The gal from Brooklyn is, in fact, a sixty-ish ex-marathoner, psychology professor who I almost ploughed into while running this morning. I slowed to a walk beside her and we got to talking. And ended up crossing the river, and walking through the woods, chatting—not running, just walking quickly at this point—before parting ways half an hour later. I love these chance encounters. They lift me right up ever time. Just a few days ago, on my way home from work, I stopped to pet my favourite neighbourhood dog, a lassie names Laddie who lives with a very old woman with a beautiful, big garden. During the early spring, she had tapped an ancient maple tree that flanks her land. Walking by and seeing the sap flowing always left me feeling elated, light, so happy to see that even in a city, people like to live with their hands in the soil and their hearts with the trees. (I should also start keeping count of the number of backyard chicken coops I’ve come across!) So recently, when I was petting her dog, she came around the corner and we said hello. I asked her about her tree, and she shared with me that it has been there since 1915. Since before the telephone lines were strung from the central posts to the adjacent houses. Today, the phone line snakes its way around and through the upper branches of the majestic maple. An afterthought. We talked about maple syrup, sugaring, drinking sap cold, right from the bucket. She offered that I could tap the other maples in her yard, if I am here next winter. One is plenty for her, she told me, but I was welcome to make good use of her tiny, urban sugarbush. Sweetness of maple, kind words.
I’ve been teaching myself to sew lately. Thankfully, I work with a group of helpful, experienced sewists, who are always willing to advise me. So far, I’ve made three tank tops, a dress, a voile t-shirt, and an enormous linen travel bag that will accompany me on board a few planes this summer. I also snagged some Liberty print quarter meters last weekend, and hemmed them into scarves. Liberty carries a certain intrigue: my grandmother, I’ve been told, used to make the trip from Germany to London, where she would stock up on the classics. I found my first Liberty fabric, in the form of a blouse, during a beautiful trip to San Francisco a few year ago—in a thrift shop. A lucky find! I relish the experience of sewing. I’ve been a knitter for a few years now, having been well-taught by my mother and a fiber-artist friend and former college teacher of mine, Jody Stoddard. Now knitting and sewing have taken on almost the same kind of satisfaction. The ability to make something wearable, usable, something with longevity, beats out lots of other ways to spend my time. I’ve been sewing mostly for myself these days, getting the hang of things, and wearing my mistakes. Knitting, on the other hand, is something I do for other people, most of the time anyway. When I knit something for someone else, I think about them while I work at it. Hope that whatever I make them will protect them, keep them warm, and give them the feeling of being held. One can never have enough people to knit for. xo
PS- Things have suddenly turned to deep spring here. The weather gods have forgotten the subtle transitions they usually tempt us with. Instead, bare feet and short sleeves are on the agenda these days. Magnolias, tulips, daffodils, forsythia, and many other spring flowers are exploding into bloom everywhere I look. People are sunbathing by the river, sitting on their sweaters, shed eagerly as they soak up the sunshine. We need this, beauty all around, warmth, life. I know I do.