reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Category Archives: two artists tuesday


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constant constancy. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it feels like a bit of a homecoming. this trail is so familiar. yet it has been some time since we have been there, spending time on it. our absence – and its absence in our daily life – has not changed how it feels, though. that feeling we get – with our feet on its dirt – is still the same.

there is a constancy to some things. even in this ever-changing world, some things last.

this is the place we go to sort…a footpath that takes us through meadow and woods, bog and swamp and riverside.

each time we hike through – whether we have just been there or if it has been a long while – the trail reaches out to us – tendrils of soft air swirling around us – empty space for words or sighs or silence. it is a blank palette. we can choose to fill it or leave it blank – taking from it only what we need, knowing it will be there again the next time.

in these times of so.much.chaos, it feels like an imperative to find that which stays steadfast. instead of feeling like we are being whirled around, impacted by twisted intentions or mean-spirited cruelty, it is a matter of grounding to connect to the people or places or things that hold steady.

maybe it’s because of all the chaos, but we are finding that there are fewer and fewer of those people, places and things. does it just seem as though community is shrinking?

we wish we could be on the ditch trail or the trail up alongside the brook to the high mountain meadow. but for right now, this simple river trail brings us peace – with all its familiar twists and turns, the places we know to look for turtles, the sun patches where snakes sometimes sunbathe, the hawk’s screech overhead, the elusive deer in the briarpatch on the north end and in the woods down by the big curve in the river. just knowing it keeps us comforted, reassured.

the trail is relatively impervious to what is happening in this nation. fortunately, nature is doing its thing there and, for now, the trail and forest preserve are protected against invasive species and other things that would negatively impact it. it holds steady as the trail, not budging in its tender caregiving to the people who walk upon it, people who seek its quiet and its tenacity to maybe avoid this society’s current unrelenting assault on all their senses.

we are two of those people. grateful for this beautiful dirt path, grateful for its constant thick-and-thin constancy.

*****

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from our backdoor. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we have been spending a lot of time near home these days. with the uncertainty of our sweet old dogga, it is nearly impossible to make any plans to go away. we need to be here with him – through all the challenges his senior roller coaster presents.

and so, our hikes-for-miles are exchanged for walks-for-miles and are from our backdoor.

we take them at different times of day and in different weather. it is truly gobsmacking what is right nearby and, on these days close-to-home, we are taking care to notice that and appreciate it.

late on a stunning late-september afternoon – delaying dinner prep for a couple hours – we took off from home.

walking east along the marina we could see the smallest softest-pink half circle rising out of the lake. as we got closer, the pastel palette of sky continued to change hue – and the harvest moon began to make its way into the horizon.

we did absolutely nothing to help this moonrise – we simply stood in awe, staring at its stellar performance, soaking in the sheer beauty, the predictability of a moonrise, the comfort of something so normal yet so entirely gorgeous.

after a bit we noticed that many people had gathered on the rocks to watch, also obviously enchanted by it, also photographing it.

a sailboat was heading north and passed directly in front of the moon. as it continued to sail, people were comparing notes about their videos and photos of this moment in time – a moment we had all shared.

it was as if everyone was – for these minutes – on the same page. we could all agree that this soft-pink harvest moonrise was glorious.

if only all the rest of life-these-days were as aligned.

*****

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particularly now. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

for years now, walter and irma have had an ongoing spat about our backyard. they have argued over and over about whether or not we would everrrr get a flat feeder for them – this beautiful pair of cardinals who are loyal to our address.

every time walter would moan and complain irma would reassure him, “i know they will get one. just be patient,” she’d tweet at him, admonishing him for his lack of faith.

we have a “regular” hanging birdfeeder and we have a handed-down standing birdfeeder (which, right now, we aren’t stocking since it has been a source of sustenance for a very large raccoon family who are likely the culprits doing damage to our roof and our neighbor’s.)

but the flat feeder we had in our sights was a bit out of reach for our budget – wild birds unlimited has a really fabulous set-up: a pole that discourages even acrobatic squirrels (of which we have plenty), a little umbrella and flat feeder, various other feeders for various other species of birds and all in recycled plastic that should last throughout the seasons. just not really in the line-up of things-to-buy right now.

so walter was kind of right – his kvetching about our slow response to their flat-feeder-needs might have been well-earned.

until this week.

d and i love to watch our birds. particularly in these times. we sit on the deck or out on the patio (or even in the sunroom at our bistro table by the window) and watch them fly in and out, at the feeder, on the top of barney, at the birdbath or the pond – getting sips of water. they warm our hearts – these innocent creatures. they calm our spirits and they do us good.

it suddenly occurred to us that we might be able to just simply build our own flat feeder – out of scraps of wood in the basement – in order to at least tide over these cardinals and finches – particularly walter and irma – who like to eat their schnibbly seeds while looking all around them to keep safe.

we can totally understand the need to look all around to stay safe. we are all in that mode these days, i’d say. this country is giving us a run at what we can make our own efforts to save our democracy – to push back lurking authoritarianism that is the apex predator for us all.

and so we went into the basement and found the exact right size piece of scrap wood. some paint, glue and four screws, some hooks, some jute, screen that was rolled up in the rafter, and a shower hook later, we were ready for the royal couple.

d did the honor of hanging the feeder on the pole. we clapped and sat back and waited.

nothing happened.

not one bird even ventured near it.

here we were, trying our best to address their needs and not one of them even explored our new flat feeder.

the next day was the same.

and so was the next.

it was somewhat depressing.

and then….it happened.

suddenly, there was a cardinal on the edge of the feeder. and then he moved INTO the feeder. and then he started to munch on the safflower in there!!

not a big moment in the overall scheme of things – particularly now – but a moment nonetheless.

for we saw a need and we tried to address it. even the creatures and critters around us have needs. it may not be fancy – or the most perfect flat feeder – but in these times if we just all do the best we can, offer the best we can – in every way – it makes a difference.

walter and irma perched on the fence at the back line.

irma glanced over at walter, “see?” she said.

from the patio, i swear i could see walter rolling his eyes.

but i also could hear his tiny brain, “she’s always right.”

even so, he turned toward her. and with a belly full of safflower seeds, he chirped to irma, “i love it.“

we each have a chance to make a positive difference in these days. whether big or small – or even tiny – everything counts. in our own homes, in the backyard, in the ‘hood or our community, in our state and in our country, in this beautiful world – which desperately needs us to participate in goodness. particularly now.

*****

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things enchanting. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

such beauty.

i don’t know who – in our town’s parks department – is responsible for plotting what will be planted in the big urn planters around the city or in the hanging pots or in the gardens…but my hat is off to that person. their grasp of color and texture and how they all juxtapose with each other is exquisite. and it shows in each and every planter and garden.

regardless of who it is – precisely, who is the designer – there are many, many others on crews who spend all their working hours tending these gardens, watering and weeding and deadheading – the zillion little tasks that make a garden look effortlessly stunning.

our city has taken inordinate care of these gardens and planting vessels all through the years, preserving the zen people feel while walking in and amongst the yield of this hard work. we are both proud of these gardens and grateful for them, walking through practically every day, noticing the tiny nuances of change as the seasons move – the late spring planting into summer into fall. the smell of cocoa mulch permeates the garden down by the lake and – between the scent of flowers and cocoa – it is enchanting and heavenly.

eric hanson’s video speaks to the current administration’s shrinking of national monuments bears’ ears and grand staircase-escalante national monuments. no small reduction, these federally protected lands lost 90% of their acreage. this reduction opens these lands up to private exploitation, ignoring the native spiritual and conservation environmental regulations that kept them safe and not accessible to road-building or the deployment of heavy machinery for resource mining. these vulnerable lands are gorgeous, part of the history of these United States, enchanting and inviting, a piece of heaven not only for native peoples but for the entire populace of this nation – which – as the video pointed out – are literally owned by we-the-people.

why it is that the administration would work to eliminate protecting the natural beauty of our country is truly beyond the scope of my imagination. so is the rest of what this administration is doing – i simply cannot comprehend the vile, heinous stuff they are – ruthlessly – enacting.

each day our at-least-3.5-mile walk takes us past our city’s gardens and planters along the harbor channel and inland around the marina. each day we are grateful for the careful attention paid to these places of beauty.

the times i have been in utah’s canyonlands or near any of its wild have spoken to my soul. there is a deep root connection to the earth there, a glorious sense of the freedom that is supposedly the law of this land, and sheer enchantment and wonder at how anything could possibly be so stunning.

again, i say, they-in-this-administration have no reverence. for anything.

and as a person with a finite life – just like all of them – i cannot begin to grok the shortsightedness of that.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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little by little. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it seems impossible. how did we get to the end of september? where has all the time gone?

in the middle of the chaos that is now this country’s daily life, we have lost time. it would seem we have lost more than that.

the leaf is on the sidewalk. it looks like someone has crayoned around the edges.

little by little chlorophyll is lost from the leaf, brown steadily moves inward, closer and closer to the stem.

little by little the chaos seeps into the country’s veins, the inhumanity is normalized, the rights disappear, the constitution is ignored.

little by little necrosis seeps toward the innermost part of the leaf.

little by little authoritarianism seeps into the heart, the law of the people.

little by little the leaf curls to its cells dying.

little by little people are silent – or – are silenced. little by little air is removed from the populace.

how is this even real life?

the leaf is browning – from stress, lack of water, damage. it is dying – from the outside in. it feels too metaphoric to even write about.

the goodness is fading – from gluttony, grift, damaging corruption, out-and-out cruelty. the country is flailing.

how much green is left? where has all the time gone?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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distinctly nebulous. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i’m not sure i ever noticed the shadow. for decades i’ve looked at sky and clouds and contrails and rows and floes of angel hair (oops – off-track, there)….but i don’t know that i ever noticed the shadow.

there are days that some new learning just utterly astounds you – even something really basic, something that has been there all along, something as simple as some word you’ve incorrectly spelled all-your-life. the possibilities are endless. we are fortunate that way.

we were out the other day and someone asked us if we were “retired“. we laughed, mostly because that isn’t an easy question for us. “retired” implies that one has completed the working portion of their life and has moved into a phase wherein one collects some sort of pension or retirement and one does, well, whatever one wants.

we answered that our son calls us “nebulously retired“. the guy who asked us laughed. and we added that we are artists and artists don’t really retire. we don’t report to a certain place each day at a certain time for a certain wage but we don’t stop working either. artistry is an ongoing thing, whether or not it earns you a pension.

artistry also calls you to keep learning, to keep asking questions, to be intrigued, to hone your skills, to work at it – no matter your age or stage.

and so, the contrail shadow made me curious and i looked it up – this seeming optical illusion of line on the bank of clouds that were, apparently, below it. it is a little mind-twisting. but oh-so-interesting and photo-worthy.

though photography has not been any official part of my artistry it is something i have always loved. ever since my sweet momma and poppo gave me a 35mm camera for my early-high-school-graduation, i have carried cameras around with me. with the advent of phone cameras that are better than most older digital cameras, i am even more zealous now. the contrail invited me to take its picture. and it’s too easy.

and, yes, it’s too easy to just keep going, keep creating, keep learning – even nebulously. we both keep it fluid – this relationship with our artistry. the line is vague, the distinction is indistinct, blurry.

we are sometimes the contrail and sometimes the shadow and sometimes the clouds upon which the shadow is cast. and we like it that way. distinctly nebulous.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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farmstand happy. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

standing in the outbuilding on the farm, we both felt a little bit gleeful. the sweet peppers in front of us were so, well, freaking happy. their glossy lime green, tangerine orange and lipstick red funky shapes just about did us in.

and that wasn’t the whole of it. there were mini white cucumbers and multicolored corking jalapeños, gorgeous tomatoes and giant squash, the freshest parsley and every kind of onion. it was just too much. we were ecstatic.

between the lettuce-elimination campaign and all the food recalls – in a country that seemingly doesn’t want us to actually eat – we have found a new way that isn’t new at all: the farmstands.**

in less than two weeks we have been to farmstands four times. we have loaded up with eggplant, zucchini and tomatoes from a tiny stand out a-ways and we already have a list to go back. we are just weary of the worry about produce coming in to grocery stores from places where some process or another has caused alarm about its food safety.

and we have a new source for lettuce too, so take that! you lettuce-spoilers. our town has a hydroponic grower who offers various lettuces (their butter lettuce is divinely fresh!) and microgreens we are anxious to try.

we spent labor day weekend food-prepping: quinoa tabouli, homemade tomato sauce, basil cubes (from the basil in our garden). we made spaghetii squash for the sauce, had eggplant and zucchini on last week’s menu, fabulously fresh tomato and cucumber sandwiches for lunch. it’s time to push back and eating from as much local as we can get is how we can do it.

they recognized us when we came back the second and third times and they suggested we consider a community supported agriculture food share (CSA) for next year. we’ll see. it’s a possibility and they could clearly see that in our exuberance – as we continue to ride gleefully on our farmstand wave of happy.

*****

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** beaver creek gardens and funkin farm farmstands

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drink it in. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we moved the sweet potato vine from the ladder on the deck. between the heat and the rain, it was struggling. we weren’t sure it was going to make it, which seems odd for a sweet potato vine, usually pretty invincible.

no matter, we thought, it needed to be moved so that it might have a chance. we transplanted it into a bigger pot and placed it on top of barney – a spot with maybe a bit more sun.

and then we watched it.

with few green leaves still on the vine, we feared it would not last.

but that little sweet potato surprised us. with little-engine-that-could chutzpah, it soaked up the sun, its perch on barney, visits from squirrels and cardinals, house sparrows and finches. and it started to recuperate.

it greened up – into that really rich chartreuse – life-affirming lime-green fabulousness. more leaves sprouted their way from the vine that started to extend across the keyboard. it started to look thicker, more vibrant, even verdant.

and – in the way that we see things – we drank in the simple-but-outstanding gorgeous juxtaposition of green and aging piano wood. stunning.

it is certain. color can help.

with all the ugly in this world right now, we could stare at that for a time and breathe.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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time to fly. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it is of note that i had to look it up – the first day of school in our town. i am no longer in touch with the district calendar; it no longer has any real bearing on our calendar.

today is the first day. wisconsin has some kind of rule (protecting late summer tourism) that school start must be in the month of september, so september 1st it is.

there is a certain feeling i get in my stomach on the first day of school – even when i, and now my children, have far outgrown this day. though i loved attending school back in the day, it was hard when summer had drawn to a close and my children had to go back to the structure of the school calendar. i missed them being at home. it was hard when i – during the years i taught in public schools – had to adhere to that structured calendar, those structured days. and then, my children’s college years – which presented even more mom-challenges for me. change is tough and redefining oneself as school starts gets those belly-butterflies going.

we drove past one of the colleges in our town and starting talking about jobs for which we had applied at the various higher level education institutions in our town. in the end we were both grateful to have not received offers from any of them. we talked about our lives as artists and that having our own businesses – as difficult as it is, with many pressures and worries – was more our cup of tea. there is no summer-ending-start date or summer-nearing-end date, no defined work hours or time-off dates or in-service dates for your own business. there is also no salary chart or healthcare plan, retirement savings or pension program, employee assistance program or life insurance. nevertheless, our businesses – individually and mutually – have been that which gives us flight and that is what we wish for all, recognizing that everyone will choose differently.

in these days of an administration that pushes back on actual learning of actual facts about actual things that actually happened, i wonder how teachers are dealing with the dumbing-down, the skeletonizing of our country’s history, of literature, of the arts, of science.

i want to believe that children – as they start school again – have – at their fingertips – a wide open horizon that invites them to find their own compass and to follow in the direction or directions they choose.

i would like to believe that they will be encouraged – by our government as well as their teachers – to explore and to dream, to research and to check their work, to seek answers as well as questions.

i would like to believe that they will see that anything is possible for them – if they work at it.

on this first day of school, i wish for each school child to be able to run at the horizon and jump, following their natural instinct to learn, to grow and, mostly, to fly.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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coleus-rich. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it was $2.49. it sat in the midst of lots of other tiny coleus plants, on sale. the colors spoke to us and, though we weren’t planning on potting a coleus, we couldn’t resist the sale. this little plant has literally done better than any other plant we have purchased this year, including the two sweet potato vines we have placed on ladders – which usually rock, but have been just too inundated with rain and heat this year.

just goes to show you that something doesn’t have to be really expensive in order for it to be exquisite.

the color patterns on this coleus remind me of things you did as a kid: when you put celery in a tall glass and added water and food coloring. then you watched the food dye climb up the xylem of the stalk. or maybe when you went to summer rec and made cool tie-dye t-shirts (when you weren’t making braided plastic-lacing lanyards).

we spent time on the deck studying our plants and potting stand. the weather has really taken a toll on our herbs and tomatoes. they will likely not last until the bitter end of summer this year, which is too bad in a season when you can’t feel comfortable with store-bought parsley or basil or cilantro or, well, many produce items. or eggs. or bacon. or beef. or granola. or – the big one – lettuce. it all makes one’s head spin…so we are sad to have a garden that is diminishing too soon.

our coleus, however, is apparently going to gleefully hang out for a while. one piece that broke off from strong winds in a thunderstorm is inside in a jar of water. it has rooted and we’ll plant it, hoping to carry the happy coleus into the fall and beyond.

we budgeted and planned for our potting stand and went a bit over, having to replace a few herbs along the way. the extra was fine with us – we can cut back somewhere else – for we find this little garden a joy. and in the middle of the salmonella-e.coli-cyclospora scares, we have been grateful for access to its harvest. though the produce return-on-investment may not be the same as buying bulk produce or herbs at the store, harvesting our own has – once again – inspired us. and this year – in particular – it kept us from buying anything worrisome. maybe next year we will add a few more veggies to our garden. maybe a galvanized raised garden or two.

in the meanwhile – between the time that the potting stand no longer produces and the time we plant again – in fall and winter as we plot a new crop of plants and think about the possibility of a farmstand subscription (CSA), we will glance over at our indoor coleus and remember the riches of this summer – even the ones that were just $2.49.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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