically. But, to be in the midst of 350 of them is like being lost in a kaleidoscope! It was just lovely to be in the midst of so much careful hand work. I wanted to touch each one (a no-no!) as a tribute to the maker--to say "I love that you did this!". Why I ever even considered not going over there, I can't fathom, now.
So, here are just a few shots of my trip to the quilt show. I don't know why some are fuzzy. Many of them did, in fact, grab me and many more just floored me with their amazing craftsmanship.
I also, in the vendor area, I test-drove a crazy machine that must cost as much as a car (I didn't ask). But if I quilted for a living, I definitely think I'd figure out a way to get one. You can see it in the last photo. The quilt is stretched on rollers and the quilter grabs the two handles and just guides the sewing needle/thread (hidden behind the near handle) freestyle with almost no effort--and all the stitches are equal, no matter how fast or slow the quilter moves it. I made some scribbles there in the foreground.
Sew, anyway, I was inspired and humbled and my eyes were happy I went. Next time I'll try to hold the camera still, for heaven's sake.
I suppose we might be considered somewhat-less-than-avid fans of the sport of bike racing. We saw "Breaking Away", have followed a bit of news about the Tour d' France from time to time (egads, the thighs!); I have, indeed, heard of Greg LaMond and might even recognize Lance Armstrong on the street. Close up. If he introduced himself.
But our little Nevada City is really into this thing. They're about to host the 50th anniversary Nevada City Classic in June--a race that Lance Armstrong won last year. Bike people know about Nevada City.
But yesterday (Sunday), Stage One of the Amgen Tour of California started here (http://www.amgentourofcalifornia.com/). One living in this area could only fail to be made aware of this sometime in the last several months if one were in a deep coma--and even then I'm not sure it would be possible to escape the orgasmic excitement of locals for whom this event is a true Olympics-grade event. OK, then. We'll check it out.
The Tour (as we now refer to it around our house) is an eight-stage, eight-day race. This is the fourth annual Tour and it is the biggest, baddest bike race in the US since it started. Each stage is 100 or more miles long. Stage One began in Nevada City and ended in front of the Capitol a little over four hours later. The last stage is a circuit race in the Thousand Oaks area, where the primary sponsor, Amgen, is located (Amgen makes treatments for cancer and other life-threatening diseases). The other stages take place all over the state. There are 16 teams, eight riders to a team. 128 athletes.
Lance Armstrong and Levi Leipheimer (last year's winner) ride for Team Radio Shack. Our favorite Team is Team Jelly Belly. They have the funnest (sorry) RV (see photo below--from after the race) and passed out a lot of free Jelly Bellies (my allegiance can be bought with surprisingly few beans). Also, they are riding to raise funds for our local organization, Women of Worth (WOW) who are very active in the prevention/recovery of domestic violence here. Go Team Jelly Belly!
So, Tom and I just hopped in the car with no plan, parked in the first open spot we could find and inadvertently walked into the center of the activity as the team buses/bikes were arriving. All the teams have those giant apartment-sized RVs (with the riders inside), plus lots of cars trailing behind, each with, like $50 grand in bikes on the top. In the first photo, there's a photo of Team Radio Shack arriving. We then walked the short distance to Downtown Nevada City, to the Start line, and scoped out a good spot on the curb from which to watch the start of the race (second photo).
Big crowds. Lots of support vehicles--CHP cruisers, about 50 BMW motorcycles with "Photo" or "Marshall" signs, a sign-pick-up car (like they roll up the race after the last rider), a "broom" vehicle with whisk brooms decorating the grill (clean-up of some kind, I guess--I don't know-it's not like they're riding horses), ambulances, neutral bike-parts cars (with spare wheels, etc.), and so on. Pretty interesting, actually.
So, the race started. The riders, moving uphill, swooshed by in a few seconds. Then, we skittered to a spot half a block away from which to watch as they made a turn going downhill on another street before heading off to Grass Valley and beyond. We snapped a whole lot of pictures. As I processed them afterward, I saw that we each got a random shot or two of Lance and Levi, not knowing where in the pack they were riding at the time. In the first rider pic (you'll have to mag in by clicking), Levi is the first Radio Shack guy at the front (red/gray jerseys), just to the left of blue Team Garmin guy and Lance is right behind him. Lance has the white helmet. In the second rider pic, Lance is the rider at the extreme right of the photo.
And that was it. Over by lunch time. I think we're still somewhat less-than-avid bike race enthusiasts, but there's nothing like some local excitement to lure us into that world for a few hours, anyway. Maybe we'll check out the Classic (as we're calling it around here now) next month...
Everyone loves spring. Even me. I've harped about how much I love winter, but I think spring has won me over--again. As I've also mentioned, it's good that I have planted so many bulbs around, because I think it helps ease the transition (as do the periodic freezing storms coming through about once a week). Currently, the dutch iris are my patio stars. There will be other kinds popping up soon (Pacific Coast, Siberian, and a bearded or two), but these little beauties stop me in my tracks every day. Here's just one.
And the trees! The western redbuds (native to this area) are just fading. Here's one near our mailboxes from two weeks ago. I planted one last year, anxious to bring that same delicious raspberry-sherbet color into our yard each year.
This (following photo) is ours. (sigh) Next year, maybe.
Right now, this very minute, the dogwoods are in spectacular bloom everywhere. 
I can hardly believe I'm not driving around out there right now from tree to tree just to gape. I took this picture a week ago near downtown Grass Valley, but they and their white kin are everywhere. And this (next photo) is ours. The cage isn't keeping it in, FYI, it's keeping the munchy little deer out. I just know next year it will be awesome...
We get out more when the weather warms up, especially at night. Last weekend, we went to see "Into the Woods" by Sondheim at a theater in GV. SO much fun! Clever, fast-moving (almost frantic, sometimes), poignant, joyful--plan to see it somewhere, if you haven't yet had the opportunity!
Of course, I'm also working outdoors more of the time. A week ago, I realized I had been bitten by a deer tick. No big deal. I'm looking at the place on my arm where it's little grabby jaws are still embedded. But everyone else is watching me like a hawk, looking for the first signs of Lyme disease. (sigh, again) No worries...
Finally, speaking of hawks, there is a permanent red-tail hawks' nest near the top of a Ponderosa pine tree down the hill that we watch every year since we moved in (which is three years ago last April 11). It's difficult to see with the naked eye, but with binocs, we've watched parents raise one or two chicks, taking turns with hunting and nest duty. Except last year. Last year (the third time we'd been spying in on their little drama), the adults took turns sitting for about a month before abandoning the whole affair one day. Something didn't go as planned, apparently.
This year, however, in the month or so that I've been watching, they've sat on and hatched two eggs. We see the nest almost straight on, so we can't tell how many there are until we see their little white heads bobbing around above the edge. Last week, we spotted them through the binoculars. Oh, so cute and funny. Wobbly little heads looking like fuzzy golf balls, two round black bbs for eyes.
When Dylan was here this last weekend, he couldn't see much and asked about using the telescope. I replied that I'd tried it once and didn't have any success. So, yesterday, I thought I'd try again. OMG! I guess I hadn't focused correctly the first time, or had the wrong lens in, or something lame, but now, we can easily watch the mom/dad tearing up some unfortunate small lizard into smaller, bite-sized pieces to feed her two beautiful downy white babies. We keep the scope out on the deck and walk by about a hundred times a day, now, to check on the little family. So clear! Just now, a parent was standing on the edge whilst one little guy tried flapping its little nubby wings. We'll try to figure out how to photograph the scene. I'm sure there's a way. It's a highlight of the season.
Ah, spring.
Mother's Day. I'm not really the biggest fan of the traditional concept of Mother's Day, as it happens. The reasons are blah blah and yadda yadda. However, one related aspect of it that I do like is a powerful declaration--a poem, really--written by Julia Ward Howe in 1970 as a part of her effort to raise support for recognition of a "Mother's Day for Peace" after the Civil War. She was unsuccessful, but it probably did start the ball rolling toward what ultimately became Mother's Day in 1914. Read the poem and some related pages about JWH if you like here: http://womenshistory.about.com/od/howejwriting/a/mothers_day.htm
Meanwhile, Dylan and Rachel did drive up from San Francisco on Sunday in a cute little CityShare Mini Cooper to hang out for a couple of days. Of course, we had some fun! For one thing, I can't get enough pizza. I could eat it every day. But Tom and I usually restrict ourselves to once a week on Sunday. About half the time, I make it from scratch, dough and all. That's what we did Sunday evening, each of us assembling one--the results of which you can see on the table, here (Tom's creation is still in the oven). And, yes, those are two eggs that baked on top of Dylan's masterpiece--a little unusual and it works!
Because both kids had to work on Monday, our breakfast table looked like this for awhile (Rachel didn't feel quite ready for prime time, so maybe you can tell that I helped her out a bit--what are mothers for?).
In the next photo, you can see that Tom has passed his passion for working crosswords puzzles on to them, as well. So proud!
I did shamelessly play the "Mother's Day" card once by obligating them to follow me all over the property to look at the garden and rattle on about the baby trees I'd been planting. Fortunately we squeezed that little tour in on Sunday afternoon, as a wild and crazy spring storm was approaching. Monday was an indoor day as it rained and blew and hailed and even snowed a bit outside (this morning, there was a thin layer of granular snow on the deck!).
So, yes. I can have my little opinions about a day set aside for honoring mothers AND love that my kids are so sweet as to generously give me so much time from their busy lives on that same day. So sue me!
So, let's see...where were we?
Last post was almost a month ago. What's up with that?
It seems I just took a little break for some reason known only to my lizard brain.
It's not that we've stopped living such extraordinarily interesting, highly news-worthy lives. Goodness, no! We've each been to SoCal, separately, to visit our respective moms (cute photos of Tom's visit will follow shortly). We went to see a fine production of "Snow Falling on Cedars" put on by CATS (Something Asian Theater Something). Really good! Um, oh, and Sunday afternoon we attended a wonderful choral concert by the "other" major choir in our area. Gorgeous music! Hm. We spent a day visiting the kids in SF: Rachel just back from two weeks in Uruguay (review=totally cool!) and Dylan having just hired a part-time carpenter to help him meet his growing demands. I have about a 100 more photos of spring around here. Breathtaking. The dogwoods are in bloom (!!--next post). The garden is coming along. Some ups, some not so much. The knitting--well, I just keep doing it.
And the weather! Today is Tuesday. Last Wednesday, the middle day of a big storm, I drove to choir practice through 1/2 inch of hail on the ground while it was snowing. Morning walks were in 32 degrees. Every week prior to this one has brought at least two or three days of rain. Just the way I like it!
See? Plenty of action!
So, while I can't really explain it, I feel like doing this again. And, just in time, too.
I haven't had a very productive year, so far, art-wise (though I'm starting to pick up the pace, again). One reason for it has been that, at long last (I've owned the url for 13-14 years), I have a live website! Tom is the hero, here. He's been working on learning, and then implementing, the languages of website-ness for a couple of years, now. You've probably seen Dylan's cool site. It's a very time-consuming and tedious process, to build a good site from scratch. But, after Dylan's went "live", Tom began pushing me to organize and re-configure my art photos--which just took forever. Aargh! All that Photoshopping! But he kept nudging.
And now, here it is! http://www.24carrot.com
Check it out! See what you think! I haven't yet developed the "archives" section of the site, in which I'll be putting pics of a lot of the staging work, grad nights, and other miscellaneous trouble I was in to for awhile. Most of that stuff isn't digital, so it will take a little more time to process. Don't hold your breath. But Tom will keep nudging, of course...
So, we're back. Stay tuned...
I killed our first bonsai tree, a gift from my sister, back in 1974. It was a lovely little 12-year-old Chinese elm. I'd read that they like being outside, so I left it on the balcony of our apartment in Colorado where it was covered with snow a number of times during the first winter ('73). By early spring, it became clear that my understanding of the climate requirements for the little trees could have been a little more nuanced. I wince to think about what it might look like by now.
