Burgoyning again

Now that Are We There Yet isn't sucking up all my available time, a few other projects have been perking up to the surface.

This knitting project bag is actually something I finished a couple of weeks ago, but I had to wait to show it until I had given it to the friend for whom it was intended.

(I really really really didn't want to spoil the surprise!)  (And yes, it's another of the Retreat bags, like I was making here.)

I'm still puttering along with the 365 Challenge blocks.

I only lack one more of these 6" blocks to be caught up to the end of May.  I think these larger blocks are done at the end of June, then it's back to the 3" blocks that seem to go together a bit faster.  (Well, they do for me anyway)

And since Are We There Yet is up off the design floor (I've pinned the two halves together, but haven't committed to stitching the seam yet.  The sensible part of my brain is still trying to convince me to just stick with the parallel vertical lines of quilting that was my original plan, while the less sensible part (aka The Part that Gets Me in Trouble) is holding out for that ever-so-cool idea to quilt it in a continuous square spiral. ), I grabbed my newest Burgoyne block (#15)

and some 1.5" strips and squares

and laid everything out for a good look.

I still haven't decided whether I'll go with this narrow sashing, or with the 3" sashing with nine-patches for cornerstones.  I'll mock up the wider version, too, at some point soon, but considering the fact that these blocks finish at 15" without the sashing, that's a lot of quilt laying there, even in this compressed version.  I may have to go out in the yard to find room to lay out the big one...

I'm also got some other sewing projects going on - costume pieces, etc - that aren't yet at an interesting phase.  More on that later!

(And for those of you wondering about my adventures post, one of our elderly alpacas had to be put to sleep, and we were donating the body to the local veterinary college to benefit the students, the sweet corn was for the pigs, and my dad's vehicle of choice happens to be a truck with a dump bed.  So it was all perfectly logical, for some definitions of logical.)

Linking up with Quilting is more fun than Housework for Oh Scrap!  (I'm also hoping to get back on track with the Rainbow Scrap Challenge, especially since this month is ORANGE!!!)

Sassy pig, orange stars, and a teeny tiny turtle

I got the pig squared up, but I can't proceed any further until I can find a cushion form to cover.  I can't get to town to get a cushion cover because my car has a flat tire.

So, once I get my tire attended to, I'll be able to try to chase down a cushion.  So far, I've been doing some investigating on line, and the size I need either doesn't exist, or is sold out, or maybe there might possibly almost be a size that's in the ballpark that I can adapt.  If it's in stock.
I'm discouraged.
So naturally I made a star.  Purely to make me feel better.  Because I got to use some of my new oranges, and how could orange fail to cheer a person up?

This isn't as wonky as it looks.  I took the photo with the block draped over the arm of a sofa, because I didn't want to bend down to the floor to take a picture of one block.  Then I realized that being lazy was making the block look awful and that I really was going to have to go for the flat surface.
I grabbed a couple of the orange RSC stars that I'd made the other day so I wasn't bending over for just one block.

.

Um.  Try to pretend you don't notice that the new block is considerably bigger than the others.  I'm totally not making 6" orange Ohio star blocks for a new quilt, because I'm not gonna start another quilt. 
If I keep chanting that, it'll be true, right? 
(Not gonna start another quilt.  Not gonna start another quilt.  I think it's working.) (Maybe.)

And in rural life, we had a little visitor on the porch steps this evening.  I think he might have fallen down the steps sometime late in the afternoon, and was unable to climb back up.  I rescued him (after admiring him for a bit - so tiny!) and then released him in the grass.
Then I had one of those 'duh' moments and ran for my camera.
I didn't want to scare him by picking him up again, so I just parted the grass where he'd nestled himself in.

And here's my fingers pushing the grass aside, so you can get an idea about how tiny he really is...

 And look at this tail!

 I left him to his fate at that point.  Good luck, little turtle!

Psst: Real Pigs Aren't Pink

The other day I posted a picture of a test block I made

and mentioned that I wasn't spending as much time sewing as planned.
Here's a reason for both -

 

This little guy is the sole survivor of a litter from a Very Bad Mama. 

Most mama pigs settle right down to the family thing.  "Look at my babies!  My babies are the best babies!  Time for breakfast, babies!  And then naptime and then second breakfast."  This particular mama pig was more "What are these THINGS and why do they keep bothering me?"
So we finally had to give up on her,and step in and try to rescue them, but for most it was already too late. 
This little guy managed to make it and is now thriving.  He's a week old and we've stopped holding our breath.
He's even gotten big and strong enough to leave his tub in the woodroom for an outing on the porch.
The first thing he did was climb up a step, much to my surprise.  The last little piglet we'd raised like this didn't figure out steps until he was a month old.

After a glance back down, he proceeded to go up all the steps and was headed for the driveway.  This is a pretty bold move for someone who's only half the size of a sack of sugar.
I scrambled and grabbed him before he could get himself headed for town (I'm sure that was his plan) and blocked the steps so he couldn't pull that again.
Here's a photo taken just before he untied my shoe.  (An ever-popular pastime for piglets.)

The day before, I'd tried to get him interested in tussling  since he's now old enough to start that pastime as well.  (There's a discussion of tussling here)  But, nope, I'd guessed wrong.   His reaction had been "What are you doooooinnnng?!?  Stop thaaaaat..."  So I figured we'd try again at a later date.  Since he has no playmates, and pigs don't do well alone, I try to keep him engaged and socialized.
So I sat in the rocking chair with my Kindle while he explored the porch.  Pretty soon I felt a nudging at my foot.

I gently nudged back.

And he figured out tussling.  What fun!  He wore himself out sumo wrestling my foot and was ready for a good long nap when it was back to the tub.

So pigs.  Big interest in pigs around here.

But pigs aren't pink.

Into the bramble patch

It's berry picking time up in my neck of the woods.  With all the rain and the heat, the berry brambles have shifted into hyperdrive this year.
Bumper crop is the phrase that comes to mind.

This morning I grabbed my bucket and headed out while the dew was still on the leaves.
I worked my way around the edge of a hedgerow, then went over to the old well-drilling rig that is now a combination yard-art/berry trellis, and picked there as well.

There were other spots I could have moved on to at that point, but my bucket was full

my fingers were stained

and my arms were getting sore.  (As this picture I took later shows.  Ouch!)

I've got enough berries for a good sized batch of jelly, and if I can get rid of some seeds, I might make some turnovers.  And there's plenty of berries still out there if I want to go get more.

Speaking of yard art, or rather farm art, this is my most favorite of all of Dad's tractors.
It's the Minimalist Tractor.

He just got the engine put back on it, and is charging up the battery.  There are plenty more years of faithful service here!

Last of the Lawnbenders

Last summer I learned to use my dad's riding lawn mower.  Well, 'learned' might be stretching it a bit.  I became acquainted with Dad's lawn mower.
The first time I used it, I was happily mowing his front yard and was almost done when he flagged me down.
"You know, you're not really cutting the grass - you're just bending it.  You need to raise the rpms."  And he walked away.
Bending?  I looked back, and sure enough, my wake was a little tufty looking.  Downright scruffy in places.
But rpms?  What rpms?  And how do you raise them?
This was like telling a beginning baker that the cake didn't raise because there wasn't enough leavening.  Leavening?  What's that?  And how much is enough?
So, later, after some judicious questioning about rpms, I established that I needed to give it more gas.  Since there's no gas pedal, I have to give it more 'throttle' by raising a lever from down where the turtle is to up more towards the bunny.
Which would sound less crazy if I show you a picture:

That's actually a picture of a newer and fancier throttle lever than we have (there's a knob!), but you get the idea.
So naturally, for the rest of the summer, whenever I was headed for the mower, I would announce that I was off to bend the lawn.  (I've never been one who could resist a chance to be a smartass.  It's probably a character flaw.)
The other lawn I mow is down at The Flat, which is a family property about a quarter mile down the road, that I'm currently using for my sewing room and storage.  It's an interesting lawn, with trees and bushes and deadfall limbs and rope swings and mild inclines and a clothesline, and any number of other traps and pitfalls.  Literally, there's a pitfall.  It's a hole deep enough to get a riding mower stuck in so that you can't go forward or back and have to call your dad for help.  (Ask me how I know.)
This spring was pretty wet, with long soaking rains happening every time the lawn finally dried out enough to mow.  Finally, there was a stretch of a couple of dry days, so I bustled the mower down the road and started mowing, just in the nick of time - another hour and we'd have had to have a haying crew in...
So round and round I went, through grass 12-18" tall, past trees, under clotheslines, halfway over small logs (oops).  I was just congratulating myself on remembering where the hole was and mowing around it instead of through it, and "yay!  I won't have to call Dad to come rescue me", when the mower suddenly made a brrr-slither-chunk! noise, belched some black smoke, and died.
I said words.  Then I climbed down to investigate.
Hidden in the deep dark grass was a really long garden hose, and the mower had tried to inhale it.
Now everything probably would have been fine if it had been a crappy inexpensive garden hose.  The mower would have just turned it into orange confetti and gone merrily on its way.

.

But no.  This was a tough, top-quality, made to last a lifetime type garden hose, so it just wound around and around and around until it jammed the mower blade and gave the mower a small stroke.

Here's a closer view of the wound-up part.  The pics are taken of the hose after my Dad cut it loose and we threw all the bits into the back of his truck.

Because, yeah, I had to call Dad to come rescue me again.