tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-203782752024-03-12T18:22:04.616-05:00RUGHOOKER.Provides information about rug hooking and incidentally shares some aspects of the life of a dedicated rug hooker. There is another blog that discusses the farm aspects of this hookers life at http://gibbydogblog.blogspot.com HREF="http://www.kiva.org" TARGET="_top">
<img src="http://media.kiva.org/kivaBannerSmall_D.jpg" width="120" height="57" alt="Kiva - loans that change lives" border="0" align="bottom">Rughookerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14998228257558738454noreply@blogger.comBlogger173125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20378275.post-17356068105180334762016-06-19T23:48:00.001-05:002016-06-19T23:53:13.067-05:00I know I haven't blogged since cancer and heart trouble interrupted my life, but I didn't realize how much time has passed. Anyway, I'm back.<br />
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I just got home last night from my driving adventure to and from California. My original goal was Cambria Pines Rug Camp in Cambria, CA. The drive out was uneventful until I found myself lost on a winding road that ended at a gate with a sign saying, "STOP Private Property You can't get to the ocean this way". I knew then that I was at least somewhere near the ocean. That whole little trip took three hours, an hour and a half in and the same going out. Every time the car was going faster than 10 mph I thought it was going to go over the edge - there was a steep drop-off on both sides. The best part was when I stopped and a turkey ran across in front of me and then a deer trotted across the road behind me. About an hour later I arrived a day early at Cambria Pines Lodge. I tried to camp at the state park, but it was full, so I slept in my car in the lodge parking lot. Slept pretty well, too.<br />
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My teacher at camp was Monika Jones and she gets my high recommendation. I arrived at camp with a vague rug plan. I had drawn two horses and thought they could go in a tall narrow rug that could fit on the wall with my rainbow bridge rug. My explanation was vague and Monika didn't seem too interested - so I made a new plan. I drew four new horses, each in a different part of training. Each horse represented one of my late horses. One in western pleasure training, one in dressage training, one going over cavaletti preparatory to learning to jump, and one bowing the way Chuck Grant taught me to teach my stallion, Dan Bally, to bow. The four horses were quickly hooked and then Monika suggested I do the background in what she calls "messy hooking" and I call "antigodlin". June Mikoryak explained antigodlin to me by saying it was the way the old hookers did it and that was what they called it. She said the loops should look like someone had dropped a handful of rice in the bottom of a bowl.<br />
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Rainbow Bridge rug, unfinished<br />
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Drawings for my original rug plan<br />
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Horse training rug in process<br />
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I'll show/explain more in another blog - it's almost one AM and I'm ready to pet my dogs and go to sleep. I'd like to finish the training rug and then explain with photos how I developed ideas that resulted in the rainbow bridge rug.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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1. Behind the barn</div>
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2. Gadget with bagel</div>
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3. Happy Gadget</div>
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4. Horse: Knight</div>
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5. Horse: Mare</div>
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6. Horse: Mare in Foal</div>
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7. Horses in Fall Pasture</div>
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8. Pig: Wilbur</div>
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9. Pig: Grazing</div>
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This was a newspaper ad from World War II<br />
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The art center had lovely amber jewelry, pottery, dolls, and rugs. The rugs were woven, not hooked, but very interesting anyway. They were hung quite high, so I couldn't get a close look at them.<br />
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This rug showed the Polish national symbol.<br />
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These trees are some kind of fiber art, a combination of weaving and braiding and I'm not sure what else.<br />
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This store is a polish grocery - with fresh kielbasa and more kinds of pierogies than I've ever seen. I brought some home to try.<br />
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The bakery was amazing - such smells and sights! I avoided buying anything, but couldn't help thinking about eating all of them.<br />
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This last photo shows my half eaten dinner - in the Polish Village restaurant. I had kielbasa, stuffed cabbage, sauerkraut, mashed potatoes, potato pancakes, and city chicken - and every bite I had was better than the one before. I've never had a restaurant meal as good - every single item was delicious. I didn't eat all of it - I have a great big doggy bag to have for dinner tomorrow (and maybe the next day, too.)</div>
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My father, if he was still alive, would absolutely croak if he knew what I did on the way home. He planned our trips to the last second. He spent the winter with maps, a drawing board, and a little measuring wheel, and planned where we would go each summer weekend plus a three week camping trip. He planned where we would eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner and where we would camp every night and exactly how long it would take to get wherever. By the time I was in college and had summer jobs and no more family camping, I had slept under canvas in most states of the union and all over Canada. My dad's planning worked well for us - but somehow, I have not been able to be that precise (did I tell you my dad was an accountant?).<br />
<em>I left Old Salt early Saturday, got to Amherst, NS about 2:00, visited Deanne Fitzpatrick's shop (where I learned there were no more stone handled hooks :( but there were lots of other great things) so I then went to Frenchy's where I didn't find any good wool but did get some dog toys and a Dick Francis book. The next time I stopped was at a McDonald's in Monkton, NB. where I ran my seat back and picked up my Dick Francis book to read for a while. A car pulled in next to me and the driver made a pleasant comment. When they came back later, they noticed the Ann Arbor car dealership ad on the front of my car and told me they live in London and have spent a lot of time in Ann Arbor. They said they travel back and forth a lot and suddenly had me talked into traveling home through the states. I knew I could go into Maine at Houlton, but followed their advice and went to Calais - which was a lovely ride through Bay of Fundy influenced land, much more interesting than the Houlton route, but it put me on a small, windy road when I got into Maine. The two-lane road might have been interesting in daylight, but a lot of fog lowered visibility early and made driving after dark hazardous - but there was nowhere to stop. It took hours to finally get to 95, the main expressway that goes south through Maine. When I found the first rest stop, I crawled into the back seat and slept for 8 hours. I did that part of the trip without planning or a map or anything and was pretty darned pleased I reached somewhere reasonable, but I could picture my dad shaking his head.</em><br />
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<em>By the time I got down to Massachusetts the next day, I was doing the same thing I did on my trip to California - I was thinking about my family connections along the way. At one point, I even passed an Otis town line, and Otis is my mother's family name. The Otis family came from England on the ship that came after the Mayflower (one of the Otis men married one of Richard Warren's daughters, so I can claim to descend from a Mayflower passenger.) There are some great early Otis stories - one John Otis, I forget which generation, was captured by the French and shipped to Martinique where the French promised to return him and then poisoned him to death. His son, another John Otis, went to sea against his widowed mother's wishes and was captured by pirates. He was such a good sailor, the pirate captain agreed to let him free if he sailed with the pirates for a year. The captain didn't keep his word, so John Otis and his friends mutineed, captured the pirate ship and turned in the captain to be hanged. Massachusetts went by pretty fast while I was thinking about pirates, so I reached New York and stopped for the night.</em><br />
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<em>In New York, I had a family story that is also part of the story told in rugs in one of the displays in the museum. One Otis family moved to New York and lived in a block house. One night, they made a huge mistake and let some of the local Indians spend the night in the blockhouse. Those Indians opened the gates and allowed a war party in to slaughter and capture the entire family. The youngest child was murdered in front of her father (another John Otis) who was then killed, and his third wife and two young sons were marched off to French Canada. The boys were raised by priests who pronounced their name Oddise, and their mother was married to a Frenchman. Years later, after the Frenchman died, she left her French children behind and walked alone back to New York. There was a surviving son in New York who was later killed by Indians when walking home from church.</em><br />
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<em>Another, as yet unrelated, branch of my family was also in New York, and I'm reminded of this part of my family when I see signs for the Mohawk Valley and Herkimer, New York. In Germany, in the 1600s, there was an area called The Palatines, where for decades people were starving. Warfare and bad weather had ruined crops and thousands of people left. Many walked to Amsterdam and found passage to England and too many stayed in Amsterdam. There was a false rumor that England would give them land. Soon, there were too many Palatine refugees in London. The English Queen (Anne, I think) solved a couple problems by sending the Germans to settle on land grants between the English settlers and the Indians, a clever buffer or line of defense for the English settlers. One of the Palatine families was the Spanknebles (Anglicized spelling) and they had a son Johan (our family needed another John!) who fought in the bloodiest battle of the American Revolution, the Battle of Oriskany, under General Herkimer. When this brave young man pioneered in Illinois many years later, his name had evolved into John Sponable. His daughter married Harris Otis and became my second great grandmother. Her beloved husband was killed by an exploding anvil when celebrating the Union winning the Battle of Vicksburg. She took her four childen to Vermont to be raised with family back where most of the Otis family still lived (someday I'll get to go to a Green Mountain rug show and tell the stories about that era in the family) Last year, I met Otis cousins who live on the original Sponable land grant in Marengo, Illinois. I slept Sunday night at a New York rest stop.</em><br />
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<em>Somehow, on Monday, I stayed on 90 all the way to Buffalo and found my way to the bridge back to Canada. In Buffalo, I thought about Millard Fillmore, nephew of my great-grandmother's great-grandfather, his grandfather would be my sixth great-grandfather but that is too complicated to sort out and I quickly got into Ontario and forgot all about family stories. I was southwest of Toronto for a while and even toyed with the idea of staying there overnight and surprising Jo-Anne at her new store on Tuesday, but the pull of home and Gibby and Gadget and Patches was too strong. A few hours in Ontario, the 403 to the 401 and then the 402, and then the Bluewater Bridge from Sarnia to Port Huron and I was back in Michigan, an hour or so from home with lots of fantastic memories of Old Salt and the Hooked Rug Museum.</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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Four of us took the ferry to Tancook Island today. There was quite a bit of fog, but the ride was very smooth.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oPobMSavK_A/Uh61ile6BLI/AAAAAAAABVE/enaDYAOC7Ss/s1600/SAM_0624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oPobMSavK_A/Uh61ile6BLI/AAAAAAAABVE/enaDYAOC7Ss/s320/SAM_0624.JPG" width="320" /></a>Little Tancook and Big Tancook are the islands I can see from my bedroom window at Old Salt. We boarded the ferry at Chester.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlzIHur9tM4/Uh62cCgYIjI/AAAAAAAABVM/iBnrUYyN2D0/s1600/SAM_0633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlzIHur9tM4/Uh62cCgYIjI/AAAAAAAABVM/iBnrUYyN2D0/s320/SAM_0633.JPG" width="320" /></a>The ferry went first to Little Tancook, then Big Tancook where we got off and walked to the local (and only) restaurant at the top of a hill that was steeper than it looks.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wi8JElrK_LQ/Uh63ONrvtYI/AAAAAAAABVU/3KA1E-H_hEU/s1600/SAM_0634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wi8JElrK_LQ/Uh63ONrvtYI/AAAAAAAABVU/3KA1E-H_hEU/s320/SAM_0634.JPG" width="320" /></a>Suzanne and Sherry had fish chowder while Lucy and I were treated to the last two lobster sandwiches in the restaurant - very good lobster sandwiches.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3XMFXe6cgZU/Uh64FWYzdKI/AAAAAAAABVc/n4QIrnmhzrI/s1600/SAM_0653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3XMFXe6cgZU/Uh64FWYzdKI/AAAAAAAABVc/n4QIrnmhzrI/s320/SAM_0653.JPG" width="240" /></a>When we returned to Chester, we went over to Suzanne's house to spend some time with Hugh - who knows more about the history involved with rug hooking than any person alive. He is an energizer bunny when it comes to doing historical research, and he shared some of that with us today - too bad the day didn't hold more hours!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dVT2GLZIWjk/Uh65T8s08fI/AAAAAAAABVo/pmb7II1_WCA/s1600/SAM_0654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dVT2GLZIWjk/Uh65T8s08fI/AAAAAAAABVo/pmb7II1_WCA/s320/SAM_0654.JPG" width="240" /></a>For the evening, Lucy Richard demonstrated her Wooly Mason Jar dye system. By organizing an exact system of measurement, Lucy has taken complications out of dyeing. If you can understand a color wheel with primary, secondary, and tertiary colors, you could become an expert swatch dyer using the Wooly Mason Jar System. That was a pretty full day, so I'm off to bed!</div>
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The pictures show a very small portion of the rugs on display in the galleries of the Hooked Rug Museum of North America. The last photo shows a rug hooked with burlap on burlap. Throughout the museum there are rug collections organized by theme (such as rug patterns by Edward Sands Frost or rugs that depict the story of the War of 1812, etc.)<br />
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In addition to enjoying the museum today, we did some shopping at Frenchy's in Bridgewater and Liverpool - which meant LOTS of driving. I've added more than 400 miles to my odometer since my arrival at Old Salt.<br />
Tomorrow, I'm looking forward to a ferry ride to Tancook Island - if rain doesn't ruin our plans.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j1BV05whuWk/Uhwv1TKhe6I/AAAAAAAABTY/f2vWQikmPWA/s1600/SAM_0570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j1BV05whuWk/Uhwv1TKhe6I/AAAAAAAABTY/f2vWQikmPWA/s320/SAM_0570.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
We spent today in Mahone Bay - the town famous for it's churches.<br />
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There are a number of churches right on the bay. Three of them have tall steeples and those three often end up as paintings and rug hooking patterns. We had lunch (haddock chowder) across the bay from the churches, but visibility wasn't great so my photography suffered.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j0zAqFJDyzQ/UhwxWjMx8xI/AAAAAAAABTs/IOxn2CX67ps/s1600/SAM_0572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j0zAqFJDyzQ/UhwxWjMx8xI/AAAAAAAABTs/IOxn2CX67ps/s320/SAM_0572.JPG" width="320" /></a>After lunch, we went shopping at Encompassing Designs, a great rug hooking supply store right on the main street of this lovely, old-fashioned town. We also did some antiqueing during the day - found some great old rug hooks and other essential collectibles. We got back to Blandford just in time to have fish and chips at a nearby restaurant. One of my purchases today was a book about the history of Blandford - my bedtime reading for tonight.</div>
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We went to Peggy's Cove and saw the lighthouse pictured in dozens of mats donated to the museum by the wonderful people in Ontario. After seeing so many hooked versions of the lighthouse it seemed appropriate to view it in person. While we were there, we had a delicious dinner of baked stuffed lobster tail.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dx_wwpPIK7I/UhtM1rSNTKI/AAAAAAAABSk/_Lb6JdYfk70/s1600/SAM_0550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dx_wwpPIK7I/UhtM1rSNTKI/AAAAAAAABSk/_Lb6JdYfk70/s320/SAM_0550.JPG" width="320" /></a>We had a corner</div>
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table in the restaurant, so I could see the ocean to my right and to my left. Wonderful place to eat!</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DASvv99zHrE/UhtPL2P5qSI/AAAAAAAABSw/O0p4B2z2yFQ/s1600/SAM_0551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DASvv99zHrE/UhtPL2P5qSI/AAAAAAAABSw/O0p4B2z2yFQ/s320/SAM_0551.JPG" width="320" /></a>The early settlers in Peggy's Cove were given land grants for this area, and, although it's a very popular tourist area now, I think they got the raw end of the stick - the land is all rock. Not rocky, rock. Solid giant rocks of granite. No soil for farming. No soil to support a shade tree. No soil. Just huge, gray rocks. Fortunately, those brave souls could make a living on the ocean because the land sure wasn't going to help them. So, it was an isolated fishing village on the very rocky coast of St. Margaret's Bay. We drove around on the other side of the bay when we drove down the Aspotogan Peninsula to get to Old Salt. In that bay, 15 years ago, a Swiss Air plane crashed and all on board were lost. There are memorials on both sides of the bay to those lost on that flight. One man I met on Saturday thought I was a family member of someone lost and thought I had come such a long way because the 7th is the 15th anniversary of the crash</div>
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. The fishermen on both sides of the bay went out to the crash to rescue survivors, but there weren't any. They had to deal with the gruesomeness of finding<br />
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hundreds of bodies. The local people took in the family members back then and would probably be just as kind today.</div>
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I'm up early at Old Salt this morning, enjoying the sunrise and some toast made from homemade bread Hugh and Suzanne brought over yesterday. They came to visit early in the morning, but I had already left to see them at the museum. I took a wrong turn and ended up miles (well, kilometers) in the wrong direction before I turned around and actually got to the museum. I was able to do a lot of sightseeing and a little yard saleing along the way. There were only a few small things that caught my eye and my wallet at the yard sales - I bought a set of Japanese dogs, an old children's book, and some earrings - all good stuff.<br />
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After my museum visit, I did some beachcombing. I'm looking for the perfect stones to make handles for rug hooks. I found some that feel right in my hand, but they are shale or slate or sandstone. I really want granite, for the beauty and strength, so I'm putting more beachcombing on my schedule for today.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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Thursday morning, I suddenly remembered this week is Sauder Village rug show week. I cancelled my other commitments and made the almost two hour drive to Archbold, Ohio.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gLgBOeUOjHs/UhAud6SJTCI/AAAAAAAABRU/bZBONV5ZFVY/s1600/SAM_0492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gLgBOeUOjHs/UhAud6SJTCI/AAAAAAAABRU/bZBONV5ZFVY/s200/SAM_0492.JPG" width="200" /></a>The rug show was HUGE. I think there must have been more rugs than any other year. There were several shows within the show and all were impressive.</div>
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There were vintage shirred rugs, part of a collection that goes with a book that I didn't buy :(<br />
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There were President rugs, a rug for each American President, with an extra display of Presidential dolls - a knitted and needle felted doll for each President.<br />
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There was a set of color challenge rugs: the gorilla was hooked by April Deconick who was assigned "light" as her challenge.<br />
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Lisanne Miller hooked the forest with dark trees and darker trees.<br />
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This great aurora borealis was hooked in response to the challenge, "green".<br />
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And so on,,,<br />
Hundreds of rugs and dozens of great people, lots of old and good friends. Rug shows are great! and I survived the drive, a good test for my Nova Scotia trip.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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I'm planning to take three days driving to Nova Scotia instead of just two - I'll do some sight-seeing or take some photos or rest in some way at least every two hours. So far, I haven't been able to do any plein aire painting, but it's on my list of things I want to learn, so maybe I'll just find a place to relax and paint whatever I see.<br />
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After I got home from the hospital in June, I lost my car keys and my rugs and hooking supplies were all in the car. I finally found the keys a week ago. I'm a full month behind on hooking Big Momma, so I'll try to get a lot done in Nova Scotia - and I'll try to do a daily blog report on that trip. We're going to be doing some dyeing for Jo-Anne Harris' new shop in Toronto<br />
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, so I'll be sure and post a photo report on that project. I'm also planning to spend a lot of time at the Hooked Rug Museum of North America, so I'll also post a museum photo report. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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The best way I can describe today is to post photos - but I haven't downloaded the camera yet. I traveled through all kinds of mountains and strange terrain and tried to take pictures of everything. I stopped a lot, stopped in all of the rest stops and in several towns. I had lunch in a very Mexican restaurant - wonderful chimichanga - the waitress and most of the other 5 customers spoke Spanish. I haven't been able to practice my Spanish, I apparently put two cd's into the same slot and wrecked my cd player. The town the restaurant was in must have been successful at one time, but now it was pretty much a ghost town. There were many vacant houses and all businesses on the main street, except the restaurant, were vacant and looked like they had been that way for a very long time.<br />
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I stopped in a couple more towns, both in Utah and Colorado, where there were modern chain businesses near the freeway, but a mile down the road was completely different. Lots of shacks similar to the deserted buildings in the Mojave Desert. I couldn't figure out where the people who worked in those modern businesses could be living.<br />
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The rest stops in Utah had Native Americans selling jewelry and pottery, and one had a little Chihuahua that looked just like the one I took photos of last year. He was chasing a lizard that scared the owner - I never saw the lizard, but I heard it hiss when the lady screamed and jumped into her truck- I never heard a lizard hiss before. Anyway, to be polite, I bought some earrings.<br />
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I did some more shopping miles further east. There was a funny low log-style shop surrounded by pieces of driftwood with a name something like "The WOW Store". The inside was filled with beautiful artwork - handmade pool tables, bedroom furniture, walking sticks and all sorts of things made from wood, even including a coffin. The proprietor looked, with his Hemmingway-ish white beard, like a movie character. He started talking about what he could do with some old hay hooks making them into towel racks, and then showed off a great yard sale find. At first glance, it could have been a kerosene lantern, but it was very big, more than a couple feet high, with a metal bowl on top - filled with lead. A closer look proved it to be a stove for melting lead for bullets - probably dating to the Civil War era and probably used by the army. The man took it apart to show me how it worked and it was fascinating. Then he started telling me about a woman he yard sales with - she has an 8th grade education (and is younger than I am - how did anyone in this country in this age miss out on high school?) and is a self-taught artist. Her wood carvings and paintings were amazing - she is one of those people who can look at a piece of wood and see the things in it waiting to be carved out. I wish I could have met her.<br />
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Well, I'm off to prop my feet up for a while...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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I am in Colorado, taking an early afternoon of rest from driving. I left Cambria yesterday after spending part of the morning watching the ocean waves at Moonstone Beach. There were a few people in wetsuits getting knocked off of their surfboards by fairly big waves - I took a lot of photos that I might be able to use for painting or rug patterns - then I headed for the desert.<br />
Every time I have crossed the Mohave Desert, I have been curious about all of the small deserted old buildings. I couldn't imagine living in some of those locations, baking in the hot sun in those tiny little houses. My camp roommate, Grace K., cleared up the mystery for me - those were places that were homesteaded a long time ago. The people had to leave when their wells dried up or when the federal government took over the land. <br />
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I drove to Las Vegas, stopped on the west side of the city to get a hamburger, and promptly got lost. My gps deserted me, wouldn't even tell me to "turn left, turn left now, make a U-turn". So I lost about a hour, hoping to find a police car to ask for help, finally stopped at a gas station and asked a customer for directions - picked the best looking guy in the area and he was very helpful. When I was once again on the highway, I started looking for a motel, since it was a hundred and four degrees - too hot to sleep in the car. Then, I was suddenly stopped by a cop car. The elusive car I needed an hour earlier. I was sure I had only been going 70 and being passed by cars going much faster, so I waited to hear what law I had broken. They stopped me only to see if I was okay, because I was going slower than the rest of the traffic and kind of wavering in my driving lane (must have been when I was reaching for fudge and pistachios - or my giant water bottle.) Later, I remembered that about the same thing happened in about the same place last year - Las Vegas police must be on the look-out for white-haired old folks. Anyway, they told me the motels were all about an hour ahead - so I moved on, stopped in a funny little old motel run by a lady who was making cats out of yarn - and teaching a younger woman how to make one. Fiber artists everywhere.<br />
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So today, I drove through the beautiful Utah landscape that I missed seeing on the way out when I drove through the whole state in the pitch dark. Once again, it's too hot to sleep in the car, although I took a power nap that was only supposed to be 15 minutes and turned into a hour when I found some shade under a tree near a gas station. Now, in a nice motel, I've rested for a while and am debating about going to dinner or going swimming - and then maybe bringing my hooking into the motel for a couple hours of hooking - or, maybe painting.<br />
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I promise I'll post photos soon...<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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Today was a full hooking day - three meals, and every other minute hooking from 9AM until 9PM. I finished one flower and one cherry on my six foot long "Big Momma" (a Gene Shepherd pattern). Gene was a huge help with the color planning - my flowers will all be bright colors made with Gene's beautiful wool - my background will be five different almost black recycled wool from my stash (my stash of dark, drab Michigan colors),<br />
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Since I only told about the beginning of my trip in my last blog, I'll fill in the rest of the trip. Saturday, I started the morning in Colorado, driving from the northeast corner where the land is open rolling hills with some cattle and scattered homesteads. The sky was a clear bright blue with a variety of white clouds that I wanted to remember for painting, so I took a number of photos while I was driving along (at 85mph). One photo was especially interesting because there were great large billowing clouds at the top, but unusual lacy clouds at the bottom of the sky. Another 50 or so miles further on, I realized the lacy clouds were really the tops of snow-capped mountains. Lots more snow than I remember seeing before. When I got into the mountains, I thought I deserved a little touristy break, so I decided to make a fast trip up to Lookout Mountain. Driving up the mountain was easy and exciting because the road was shared with many bicyclists and hikers - it was like driving into a huge party of very active healthy young people all wearing spandex. The top of the mountain offers interesting views and a really nice nature center. I didn't think I should take much time, so I did a fast survey of the displays, saw some great coyote paintings, and started driving back down the mountain. I was driving very slowly with a bicyclist following me and when I came to a stop, he rode up beside my window and told me I had a seriously wobbly rear wheel. That must have been what the fellow on the expressway the day before was waving at me about - I had fixed the wrong tire (but it was a good thing I did since it had a hole on the inside and was losing ten pounds of air per day). So I had to drive down the mountain, through dozens of hairpin turns, think my wheel might fall off at any moment. I was pretty sure the wheel was going to fall off, the car was going to go into a flip that would take me right off the mountain and I was not going to make it to rug camp. Also, I had forgotten that I have trouble breathing in thin mountain air, so add the wheel worry to my oxygen anxiety and I can tell you I was very happy to get down to flat ground.<br />
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Then I had to backtrack to the city of Golden to try to find a tire repair facility - which turned out to be very difficult since all of the tire repair people were riding bicycles and hiking in the mountains and not working on Saturdays. I had to drive miles looking for a Pepboys that someone told me might be open, but couldn't find it. I accidently drove past a truck stop - the kind of place where I usually feel safe spending the night - so I did a fast U turn and drove around back to the truck repair section and literally begged for help. Three men went to work to figure out the wobble cause, which finally was eliminated down to the wheel nuts not being tightened properly. My mechanic at home had repaired a flat for me and not cleaned the road dirt out of the wheel. It took a long time to chip away the hard packed clay, even after a power washing, but with the afternoon completely gone, my wheel was finally back in place - and the mechanics wouldn't even let me pay them. I think they were going to tell their friends they spent the afternoon helping a hooker.<br />
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So, starting about six o'clock, I drove through the rest of Colorado, past all of the beautiful mountains without stopping again, then into and across Utah which never seemed like such a big state before. It was pitch dark out when I was going through the beautiful sandstone mountains and bluffs, but I couldn't see them at all - for 500 miles I felt like I was driving through a very long tunnel. The only good thing about driving like that is there wasn't much other traffic at all and I could go as fast as I dared. I finally reached my turn that would take me south into Nevada and toward Las Vegas, and I decided I would have to get at least a little sleep - even though that meant leaving at least a thousand miles to go on Sunday. I found a rest stop provided by a Chevron gas station, and pulled in where there were a couple pick-ups pulling U-Haul trailers - it seemed safe enough and I parked right next to the building where it was well lit. What I didn't think about until I crawled into the middle seat with my pillow was 1) the car was parked on a hillside so laying down I was practically standing up, and 2) it was very cold (about 40 degrees) and I didn't have a blanket. I ended up sleeping under some of the recycled wool that just happened to be left in the car from my last trip to Nova Scotia.<br />
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I awoke a few hours later after the U-Hauls left and began the last leg of the journey, through a little of Arizona, past Las Vegas, through the Mojave Desert into California, past beautiful vineyards in wine country, and finally to Cambria. My gps took me on a longer route than necessary and then turned me around in circles around Cambria so it took me an extra chunk of time to finally find the lodge - and, even though the tire and wheel problems took away a lot of my travel time, I arrived just in time to register, get my hooking stuff unloaded in my classroom, find my room and take a shower before dinner. Eventually I'll post my photos of the trip and you'll get to see how great cloud formations look when photographed at high speed through a bug splattered windshield.<br />
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Last year, I did the same trip in two and a half days and got here early enough to spend some time seeing the ocean. This year, if I add Thursday night to Sunday to count as one day, the trip took three days and I still haven't been to the beach.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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Iowa is 600 miles wide, all lightly rolling hills. I was looking for sights to paint, but Iowa really doesn't hold much appeal for me - although I did see some interesting farmsteads. The rolling hills are grassy green (no sign of drought) with spotty clumps of trees on hilltops - those trees conceal farm houses and other farm buildings. When it wasn't raining, the sky was beautiful with a changing variety of clouds moving from south to north (I took photos for future reference.) <br />
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Somehow, I slipped into Nebraska without realizing I'd changed states until I noticed the 75 mph speed limit. I was mostly going 85. At one point, a pick-up truck zoomed past me with the passenger leaning out of the window and waving both arms at me - he made a circle with his fingers and pointed at my wheels. I pulled off right away since I was already suspicious of my left front tire. It was down 10 lbs, so I was glad to have my little air compressor and I started looking for a garage or a tire repair place. When I finally found one, I learned that my tire was destroyed, broken on the inside, and it had to be replaced. At the end of the driveway for the tire store , I saw the only thing I really wanted to paint. It was a great old tow truck, so I took a number of photos, but I didn't feel I could take time to paint until I get closer to my destination - since I left almost two days later than planned.<br />
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I was planning to stop for the night when I reached Sidney, the last city in Nebraska, and almost forgot to take the turn onto I76 toward Denver. After I turned I remembered the motel near the welcome center where I've stayed twice before - and that's where I am now - and very tired, going right to bed.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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Fishing Boats</div>
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This watercolor painting shows some of the fishing boats I enjoyed seeing in Nova Scotia. I thought the smaller boats were used to go from the wharf out to the fishing boats, but Jo-Anne Harris told me they were pulled behind the fishing boats and were used to carry the big tuna.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C_9Co3StgAo/UUqTXRWES4I/AAAAAAAABMw/clwUpp7RJb8/s1600/CAM00182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C_9Co3StgAo/UUqTXRWES4I/AAAAAAAABMw/clwUpp7RJb8/s1600/CAM00182.jpg" /></a></div>
I was painting this picture tonight and completely lost track of time - suddenly I heard a loud knocking on my back door. My "phone pal" who calls me every night to let me know she's okay had been trying to reach me by phone and couldn't reach me - so she drove all the way down from Hamburg to see if I was okay. I guess I was too involved in Nova Scotia to hear the phone ring.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Msp68XP3ro/UTO3fscKHfI/AAAAAAAABMQ/daAjNjM_j-M/s1600/CAM00118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Msp68XP3ro/UTO3fscKHfI/AAAAAAAABMQ/daAjNjM_j-M/s320/CAM00118.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BQpt7gXfrIg/UTO3zIHW_SI/AAAAAAAABMY/cGesWWSacJA/s1600/CAM00117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BQpt7gXfrIg/UTO3zIHW_SI/AAAAAAAABMY/cGesWWSacJA/s320/CAM00117.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PQfcsIDQQQ/UTO3PZcVwzI/AAAAAAAABMI/Xe-ORLr-bbI/s1600/CAM00116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PQfcsIDQQQ/UTO3PZcVwzI/AAAAAAAABMI/Xe-ORLr-bbI/s320/CAM00116.jpg" width="240" /></a>I haven't felt like hooking lately, somehow the two rugs in process are not inspiring enough to get me to the frame. So, I decided to take a watercolor painting class at our Senior Center. The teacher, Kathleen Kaszmierski is really good - I lurked around the class on and off for months and learned that Kathleen is the right kind of teacher for me. I've been thinking that learning to use color in painting might help me with wool painting - so, I have uploaded a few of my early paintings. People in my class are painting beautiful flowers and landscapes and I paint chickens and pigs and horses.<br />
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I am really frustrated with Google - it seems like Google is trying so hard to take over everything that it now interferes with everything. It's not nearly as easy to upload photos as it used to be.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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I have neglected my hooking as much as I've neglected my blog. I have two rugs started, one the dogs I started with Elizabeth Black, and one I won in an eBay auction to support the 2013 Biennial. I took that rug to work on today at Thrums and Chums, but didn't get much done.<br />
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I've also been neglecting the antique shop, but spent some time there today. I was going to post some interesting photos from the shop, but Blogger has changed since last I posted and I can't find a way to upload the photos. I dislike it when things that were working easily are "improved" to become more complicated.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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This link leads to a page that shows the home of Judge A. G. Otis, of Atchison, Kansas, maternal grandfather of Amelia Earhart (her mother was Amelia Otis Earhart). Amelia grew up in this home.<br />
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I haven't posted my family tree here on Blogger, but accidentally found a surprise addition and the source for the photo wouldn't let me save it in my documents, so I saved it here.<br />
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I had chosen a book from the collection at my store, planning to see what repairs were needed, and the book opened to a page of photographs of "Popular Heroes of the Spanish-American War". One of those heroes was Major General Elwell Stephen Otis. While perusing his bio on Wikipedia, I found a curious link to Amelia Earhart. I had never suspected she was an Otis, but maybe I should have, given how her strong deterined personality is similar to so many of the early Otises. Many of the early Otis women were feminists, even before that word was part of the language, and Amelia Earhart fits right in with them.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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