My Sweet Pea

A word of gratitude before the Painter’s Notes…

for YOU…

All of you who took the time to send me support and love in response to the roll out of this years’ Granary Gallery show…

It is not a throw aside gesture to say that it makes all the difference
because to me it absolutely does.
We won’t be able to attend the opening in person
but from here in the late summer studio
I can feel the hugs and see the smiling faces virtually via your likes and comments
which goes such a long way towards affirmation and your kindness is contagious.

Maggie and I got some tomatoes gathered this morning
and in this hottest part of the year
the tall bushy green beans are apparently not as special a treat
as her long gone sweet peas
but our girl has bunnies to chase
and a field of wild clover to roll in
and we send you all a bucket of thank yous …
may your teacups overflow with sweetness.

My Sweet Pea

This was all Maggie’s idea.

Originally the intent was to have this composition
focus up close on my hands
shelling those beautiful peas
into a teacup.

I had the panel prepped
and the frame ordered
and it was the very last
of the paintings
for this years’ Granary Gallery show.

But when it came time to sketch it out
I couldn’t quite get the positioning of the hands right
just by drawing them in front of a mirror.

So I set things up in the new studio
and called Herself over late one night
to push the button on my camera.

She brought Maggie
who upon seeing the pea pod
came hurtling to devour the treat.

This has been Maggie’s first year in the garden
and after a crazy hot spell of a start to the season
when I feared the loss of all of the cool weather crops
we had a glorious run with the peas.

Both snow and shelling peas took off
and it became clear that Maggie LOVES peas.
She would sit patiently next to the trellis
waiting for me to catch up on our walks
and reach over the fence to grab her a handful of pods.

Just melted this old gardeners’ heart.

Back in the late night studio photo shoot
we managed to convince Maggie
to lay quietly beside Pat
as she snapped pics of my hands in different positions.

I sent them home when I climbed up to the loft office space
to look at the photos and see if I could work from them.
I needed one more take so back they came.

Something was amiss with the focusing on the camera
and the extra fussing must have annoyed the pup
because as I settled back onto my stool
and tried to hold my hands extra still
that little bundle of whiteness crept up
and came over to my side
and ever so gently she layed herself down
just as you see her here

with one paw on my boot
waiting patiently
my sweet pea
for her sweet pea.

The Contractor

“You will have only one story. You’ll write your one story many ways.”

The twisty round about way I came to that quote from a character in Elizabeth Strout’s novel, My Name is Lucy Barton, was by catching on to it in a thread of conversation which Mary Chapin Carpenter was having with poet Sarah Kay in a podcast, One Story, where they had an in depth discussion of her album, The Dirt and The Stars.

There’s a basket full of accreditation in that last paragraph and I’m sure to have left out some of the weft, alas one’s weaving gets lacier after 65. I now know. But hearing MCC say those words in her smokey weathered road warrior timbre and in relation to the decades long trail of her song writing career…well… it clanged my bell.

Upon hearing that… that kernel of wisdom that we all have only one story…the totality of my own compositions snapped sharply into a perfectly ordered row.

I’ve only been telling the same story
my one story
in every painting
all along the way.

I’ve reflected recently in these blog posts about the paintings and even the Painter’s Notes as being breadcrumbs. Notes left in the margins which I suppose could be used to follow my way back tracing milestones to find what…the origin? I appreciate knowing the trail is well lit and documented but right this second I’m not really interested in going back there thank you. It feels much more important now to think about what I’m picking up from where and who I’ve been and choosing what is worth tossing into that basket nestled on my aging shoulders moving forward.

Seeing those breadcrumbs collectively as my “One Story” helps me make sense of the feedback that has come from patrons and viewers along the way who tell me they felt a personal connection to the paintings. Because when it comes down to it, it is really “Our One Story” isn’t it.

To draw upon another overheard podcast conversation I listened to this week, Joni Mitchell told an interviewer that (years ago and I paraphrase) I never wanted people to see me in my songs. If they see themselves then I’ve done the thing I set out to do…or words to that affect.

I certainly didn’t start out all those decades ago to tell anybody anything. Still not my thing. But like all lovers of mysteries, I enjoy connecting up a row of dots. And I have learned above all to listen to the Muses. They seem to have been throwing the voices of coveted musicians and story tellers in my path of late. It has lead to some wonderfully nostalgic evenings in the cavernous studio where sounds and whispers love to climb into the moonlight filled vault and dance.

Stopping here for a bit of reflection, I’m gathering those newly connected dots and I’m folding them all in origami fashion along crisp clean lines into a tiny paper crane. Light of weight and simple of beauty it will fit nicely into my basket. Leaving room for new paintings of old stories going forward and the promise of grace in the spaces in between.

In that context dear readers…here is the very next painting to be put into our basket…

The Contractor – 33 x 24

Sitting in the new studio loft
with Paul Winters’ joyful clarinet
dancing in the rafters
and Maggie asleep in the sun…

I am writing these notes
roughly a year after coming upon this tool belt…

It makes my heart soar
to remember back to that time last year
when a tired but smiling Dan and Skippy
were closing the latch at the back gate
after a week of celebrating the first walls going up.


I had turned to unclip Maggie’s harness
and she was free to make her daily inspection.

Each afternoon she would roam the construction site
and find one piece of wood
which, when properly gnawed,
became that nights’ symbol of a job well done.

I had followed her to step for the first time
“into” my new studio
only to once again step aside
as the Muses broke loose
and flooded the scene with their favorite light.

Dan had set up a new work table
to lay out the plans which had been folded and refolded
and sat upon and mulled over
a thousand times already
as each new stick of wood went in
and each new tradesman looked for direction.

But for the first time
with the walls up
and a roof on
it was safe to leave the loose sheets open
with his trusty toolbelt to keep the summer winds at bay.

With the windows and doors yet to go in
and just outside
the Ruth Stout garden fallow for the season
only the wren’s song was in the air
to remind us of harvests to come.

Today it is in a full blossomed mess of glory
with potatoes under that blanket of hay
dozens of tomatoes finally ripening
one or two last peas hanging on for Maggie

and this artist’s heart is wild with delight
to realize that this glorious new studio was built
right in the middle of her garden.

My most favorite part of this painting
was Dan’s reaction when I first showed it to him
“Hey, that’s really my handwriting !”
Yes it is Dan,
you have left your mark all over this magnificent building
…and our hearts.

And Skippy,
the coffee stain is for you.


Mornin’ Glories

Oh my little bunnies.

Each spring I begin the watch.
Eager for the whisper of a whisker.

Sitting at my easel I have two birdfeeders.

And underneath them
where the seed hulls collect
grows a thick matte of clover.

This is where I usually see the first babies hop into view.

As the weeks grew from spring into early summer
with nary a twitch I began to worry
that it might mean no bunnies this year.

One sparking afternoon
at the tail end of May
I went to the end of the garden path
to pick a posie of herbs.

Just there
tucked in the shade of the arbor
in between the morning glory trumpets
was a nest.

Five tiny furballs
cuddled in a gently snoring mound of love.

Alice decided to celebrate with tea.

And I did catch this one
by a whisker.

Feathered Harvest

Feathered Harvest  –  18 x 24  Available at the Granary Gallery

As we walk softly into these longest nights of the season
my heart skips lightly back
to the remembered warmth
of a late summer day
when there were just enough
ripened green beans
to make a supper’s serving
for two.

Last of the Season

Last of the Season  –  12 x 18  Available at Gallery 1261 in Denver

I have a few NEW PAINTINGS to begin posting…the one above has headed out to Gallery 1261 in Denver.

But it reminded me of today since I spent the morning making an addition to the Ruth Stout bed.

It is mostly Matt’s fault because he keeps texting me about how well his “undercover” veg are doing and because he is my go to garden buddy. It’s so nice to throw ideas and new gurus back and forth and he is a witty soul who takes his garden very seriously.

Here are the rapid fire pics of the process begun early this frosty morning…

A chance to finally use all the cardboard I have been saving for the entire year.

Even threw in the Quarantine Box…awe Finn

Then it was time to haul all the leaves I had corralled into a bin on the other side of the yard.

I filled the spaces in with the stash of Vineyard Gazettes…minus the crossword puzzles.
It was heart wrenching to track the Covid headlines as the island has joined the nation with the out of control surge heading into the winter. These aren’t in order but they give you an idea…

Herself arrived in time to lend a hand and it took two bales of hay to cover the new 11 x 14 foot annex. The Ruth Stout bed now boast 960 sq feet of gardening space.

So, as I feature the “Last of the Season” it feels good to be laying the foundation for the season yet to come. May we all stay safe and healthy to be here to enjoy it.

Mask UP people and I mean it.

Postcards from the Ledge – 8

These are the Glory sisters.
They greeted me fully open to this stellar morning…even though I was later than usual.

New Rules…

1 – We can only watch two episodes of any given series at night.
I can’t expect to get any painting OR gardening done if the first number my eyes see in the morning starts with a 9.

2 – I can work in the garden with absolutely no guilt, rationalities or apologies of any kind all morning.

3 – IF I agree to stop at noon.

4 – Where upon I will eat breakfast AND lunch in one meal.

5 – All other work, including blog posts, bill paying, business stuff, and random google searching will be ceased at 1pm.

6 – Where upon I will show up at the easel and begin to paint.

7 – Only two pieces of Easter Chocolate per day…Until Easter…writes the Atheist.

8 – I will put down the brushes by sunset…currently around 8pm.

9 – Going forward I will use only two olives in my Quarantini…s.

10 – This year I will break all records for time spent in the sky chair.

It is now 2:29.
So the rest of this blog post will be a dump of photos showing progress on Rule # 2…

Yesterday was potting up day…
The Dill got new digs…

I am figuring out a recipe for my own potting soil since this is the year of stay at home ingenuity…some sieving required…

A prescription for heartburn pills makes for the perfect tamper downer when seeding flats…

Teeeeeeny seeds…wedding ring for scale…

This morning’s glorious sunshine was perfect to plant parsnips…

Ruth welcomes all seeds…so the last two feet of this parsnip run will have carrots, those white dots are pelleted seeds, Ruth preferred scattering over rows and it was much easier to try that here. The ground was rich dark brown and amazingly…in this the wettest part of the yard…and after a torrential storm in the middle of the night…was well drained and easy to work. I did add a thin layer of peat moss to help keep the seeds under some cover, then added a thin fleece over that to keep the light peat from blowing away, and the netted tunnel over that to keep critters out.

On the other end of the RS garden I’ve got the squash tunnel set up.

Last year, you may remember the loofah insanity, lots of leafy growth, some late hanging fruit, a total of exactly one three inch loofah… was harvested and that was by accident when I found it walking around the yard in January. 

Yeah…she’s adorable.

And I was able to move two more straw bales to complete the entry gate…The bales will have flowers planted in them for the pollinators.

And now it is 2:54…

One of the changes in our lives with this stay at home deal is that we, who do not have a washing machine, are doing our laundry in the sink. The drying part is no problem because we have an umbrella line in the studio yard.

I noticed this morning that my new method of brush wiping…when using the tiny brushes they tend to hold more of the turpentine in the ferrule when I wash them out…which I do more often than usual when rigging boats…hint as to current subject matter…the ferrule is the silver part of the brush pictured below and the paper towels rest on my knee to wipe that excess off.

So this is how I noticed what I noticed…

I guess that my right elbow is resting on…all that excess wet paint.

My uniform wears her battle scars well don’t ya think?

So of course…today’s painting is…

Bringing in the Sheets – 2014

I know people,
ok, two people,who hang their laundry out all year long.
My laundress is not a fan of this.

In our next house there will be a washer and dryer.
I have promised.

For now, and for the last quarter of a decade,
that weekly chore has been done up to town,
next to the local pizza joint.

Herself is on a therapists basis with the owner,
and most of her best stories have originated
between the spin cycles.
The characters join her there,
making entrances and exits
worthy of the bard Himself,
with the odd parrot  or two
on the shoulders of the jester stage left.

So, when it came time to pose for this painting,I actually had to search the studio for the clothespin.
It’s Ted’s, and that elegant swan shaped clip at the end
is the perfect balance of classic style and Yankee ingenuity…
just like Ted.

I hung the line at sunrise,
between the greenhouse and the grape arbor
and waited.
The first rays of sunlight caught the top of the sheet
and I quickly called Pat over from the cabin to pose.
In the initial sketches, done a few weeks before,
the shirt was to be white,
so I figured I could fake that part or pose her again later.

We played around with the angles and then I sketched
and took some photos and went inside to work.
When she called to let me know that Herself was headed up to the laundromat
I walked outside to stretch my legs and whammo…
a whole new light was cascading across that sheet.
I made her run back and,
in very short order,
I had what would become the final composition.

You can see that the white shirt,
which was still crumpled in the unwashed laundry bag,
when the light changed for the better,
stayed hidden there…
and the striped shirt of the laundress
which seemed to echo the uniforms
of those hard scrubbing for-bearers…
remained.

I believe fundamentally
in paying homage
to the women
upon whose shoulders we rise
and to the makers
of clothespins.

Postcards from the Ledge – 6

The last few days have been grim.
The siren calls from hospital workers,
the mounting numbers of casualties,
the criminally incompetent leadership from the oval office,
the crippling anxiety that washes over us…
wave after unrelenting wave.

The last few days have been sparkling.
The return of the indigo bunting outside my window,
flats of winter seedlings getting their first feel of wind,
Finnegan laying peacefully in the sunshine,
lazy conversations over the morning kitchen table with my love,
and the glorious unrelenting waves…
of that brilliant new green.

While I admit to finding myself frozen in my easel chair,
not able to summon the creative energy to pick up even the tiniest of brushes,
I am showing up every day.
I know the Muses are here and I’m listening,
but it sounds like static now…loudly buzzing and confusing.

And what I know about that
is to get up outta that chair and go outside.

The glorious gift of having Herself by our sides
during these stay at home days
means Finn and I are at our happiest in our happy place…
wallowing in the brightening colors of the studio garden…

My organizer using her superpower…

Anyone who needs or wants some of this plastic just holler…

While she sorted…I planted…

Two rows of peas planted in Ruth…which is a bit spicy to read back…

And…at the end of that glorious day…a bit of well earned sky chair rest…

So today’s painting will be a very early work which honors another of my love’s superpowers…

The Folder – 2000

This is quite simply inspired by my friend Rex. He is a poet. Our histories have walked side by side for over forty years. Our paths have criss-crossed over most of them. Our souls have always been as one.

And it is for Pat, my folder.

The Folder

Folded things speak well of you
when you’re out of the room.
They hold the near future captive,
like children about to go on recess
or sexual pleasure at the brim of control.
I think of the pressure of your hand
smoothing over the cloth napkin,
the bedsheet, the piece of clothing
that signals the meal to come,
the lovemaking, the spent day —
and how you stack the bath towels
as high as they’ll go, as a driver
well keep the fuel tank near full
during times of shortage. I step out
of the shower looking to the center
of my life, where you have folded it.
Creases will have nothing to do
with edges: It’s no accident
that ledges are ledges and valleys,
so far removed from any real
horizon, where people most often
choose to put down roots and grow.
I like to imagine that God, who,
faced with formlessness, folded
the world into manageable corners,
sent me you to repeat the gesture.
Rex Wilder

Postcards from the Ledge -2

The apprentice patiently awaits our next delivery…

I’m a bit behind.
Been putting out insurance fires,
medication issues,
juggling tax documents,
cooking perishables,
and monitoring the stock market.

No, are you kidding
I don’t know squat about the stock market
but apparently I like to watch disasters in the making
or the ticking
I actually gave over dozens of minutes of my precious life
to watching those numbers bounce around in free fall this week.

Mesmerizing, I was interested to learn about the internal brake thing
which automatically stops trading. That stopped my heart when it happened in real time.
And, because we have a tiny little bit of our savings tied up in those numbers some how…

I quickly took the advice of experts…
and snapped right on out of that window.

And went outside.
The distractions and emergency shut downs that have shaken our worlds
have also put me a bit behind in the gardening department.

I keep a running journal to help me remember what to plant and when.
Last year I dug deep, as it were, and invested, with Kory’s help, in building new beds and starting my Ruth Stout Garden, and now I have a journal full of useful information to be going on with.

As we saw in the first ledge post, there was good news to report about the soil under all that hay. Some pics from last season show how I used boxes filled with compost to provide some fertile growing medium while the ground beneath, which had been lawn, was slowly being converted, by the creatures within, to something more conducive to garden ready soil.

Made me happy in this lock downed moment to see all that green again…

At the end of the season we raked all of the remaining organic matter flatish, and made a footpath of wood chips then covered it all with a fresh foot or so of hay.

Where we had compost, roughly chopped up plant material and cardboard…the soil is now beautifully decomposed. There was one area in the back where I only had hay on top of last year’s soil and that is still anaerobic, sticky mud. We’ll see if the potatoes object because I planted some of them in that muck.

Yesterday Herself and Finn and myself enjoyed the ridiculously hot weather…76 degrees…and planted the Greens Bed.

This is what remained from the winter under cover. Beets in the back are probably not going to form but I’ll give them another week. Carrots are in great shape. Spinach which I’ve been enjoying all winter looks better after a heavy cleaning but I’ve got new seeds starting in other beds so this batch, which is very leggy, may be retired.

With 6 typed of lettuce seeds planted and some radishes as well, the whole thing got a blanket thrown over it.

Because…squirrels.

They are just fine as painting models… but seem to be unsatisfied with the sunflower seeds I have been providing them all winter. They found the pea seeds which we had planted on St. Pat’s day and ripped that bed up. So…I threw more seeds in and put up the dreaded tunnel.

Hopefully they will get the message.

In October I noticed they were spending some time in the herb bed. I thought it was to bury nuts but no, they were eating the Chard. Since I had planted that for winter harvest I decided to cover it over. The plants didn’t produce much so I lifted the fleece and let the sun rain down.

The squirrels rejoiced and this is what is left. Eh, it’s time to start new plants anyway.

In that same bed, on the farside, is a magnificent crop of Cress.

It grew uncovered all through our mild winter-that-wasn’t and now it’s feisty and fiery flavor of pepper and spice is a brilliant addition to every dish. Somewhere I read it is one of the most densely vitamin and mineral rich plants. Double the benefits. This is a land cress variety which likes shade. It loves hanging out behind the grape arbor. I’ve got extra seeds if anyone wants to try some.

And so far, the squirrels don’t seem to have cottoned on to this delicacy.

Later on today we will start another flat of the seeds I need to catch up on and some of the hot weather lovers like tomatoes and peppers.

But as for my day job.

Making Art…

I guess it is appropriate to pay homage to some of my more squirrely Muses…

Stay frosty out there everyone…and be kind.

Squirreled Away – 2016

Last year it was the Cardinal,
His Holiness Wolsey
the basher of windows.

This winter,
it was Sir Squirrel,
the chomper of walnuts.

He who kept me company,
through the snowy storms,
perched on the air-conditioning unit,
just outside my easel window,
flaunting his propitious,
hoarding prowess,
and watching.

We watched each other actually.
Watched out for each other may be more accurate.

When we got that Nor’easter,
which dumped 4 feet of fresh snow,
on the already whitened studio yard,
it took me three days to dig out a path
for Finnegan to get to her privy.

I noticed that Sir Sq. had been a no show
and made a wee annex to Finn’s run
from the arbor vitae to his window perch.

The mere work of a teaspoon,
but it sufficed for him to re-surface
and check back in
to make sure I was ok,
and able to lift those tiny brushes
after all that shoveling.

Sitting there,
sporting new pairs
of both snow shoes
and sunglasses,
and chewing
on a particularly prodigious nut,
he must have noticed
I was looking ever so slightly famished, because,
after devouring a full three quarters thereof,
he reached out to offer me a nibble…

See,
that’s what I’m talking about…

it takes a village.

AND…

A Little Night Knitting – 2018

On those long winter nights
alone on an island
pining for her captain

the rhythmic click click clicking
of the long metal needles is heard

as they catch the moon beams
dancing over waves

that somewhere
oceans away

have lapped along the starboard side
of a weathered wooden ship.

As she knits
and purls
and knits
and purls

the tips of those needles
wave a tiny patter of light

a private message
in a language of their own
sweet and sacred semaphore.

Garden gone WILD

It’s beginning to look a lot like fall around here. We have been home a month since our Vineyard visit and Granary Gallery show. A great time and very successful show was surrounded by a warm and positive energy which has been riding in my back pocket ever since.

And we needed that to get through some stressful weeks with a string of those unwelcome but generally benign hiccups that lurch your well laid plans into a different gear…or reverse in this case. Extreme heat kept me out of the garden, silly germs kept us all sick and snotty for Zoe’s camp Gran and Mima, the blue screen of death on the studio computer meant a week of tech gurus replacing one motherboard after another, and then there is…( and here I will allude to, but not elaborate on because I have a strict “NO politics in the studio rule”… the mother of all shit storms that is the current state of the nation and the planet )…but worst of all our dear Finn has been plagued with one infection after another.

None of the usual anti-depressants were working.

Putting all the bags of yarn on the daybed to plan out the coming winter of knitting…didn’t help.
Getting out all the spoon carving tools and making pile after pile of shavings on the porch…wasn’t helping.
Planting flats of seedlings for the fall garden and weeding out the old for the new…was hampered by the summer’s sauna.

I just couldn’t shake the blues.

As of today, most of those bumps in the road have been worked out but they wore this artist down and sent some old dragons a’ knocking at the door.

Alas, I caught them on the whisper…
and realized that in spite of all the things I was trying to do to pull myself up and out of that negative space…what I really needed to do was to get myself back to my day job.

The second I sat down at the easel I felt better…lighter…centered and safe.

I have come to understand that this work that I do, the art that I create, the focus that is demanded of the process of bringing a painting to life…it is all of me. It has become what I am not just what I do. And it has an intense and powerful connection to something that is much bigger and vitally more important than Mercury going retrograde and blowing up the schedule.

It is no longer quiet listening, but a fierce reckoning with truth, and finding where it lives at the core of my soul, and then looking hard for where it lives in others. The closest I’ve come to labeling it is that “common ground”. I catch glimpses of it now and then, like a pixie winking from behind a garden shed. And more often when I stand behind someone studying one of my paintings and watch as they step closer. The noise in the gallery shuts off, and they are pulled in to a very private place. Sometimes, when they step back and notice me, they will take me where they went. Sometimes there are no words. But the recognition is there, between us, that there is some common ground.

I can think of it as a portal.
Through which there is a tapestry of threads, more like live wires, and we, the artist and the patron, have found one or two that we recognize as familiar, that are alive in our own paintings as it were, and we come to see that we are not alone.

Well that is starting to get a bit tingly…like I said…the universe..or is it those muses… is shifting things around here in a most unpredictable and frustrating way…which is when I know to step out of the stream and go to a safe place.

OK I’m back now. This started out as a quick peek at the burgeoning fall garden, which is plugging along all on its own tingly threads in spite of the heat and my profound neglect.

And since,  I have already articulated that the best place for me to be right now…with a tiny brush in my hand…and not playing in the dirt…I shall simply throw out these pics of this morning’s garden.

Beginning with a before shot of the Ruth Stout Memorial Arch to compare with the opening photo of today’s vining mess. You will see that the black eyed susan vines are finally thriving but the morning glory (mostly on the right) are insane…with nary a blossom.

Here it is again…before

and after…

In general I am very pleased with the RS bed experiment so far. I will elaborate in future posts but here are some random updates…

WE HAVE A LUFFA !!!

Finally. You can see how showy this vine has become. It has smothered the tunnel and begun to invade the lower forty…

looking back it is on the right

Here it frames the now almost cleared potato run…as it waddles on over to make an annex out of the old pea trellis.

Back at the far end of the bed you get a whole lot of rotting tomatoes and a fair supply of peppers showered by Pat’s zinnias…

A row of bags and boxes are mostly cleared of the failed onions with some lingering leeks…

Walking outside and into the raised bed area it’s the sweet potatoes that have taken the lead…

Three bags full, they hold some promise but it will be a month or more before I peek.
The second planting of cucumbers are fighting off the squash bugs and going strong…

The beans have only now begun to provide enough for a meal for two…

Underneath that tunnel are some newly planted carrots and broccoli …

And the brussel sprouts and parsnips are roaring in the back bed…

On the backside of this very large array is the sad state of the strawberry beds, I am flummoxed at the heavy invasion of grasses and weeds which have taken over every single bed. I’ve weeded this bed intensely 4 times this summer !!! and look at the mess.

Back in civilization…

the new herb beds are doing well…

and the salad bed is once again producing lettuces and spinach…

After taking this pic I pulled a couple of those radishes, and then I yanked them all because I found cabbage worms on each one and a heavy infestation of baby aphids. They all went to the bucket of death. Now Herself can come and pick her lunch in peace.

And that leaves the best part of the garden for last…

Miss Finnegan is starting to feel better. These cooler mornings are just the ticket for a Bernese Mt. Dog. She lays here on the shaded cement and supervises my ramblings while she waits for her buddy to come over and take her for a ride around the neighborhood. Her favorite thing is to turn left out of that gate and jump into the car.

As I write this she and her buddy are getting ready for the tennis finals. Finn lays in front of the TV and as soon as the ball is hit she follows it. She got bored with all those double faults in the match last night but has a special fondness for Nadal, so she’s looking forward to his forehand.

And there we have it.
A winding look into the labyrinth that,
for my sins,
is my world this month.

Now I’m headed to the kitchen for some lunch,
and then up for one more cone at Reeser’s,
and then back to the easel…

ahhhh.

Yours in brilliant blazes of Mexican sunflowers, hovering hummingbirds…
and finally flying brushes,

Heather

Night Watchman

Night Watchman  –  22 x 36

Vincent has returned…

But it started with this sketch drawn last summer
on the first night he showed up for duty…

Then came this “Study for Nightwatch”,
painted to keep the image fresh in my mind
and to play around with the light…

Once I got that worked out, I was ready to go…but…
You see I had to wait for the sunflower to grow up.

The back story of this bunny’s journey from early spring garden bed
to his position on studio night watch
was chronicled in the Painter’s Notes for the study.

I’ve copied them here for you to read…
but you already know the ending…

Painter’s Notes for Study for Nightwatch

You know that first warm sunny day
when you understand that winter has
at least one more round in her
but damnation you are going
to clean out a garden bed…any bed.

On just such a day last March
we both huddled in our warmest fleece,
Herself putting her boots up in the sky chair
and myself blowing the cobwebs off of my weeding bench,
we passed a lovely hour or two
warming old bones in the afternoon sun.

I was hoeing away happily
when I saw something odd.

Just under the drying stalks
of last year’s hyssop
was a layer of what looked like fur.

I often throw the leavings of Finn’s coat
after her weekly brushings
out into the garden
or on top of the nearest snowbank
during the coldest months

So that was my first guess.

Then the fur moved.

Ok yes,
I screamed.

Woke Herself up actually…
and then she screamed.

Not ten minutes before
while I had been weeding the adjoining bed
I had said to Pat…
Now I’m going to be really careful because this is where
those bunnies were nesting last year.

So…the synapses fired up…
and collided.

Approaching cautiously
and much calmer now
I moved aside the covering layer of dry grasses
and peeked under the grey and white blanket of fur…

and sure enough
tiny baby bunnies
nestled in a hollow
the size of a teacup.

Oh the tenders
and gawd…
I had been hacking away
had I nicked one before the discovery ?

I tried my best to restore order to the nest
but I had removed almost all of the weedy
canopy that had made this new spot seem promising.

So, I added some leaves to the top
and found a wide wicker basket
and laid it over the nest
and offered up a prayer to mother nature for their souls

For the next two mornings I stood over the nest
and looked for signs of life.
Both times I saw the slightest rise and fall of the leaves
and the next day Kory came.

He’s helping me with the yard work and
as far as I can tell…so far
he has no fears.
Ok a slight shimmy in his step when he happens upon
a large spider…
but otherwise he’s a rock solid go to guy for wild animal taming.

Kory lifted the basket
and the leaves
and the fur
and sure enough
there were three living breathing bunnies
curled up in their teacup.

As anyone who knows me well
will tell you
they all got names.

Seeing as they were born in my herb bed
I dubbed them, Hyssop and Thyme and Vincent.
The last just in the case I had, accidentally mind you,
nicked one with the ancient Japanese weeding tool.

A few days later they were gone.

A week after that two of them jumped out of the way
of the string trimmer I was just about to swing along
the stone edging of the hydrangea bed.

Then, every afternoon for a month,
all three showed up at my new bird feeders,
which I have moved right outside of my easel window.

One of them kept lingering
later and later into the dusk
after siblings and squirrels
finches and doves
had long since gotten into their jammies
and been tucked into their beds.

On this night
as I was waiting for him
the sunset sent extra long low rays
through the bottom of the fence
and shooting across the tops of the grass.

And like that
the bunny hopped into that shaft of light
and stood completely still
for hours
keeping me company
as if he were on guard.

Then one of his ears twitched
and caught the fading light
and I saw the notch.

Now I am waiting for my sunflowers
to grow tall enough to pose
as the source of those angling rays
in the big portrait I want to paint…

of Vincent.