Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Hard to believe . . .

. . . but I'm still here.  I've been caught up in the back to school, back to routine part of the year.  I am also back to work, after three long months without income producing projects. And, with all the busy-ness going on around here, my kids have had a little less time to do the goofy stuff that usually prompts me to post.

Mostly, for now, there are just the bits and bobs to catch up on.  In my last post, I lamented the criminal absence of chocolate chip cookies from my house.  This was temporarily rectified, but now I'm out of cookies again and missing them terribly.  This is no way to live.  I suppose I could go to the store and buy some cookies, but after such a long abstinence, I might eat them all at once and that wouldn't be good either.  Making cookies is out of the question.  For starters, I don't have chocolate chips right now (never mind buying them, I would just eat them right up) and if I were to bake cookies, not only would I eat too many of them, but I would also eat too much of the raw dough. Feh.  I'll just have to drink my coffee and eat some healthy snacks.  Whoopee.

In a slightly less recent post, I admitted a temporary defeat in the construction of the chicken coop.  The chickens survived the additional week (while we were on vacation) in their giant cardboard box, and then the day after we got home, I busted a move and framed and enclosed the new chicken run.  I was tired and a bit cranky (coughravinglunaticcough) by the end of it, but at least I have this to show for my efforts:

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Not exactly Better Homes & Gardens material, but good enough for my new birds.

Even if they are the stupidest chickens ever born.

The first day we put them in, they refused to go outside.  Never mind that they had been planning wild and creative jail breaks for the last three weeks that they were living in the garage.  Once they were in their new digs, they decided that the great outdoors really wasn't their cup of tea.  Initially, we put their food and water under the coop so that the would feel compelled to venture out.  Nothing doing.  They stayed inside and tried to eat the wood shavings and convince us that they could stay hydrated by absorbing the moisture from the air. 

The first bird to go outside got there by accident. Or maybe she was pushed, but the only reason that she left the coop was because she fell out.  There was a squawk and a lot of flapping, and suddenly there was a bird on the grass, standing as still as a statue and pretending she wasn't really there.  She was motionless for a good 15 minutes before she decided that it was safe to look around. It took another 20 minutes before she left the spot where she landed, and even then she seemed to think stealth was required.  Eventually, the other birds made their way out of the coop.  This was fine, except that they refused to go back in again. They found their food and water and decided to camp out for the night under the coop.  Forget my painstakingly assembled coop, forget the clever roost I made for them.  They wanted to sleep on the grass next to the fencing.  Even the coyotes digging around the run were not enough to convince them to go to sleep inside the coop.

After the first one vanished from the pen, we decided some intervention was required.  We fixed the hole in the fence and moved the food and water inside the coop and now they sleep inside at night.  They still haven't figured out the roost, though.  They prefer to  camp on the floor of the coop, huddled right up next to the door that we use for refilling their food.

Bird brains.

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Vacation was insanely beautiful.  We went to Lake Warren in Alstead, New Hampshire.  The sun shone and the days were warm (85 degrees every day, no lie) and it was the perfect way to spend a week at a lake.  We did a lot of kayaking and swimming and we took hikes and picked wild blueberries and even visited an operational fire tower, where the view was spectacular.

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We returned from vacation rested and relaxed and almost (but not quite) ready to go back to school.

Alstead, it turns out, is smack in the center of a mini knitting/spinning/weaving triangle.  I did not plan this.  Fifteen miles to the west was the place where they make Golding Ring Spindles.  Twenty-five miles south west was the Green Mountain Spinnery. And, maybe 20 miles to the south east was Harrisville Designs.  I (really I should say we, since the spindle belongs to Isabel even if she never uses it) already have a Golding spindle and had no intention of purchasing another, so I didn't feel right going there and interrupting the working day of such a small business.  I didn't realize how close Harrisville was, which is just as well because they are the manufacturers of that sweet little loom I was lusting after when Isabel finished weaving camp and really it was much safer not to let me get too close to one that might be available for purchase.  But I've  had my eye on Green Mountain Spinnery from the time that I mapped out the trip to Alstead.  I've got their pattern books, I drool over their yarns; it was really too much to expect me to be so close to the actual spinnery without visiting.  So, on the one slightly drizzly day we had, we packed everyone up and made the pilgrimage.  The mill is much smaller than you would imagine.  The machinery is lined up in the absolute minimum amount of space you could possibly allow for it  and the retail shop is smaller than my bathroom.  But who cares.  The people stopped what they were doing and gave us a tour of the mill, and then I spent an hour poking through the yarns and picking out four colors of Mountain Mohair to be used for hats.

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As a bonus, they were selling mill end singles on cones at a dollar an ounce (processed but unspun fiber costs me at least $2 per ounce). I picked up a few cones for plying experiments. Wheee!


And in knitting news, I can actually report some progress.

First up, my half-stranded socks from Magnificent Mittens and Socks.  I started these as part of a class that I took in June with my friend Knitting Deb. She is a great teacher and a lot of fun, and between chitchat and snack breaks, she managed to show me how to make these things.  The construction is very weird at first, because you knit a little bitty skinny strip, which becomes the very tippy toe of the sock.  You pick up stitches along one side of the strip and knit the top of the sock in two colors, which involved the thoroughly evil  (but mercifully brief) task of purling in two colors.  Then, after you've knit enough to cover the top of your foot, you go back to the tippy toe part and pick up stitches along the other side of the toe strip so you can knit the bottom of the sock, this time in just one color.  Along the way, you do some terribly clever decreasing that joins the top and bottom halves and eventually you turn the heel and go back to knitting in the round.  There seem to be a lot of steps, but they go fairly quickly once you actually sit down to knit. In my case, I had abandoned these socks soon after the class in favor of some other projects.  When I packed them in my bag for the drive to New Hampshire, I was just past the heel turn on both socks. I finished the first sock on the drive to NH, and the second sock on the next day.  They fit like gloves, except on my feet of course. The only drawback is that the yarn is a sport weight and has a pretty well defined twist to it.  It feels just slightly bumpy underfoot.  But I still love them.

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Next up was my February Lady Sweater.  I loved the yarn, particularly the color, but I'm really glad this is done.  I made the tactical error of also knitting the February Baby Sweater for a new cousin of ours, and I was ready to be done knitting this particular lace pattern before I was more than a few repeats into the body. Still, I am in full sweater mode right now, and the FLS was all that was standing between me and permission to start the next sweater, and so it got done.   

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February Lady Sweater, complete with weaving implements.


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February Baby Sweater with cute heart buttons.  It has finally been mailed off to the new baby, who is not so new any more.  I hope she has not outgrown it, and that her mother doesn't hate this particular shade of purple.


My finished FLS is pictured with three stick shuttles and a pick up stick that I bought at the Finger Lakes Fiber Festival this year.  I did not buy one single other thing at the festival.  No yarn, no fiber, no fleece.  Are you impressed with my discipline?  Don't be.  I'm saving the spending for the NYS Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck.   I leave in 23 days, 11 hours, and about 40 minutes for my one day on the town with my friend Regular Deb.  I have two weaving-related tools on my shopping list, and then we'll see what little surprises hop into my shopping basket.  One side effect of all the work that I have lined up for this fall is that I feel --all at the same time--virtuous, deserving, and in need of a little fibery compensation for all my hours of labor. I like to think of it as my way of supporting the ailing economy.

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Above is my current weaving project.  I did finish a different project using a waffle weave, but I used only one color of yarn and it turned out looking the same color as split pea soup.  Not that I don't love split pea soup, but I find the color less than inspiring and I refuse to take a picture of it.

I got tired of the loom taking up space on my tables, so I nailed a peg rack to the wall and hung the loom on it.  It is easy to get to, out of the way, and less likely to fall victim to the whole out of sight, out of mind phenomenon. The yarn on there is some crochet cotton that has been cluttering up my "studio" (hahahaha.  I have to laugh every time I say that.  You can too, if you want) for a few years.  I like the whole plaid thing, but I'm ready to move on to something a little more organized.

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And, voila!  See these books?  I have found a way to keep my floor loom lust in abeyance. These books are all about making cool patterns on your rigid heddle loom.  There is a ton of stuff to try, and when you combine all those options with the facts that (1) the RH loom is much easier to set up and (2) I already own the damn thing (unlike the $1K floor loom I was swooning over), I should be good to go for a few more years. 

Spinning has taken a back seat to all the knitting that has been going on around here.  But, I did bring my spindle on vacation and I managed to finish up a bunch of stuff:
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BFL spun and plied on my turkish spindle; it only took me a year to finish this.  I didn't particularly enjoy the experience and I suspect that the turkish spindle and I might not have been made for one another.

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Silk spun from hankies.  Lots of pre-drafting involved.  Not sure I'll be doing a lot more of this.

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More silk, spun but not yet plied.  My hands ache just remembering this project.

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Mystery fiber spun on my Bosworth.  It wants to be a very fine yarn and I'm not fighting it.  The only drawback it that it takes longer to spin that many more yards and I don't seem to be in any particular hurry to get this done.

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Not that this post isn't long enough already, but I caught Sophie hunkered down in one of my baskets today and thought that she needed a few minutes of fame.  She looks very stern, doesn't she?

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Just so you know . . .

I have spent 4 out of the last 24 hours in the grocery store-- that's two shopping trips in two days-- and there are still no chocolate chip cookies in the house.

This is approaching a criminal level of dietary negligence.

Also, there is not enough chocolate in the world to suit me, although there is probably just enough chocolate in the house to keep me almost sane.  If you are inclined to be a wise guy at this point, please note that your commentary is not entirely welcome.

Oh, and just this minute, I dropped one precious piece of that chocolate -- still partially in its wrapper--into my very hot coffee. Here it is, in its sad post-rescue state.

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It turns out that I like the chocolate-tinged coffee a lot better than I like the coffee-tinged chocolate.  I do not at all like the new coffee spots all over my favorite white shirt.

As if this were not enough to try the patience of a much more saint-like person,  it would appear that I left my earbuds in New Hampshire.  I bought new ones yesterday, but they don't plug all the way into my iPhone, so they are useless.  Then I found some unwanted earbuds lying around the house, but those didn't work either. 

And, just this very minute, I decided to artfully swirl my coffee around to mix in the sugar that is lurking at the bottom of the mug and I spilled it on my desk. 

I think it would be much safer if I just went back to bed now.

Good night.

Friday, August 27, 2010

In which I Admit Defeat, Temporarily.

I made a little chicken coop.

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It is full of charming amenities, my favorite being the gangplank.

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The completion of the coop is a good thing, because the chickens in my garage are getting a bit pungent and my son finds it necessary to hold his nose every time he walks by them.  To really drive home his point, he feels further compelled to mimic gagging and then take deep, nourishing breaths as soon as he steps back into the house, as if he hasn't been near fresh air in hours. I think the chickens kind of feel the same way, because one of them made a mad dash for freedom on Tuesday, which was foiled only because, after two months in a box, she may have become agoraphobic and froze mid-step when she realized she couldn't handle the sanity bashing large-ness of the garage.

Unfortunately for the chickens, I am going on vacation tomorrow and have not yet finished their fencing, so they are stuck in their stinky garage box for a while longer. I expect them to be raving lunatics by the time I get back, but I don't know that they'll actually seem all that different, what with them being chickens and chickens being kind of erratic to start with.  But I feel badly.

The problems lies in the fact that I am a haphazard carpenter (and I apologize to all true carpenters in the world -- I don't really have the right to claim that I am any kind of carpenter, even a crappy one).  I make lots of drawings and calculations, and then I order some wood and get busy messing it all up.  Close observers will note, for example, that one side of the coop is completely smooth.

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It is entirely lacking that charming and fake rough vertical siding look that the rest of the coop sports.  Almost as if some fool carpenter wannabe cut that side of the coop in the wrong direction and had to flip the siding (which comes in a sheet that has only ONE textured side) around so it would fit. Maybe this alleged carpenter has an issue with north-facing walls, since it was the north facing wall of the last chicken coop that somehow was built a full inch shorter than the other three walls.

Incompetence  notwithstanding, I was determined to finish the fencing today so that I could move the stinky birds out of the garage before the house sitter had to deal with them and their jail breaking experiments.  I moved all the bits of lumber out to the new coop and was starting on the first fence section when my mind wandered innocently off to consider the task of nailing the chicken wire to the fence boards and I had a sudden spasm of clarity.  The fencing is 48 inches tall.  So I cut the upright supports at 48 inches, right?  Only by the time I finish nailing them between the top and bottom rails, the fence wall will be 51 inches tall.  Laid out on the floor for the visual learners among us, it will look kind of like this:

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DUH!  The supports are too long and I will be able to tack the chicken wire to the bottom or the top of the fence, but not both.  Plus, chicken wire only pretends to be 48 inches tall.  By the time you are finished doing battle with it, it will have taken on entirely new dimensions which bear no relation to the hole you are trying to cover.  I could hear the predators snickering as they watch me from the bushes.

Now I'll have to shorten all of the supports by about 3 inches. Normally, I would just issue a little golf language and barrel ahead, but, like I said, I'm headed on vacation tomorrow. My garden is about to be overtaken by weeds, my suitcase (and everyone else's) is unpacked, my house is a mess, and -- if past behavior is anything to go by-- I'm pretty sure my family will want to eat some dinner again tonight.  Plus, I seem to be busy blogging right now.  Even I can't make believe that time will warp enough to let me get all this stuff AND a fence done before we leave.  So, like I said, I have been forced to retreat from my chicken plans.  I am defeated.  But only for now.

On the up side, Isabel finished weaving camp today.  Camp was held at a 19th century reconstructed village/museum. Kids who go to one of the camps wear period appropriate clothing and --as far as visitors to the museum are concerned-- become part of the re-enactment. They spend the week learning about 19th century farming, cooking, schooling, or crafting and soaking up some of the feeling of a different time.  At the end of the program, I got to see her fine finished products (a bag with handle, a scarf, a rag rug and a bunch of bookmarks-- it turns out you can get a lot done when there is no TV) and I got to watch her weave with complete confidence and enthusiasm on a two different looms.

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Great experience, proud parental moment, but dampened by a potentially disastrous discovery:  I have a whopper crush on the 22" floor loom she was using.  And I don't really even weave that much.  It was just so cute.  And petite.  And it looked like so much fun to sit there and work the pedals and weave beautiful things. I think the problem is that I'm a tool junkie. I love my spinning wheel and am now tracking down an astounding number of other "must have" spinning and fiber prep tools. I have also been known to take loving pictures of things like my new hacksaw and my framing hammer, which I celebrated in a post last year. And now the loom.   And really, really, really:   I don't weave that much.  But I have a major thing for all the Stuff.

Moving away from unnecessary possessions, I was surprised a few weeks ago when my watermelon did this:

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All on its own.  I did not cut that heart shape out of the wedge.  Honest.  The little bugger fell out while I was cutting the wedge.  Weird, huh?

And again, I cannot stress enough the importance of keeping cameras out of the hands of children.  Here, in condensed form, is a sampling of the pictures that resulted from Matty's recent photography obsession.

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Most seem to be action shots; all are of the dog.  And there were over 150 of them on my phone.  I can tell it was Matty taking the pictures by the little feet that show up now and then.  And the total disregard for holding the camera still while taking the picture.

Thank goodness he has taken up drawing.  Here is his first picture:

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It started as a picture of me, but he felt the need to add himself and then El Husband to the collection. I'm the one in the middle. In case you were wondering, the black dots at our midsections represent the food in our tummies. It would appear that we are quite transparent.  I'm no critic, but I think it's brilliant.

No time for knitting news today.  Not only am I too consumed with loom lust to report on the two sweaters that I have finished,

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but I would kind of like to go on vacation tomorrow, and I haven't packed . . .

Friday, July 30, 2010

Busy Girl

Well, it took about 7 weeks of vacation and a 20 degree drop in the temperature, but I finally got my motivation back.  Yesterday I woke up and just knew it was time to get some stuff done around the house. 


1. Some beat up door frames

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got a fresh coat of paint.

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2. I shelled out for a new hacksaw,

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which made easy work of cutting the downspouts in preparation for my new rain barrels. 


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I seem to be having a Murphy's law kind of relationship with these barrels.  Before we ordered them, it was painfully dry around here.  No big deal, since I didn't have any barrels with which to "harvest" any rain.  Then we got them, and it rained gallons and gallons, but of course they were in the garage waiting to be installed so they still didn't do us any good.  Now they are installed, and it stands to reason that it will never rain again.  Just as well; I still have one more coat of paint to put on the doors.

3. On the inside of the house, I attended to some long neglected projects.  The highest-impact project was the re-installation of the TP holder in the downstairs bathrooom.  Despite all my instructions to the builder to make sure that all towel bars and TP holders were firmly anchored to studs, this one got installed just in the drywall and it has been out of service for more than half of our 6 years here.  Last year I decided I would fix it and got as far as making half a dozen  or so exploratory holes in the walls

 
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before I stripped the screws and got the holder stuck in a piece of accessory wood that was meant to serve as a plaque on which to mount the TP holder.  Because I had stripped the screws, I couldn't get the TP holder out of the 'plaque' without a saw, which I couldn't find.  I got annoyed and decided to set the project aside until it stopped making me mad.

Yesterday I decided that I was mighty and dreadful and I set my TP holder free again by stomping on the plaque until it broke into a thousand pieces.  I bought some washers and screws and was on the verge of fussing about the absence of a replacement plaque when I realized that the TP holder screws could be set in a vertical line (I was originally waylaid by a pair of very misleading holes set horizontally in the TP holder --a total red herring) and that the whole plaque escapade had been an unnecessary diversion.  To top it all off, it turned out that two of the holes I made last year were perfectly spaced and reasonably well located for the TP holder.  And here it is!  Holes have been filled and I even searched the house and found the wall paint for finishing the job.  I can't imagine it will match after all this time, but it will be much better than looking at all the white dots on the wall.

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4. While I had the spackle out to fill the holes in the bathroom walls, I also filled the holes made when the dog freaked out about the chickens and tore the curtains [story here] (which have since been cleverly used to make secret hideouts on the bunk beds, where the extra ventilation in the curtains is actually a good thing).

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5. Catching up on some knitting and spinning stuff, here is a picture of my final Tour de Fleece project, which was 4 ounces of Spinner's Hill fiber that I got from Dizzy Sheep. After all that worsted weight long draw spinning, I was in the mood for some very fine and smooth spinning and this ended up being over 590 yards of a light fingering weight.  The colors mixed beautifully and I'm hoping it will be just as pretty when I knit it, though I have no clue what I'll make with it yet.

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I did not meet my goal of spinning all 4 pounds of fiber, but I did finish all of my merino fleece, I filled two bobbins of the autumn bat (although I still have 5 bobbins/10 ounces total) left to spin, and I had a lot of fun.


While I was busy spinning, Dizzy put some Dream in Color yarn up for sale and I bought two skeins of purple to make this sweet little sweater for a new cousin of ours.  I'm trying to knit really fast because I'm worried that the sweater might be closer to a 12 month size than the 18 month size that I think is really what  a March baby might wear for this winter.  Then again, my babies were kind of hefty, and maybe this new cousin will be petite and I won't have to worry.

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All this sweater knitting for baby Delilah led my baby to ask when I was going to knit him a sweater. To prove how earnest and desperate he was to wear a hand knit sweater, he made moony eyes at me and tried to stuff himself into a tiny little sweater that I had pulled out of storage to use as a guide for the size of Delilah's sweater.  I was powerless to resist that much cuteness and I ordered a few skeins of this yarn to make him a little sweater from the Green Mountain Spinnery Knitting Book.  What a sucker!

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6. The busy-ness will continue today, if I ever get off my blogging duff and get to work.  This nice little pile of materials was delivered yesterday (as was my new anti-fatigue floor mat from the nice people at Williams-Sonoma; I told you it was busy around here) and is waiting to be made into a mini-coop for this year's babies.  They are getting a little stinky in the garage, and I think it's high time they were turned out into more natural surroundings.   I'm pretty sure they agree; every time I pull back the netting over their box, at least one of them tries to make a break for it.

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Off to work!!

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Whoops . . .

So back to the whole shopping thing:  Yes, I am one of those people who sits down the night before shopping day (and yes, there is a shopping day) and plans out a week's worth of dinner menus so that I don't buy (too many) useless items and, more importantly, so that I am  never, ever caught lacking that crucial ingredient without which dinner cannot possibly occur.  Imagine my surprise, then, when tonight's menu (yes, there really is a menu, and I post it on the fridge so that I don't forget what all those carefully planned food purchases are for) clearly said that we would be eating tortellini, pesto, and broccoli, but there was neither tortellini nor broccoli in the house. 

No biggie, you might say.  But you might also be the kind of person who is mentally prepared to vary from the menu.  And you might be the kind of person who is not trying to create a nutritionally balanced meal at 8:00 on soccer night. And you just might be the kind of person who has a full box of some other pasta in the pantry, rather than the tail ends of several boxes of  wildly disparate pasta. And you might be a person who shops on a day that is not tomorrow, such that you might actually have a little food left in the house.  

I, on the other hand, would appear to be your polar opposite, and this might account for the bizarre combination of scrap foods that I am about to throw down on the table and call dinner.

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I will, however, be putting the pesto away so that I can pretend that-- instead of totally being caught with my culinary pants down-- I just changed my mind.

p.s. A word to the wise:  if you are the kind of person who sits and finishes a blog post (or a bobbin of spinning, or a row (or 10) of knitting) before fishing your pasta out of the pot, you might just find that your pierogies do not appreciate the extra time in the bath and will protest by bursting open and emptying their filling into the cooking water, thereby rendering them a meaningless addition to your impromptu dinner menu.  I think they should come with a government warning to this effect, but they don't, so I thought I better pick up the slack.

p.p.s. Just in case you were wondering, here is the result of my Spinarellarama (note the capital letter there; I thought such a grand event merited an elevation in status):

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This is about 1300 (1311, to be exact) yards of yarn.  I'm thinking I'll weave something with it, but I don't really know what yet.

Having finished all my merino fleece (yay me!!!), I am treating myself to a brief affair with this purple loveliness:

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I'm plugging away at the second bobbin today, and I hope to ply it tomorrow, then I'll get back to my regularly scheduled spinning.

Bon appetit!

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Spinarellarama!

Once upon a time when the world was young, El Husbando took his nephew ice skating. The nephew, being a brand new skater, was a unsteady on his feet and eventually El Husbando arranged the little guy on a pylon and pushed him around the rink. And around the rink. And around the rink. As they went around, they sometimes did a little spin, and sometimes they did a bigger spin. And what is a fancy spin move without a spiffy name? So El Husbando started to say things like "spin-a-rama!" and "spin-a-rella-rama!" as they turned, because he's really fun that way. Unfortunately, the nephew had just reached that charming age when children decide that they are wise in the ways of the world and don't have to put up with your juvenile crap any more. On the next spin move, he turned to El Husbando with a dignified expression and said, in that scathing way that little kids have when they have caught you in an error, "Uncle Al, spinarellarama is not a real word."

I'm not sure that El Husbando ever recovered from the heartbreak of that moment. A perfectly good word and a fancy skating move all dashed to bits by the Junior Reality Police. Fortunately, he married me and I don't have these issues. I hereby proclaim that spinarellarama is a perfectly good word. In fact, it is so good that I believe its meaning should not be limited to "a fancy skating move," but should be extended to refer to any really fun event that involves a lot of spinning. Such as the Tour de Fleece.

Ha! Didn't see that coming, did you?

I have now been spinning for a full week, with occasional breaks for swimming and laundry and dinner making.  I have made a noticeable (to me, anyway) dent in the stash and have produced 4.2 skeins of yarn (the 0.2 being a 30 yard skein made from the leftovers of some mismatched bobbins) weighing a total of 14.5 ounces.
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(two skeins of undyed merino)

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(one skein of kool-aid dyed merino plied with a merino/mohair blend)

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(30 yards of the kool-aid dyed merino all by itself)

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(275 yards of Spinner's Hill goodness)

I also have two bobbins waiting to be plied into skein number 6,

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(top one is another merino-mohair blend, bottom one is plain vanilla merino)

and I have begun work on the first bobbin of  skein number 7, which is being spun from more of this merino/mohair fluffy stuff:

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I have been happily devouring the same merino fleece that nearly kicked my boo-tocks during the 2009 TdF,  which has been reduced to this:

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(See? Of the 14 batts I started with, there are only 4 left in the bag.  Two are on today's schedule, and my hope is to have spun and plied the remainder by Tuesday night. No lie.)

And, as of yesterday, I seem to have crossed some sort of speed spinning divide and am making yarn a lot faster than I used to.  I am having a true spinarellarama.

As if that were not enough joy for one week, I have finally turned the heel of my second Nutkin sock, curse its little yarny head. Just a handful of pattern repeats and I will be free-- FREE, I tell you -- to move on to another yarn and a more cooperative pattern.

An last, for the cherry on this sundae, here is a sneak peak of my anniversary present. 


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15 years of wedded bliss, all wrapped up in a well-matched pair of Northern Red Oak trees and planted right on my anniversary.  Love the trees, love the symbolism.  Hurray for us!