This is my art today. This lovely wee egg that is less egg-shape and more just a nice ellipse.

ellipse |iˈlips|

noun

a regular oval shape, traced by a point moving in a plane so that the sum of its distances from two other points (the foci) is constant, or resulting when a cone is cut by an oblique plane that does not intersect the base.

Okay, so the definition isn’t very charming, but eggs sure are, as are chickens. At least from my perspective.

Now of all the chickens that run around this place, only one is a layer. A tiny bantam hen, and I’m not kidding–her entire body is probably no larger than six of these eggs she lays. The rooster who watches over her must be six times her size. Nevertheless, I’d rather mess with the rooster than cross a Bantam hen.
I wonder if there’s a connection to the boxing term “bantam weight”.

I don’t know that we’ll really call this space “The Blue Room” but it does have one blue wall.

The space is a little “shop” that my brother built on his property many years ago. It’s small, about 250 sq. ft. altogether, and cleverly built from old truck boxes (but you wouldn’t know that just by looking). He has had several dreams for this space, none of which really came together. A few days ago he suggested we turn it into a space for me; he knows I need a “nest” in the worst way.

Over the years the space had filled with assorted detritus. There were the supplies and artworks of an artist named Muzak, and cool things our sister no longer wanted in her home. And there was a pallet of clear fir tongue and groove flooring.

We cleared the space of everything but the pallet of T&G and then got to work at laying a floor. This isn’t any McMansion type of precision floor installation. Sweep up the debris and roll out some paper. Which works swell for me, seeings as I’ve never laid a floor before.

I did a lot of studious observing while my brother measured, cut, and nailed. And then I practiced with the nailer on some scraps and then when he got distracted with a phone call, I slid in and installed some flooring myself.

I’m not new to construction, but there’s a lot that I don’t know. I’m much more familiar and comfortable with sewing or making art. But a big part of this whole adventure in “the wilderness” is to learn how to construct something larger than a pair of pants. Maybe today he’ll let me add the biscuit jointer to my skill set.

It’s all kind of cute though, because my intention for this Blue Room space is to make art and use my sewing machine. And now, if it’s warmed up enough outside I’ll go put some caulk on the window trim.

Breakfast time.

I covet my brother’s windmill.

It’s all romantic looking, and reminds me of my grandparents’ farm in Redstone, Montana. The tower is very tall and sturdy, and if I was really an aerialist I could hang from it and do tricks.

I stood under the windmill today, and wondered how in the world did my brother get this thing to be standing here. It is huge, and has to be hella heavy. But he is good with big things. Windmills, silos, backhoes, houses.

Me, I am good with little things. Buttons, thread, needles, pins, scissors.

It’s not a gender division. I was losing my flesh on a grinding wheel at six (oops. ouch), and I was shooting ducks when I was ten. I worked in a furniture factory, and drove a street sweeper. I know the difference between an engine and a motor, a shovel and a spade.

Nevertheless, I am better with the little things. And I sometimes covet my brother’s way with the big.

This was pretty much the start of my day today. And it’s not even my truck that lost the muffler. So much for my Girl Scout training about leaving things better than I found them. (And by the way, those are my trees reflected on the side of the truck.)

Most of the rest of the day was spent cleaning out sheds and prepping things to sell. I paid a visit to “the bus” which is the old, yellow school bus that I’ve been using for storage for years. I intended to do some cleaning out of cr*p and organize some more things that can be sold. I ended up doing a bit of that, and then falling out of the back of the bus, a three-foot drop. OUCH. Maybe for you in the morning I’ll photograph the bruise on my leg, which I anticipate will be every shade of purple by this time tomorrow.

But on the way back to the house I got to see a doe and a fawn. (That’s the doe, leaving the frame on the left.)

And then when I got back to the house it was suppertime. I suggested maybe spaghetti, but my brother said there was a fresh grouse in the fridge, so I changed my mind about having pasta.

This beautiful feather was waiting for me this morning, my first morning post-move. At first glance I thought it was an owl feather (an owl flew over our heads during our drive last night and then I’d heard one hooting after we arrived in Malo).  I know that owl feathers are soft like velvet (which helps silence their flight) so I felt it. Nope, not owl. Then I realized it was a hawk feather, red-tailed I deduced.

Now some people believe that owls portend death−that their presence indicates death awaits someone nearby, and even a feather has this power.  But I tend to the view that death can mean change−like the tarot interpretation of the death card. So, I was happy to see an owl feather awaiting me. Me, the girl in the midst of a lot of change.

I was just as happy to realize it is a hawk feather.

Hawks are powerful, with keen eyesight, and many believe they symbolize vision, clarity, focus−things that I can use these days. And in any event, it is a beautiful feather.

I found a website called The Feather Atlas, and identified this as a juvenile wing feather from a red-tail hawk. (This is the kind of hawk that circles above my brother’s chickens and swoops on them for a meal.)

Of course I’m a little obtuse in some things, and did not realize that it is verboten for me to possess feathers from red-tail hawks, being that they are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. I suppose this means it’s best that I leave such feathers lay where I find them.

By the way, The Feather Atlas looks like a great resource for identifying those feathers we all find here and there. And which I now know I probably best not be bringing home.

So then I dove into the more “productive” part of my day, and started unloading my things from the trailer. I quickly grokked that I really had no place to put things, so unloading probably was not such a great idea. I revised my plan and took care of some bill paying and the like, then went to the post office to open a PO Box. Turns out I qualify for a free box, because my place is no where near the mail carrier’s route. Apparently the USPS guarantees free delivery of mail, so if the rural delivery route doesn’t work, the box is free.

Then I went to “the bus”−the old, yellow school bus which years ago Dad offered to me as a quasi storage facility. I thought I’d see what kind of room I still had in there, hoping I could off-load some of the trailer contents into the bus. This required driving a ways on a road that isn’t really a road, but is more of a beaten path through the grass and pine trees. Such driving can be perilous in summer conditions; an automobile can set dry grass afire. I was conscious and wary of this.

So I was very distressed when I got back to my brother’s house, stood at the kitchen window, and saw smoke floating in the distance, above the area where I’d just been.

I’ll save you the tedium of the details. The short version is that from a better vantage point we could see that the fire was coming from the other side of the mountains (whew! off the hook for starting my first forest fire). We stood watch however, for the wind was blowing furiously, the stuff of flames whipped and traveling. If we saw flames crest the ridge, we’d be off with our shovels.

Shovels, and backhoe, and water truck. My brother is a fount of heavy equipment …

The smoke shifted and the colors changed, but finally we went back to the house; things seemed under control and then the skies cleared of smoke.

The report tonight is that 400 acres burned. I haven’t heard yet what the cause was, but I am so glad it’s not my name that’s going to be in the paper for this one.

There is a lot of work ahead. First step, repair the sole of my work boot so that I can have some foot gear that is up to the tasks I must tackle. Here, I am using my brother’s chicken coop to sun-dry the sole after scrubbing to prep for gluing. I’m sure there’ll be photos of his chickens posted here later. And oh-by-the-way, the Chicken Selector app for iPhone? Disappointing.

Now, off the Internet and back to the chores, before the coolness of morning leaves and real summer heat arrives.

Can’t sleep. Head and heart spinning. So, I am tapping out this post on my phone while my family sleeps elsewhere in my apartment. At least I hope they are sleeping …

Tomorrow we load my belongings into the horse trailer that they have towed here, 300 miles. I am not fully prepared, even though I started on this chore weeks ago. I confess that I have taken a very “Virgo” approach to packing, and that does slow things down.

I’ve washed and mended and sorted before relegating things to cardboard moving boxes. I’ve culled a lot and given away or pitched so much. And this has taken time.

It is a good feeling to have lightened my load, but I am baffled by just how many “necessities” remain. Oh. My.

My brother predicts that we will have it all loaded within four hours. That’s sixteen “man” hours if we’re all engaged. Unfortunately I have to run a couple of errands, such as returning my cable modem …

That’s all just the technical huha of it. The heart and head are busy buzzing about the future that is unfolding in front of me, and the way my past is fading behind me.

I miss my Seattle friends and family already. Yet I can hardly wait to get to my 100 acre wood. It just feels so right

This one is for my sister.

The Dreaded Candlestick is moving back to your neighborhood. Hahahahahahahahahaha.

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