On Friday, as I do every year, I was thinking about Patriots’ Day. It’s a holiday in Massachusetts, though it’s now celebrated on the third Monday in April instead of the 19th, to make a three-day weekend. It commemorates the start of the American Revolution in 1775, when the battles of Lexington, Concord, and Menotomy took place. It was immediately preceded by Paul Revere’s (and others) ride.
Blooming Plum
In 1894, the governor of Massachusetts, bowing to lobbying from one group wanting a “Lexington Day” and another desiring a “Concord Day”, proclaimed “Patriots’ Day” to celebrate “the anniversary of the birth of liberty and union”. The ‘union’ refers to the American Civil War. On this same date in 1861 the Baltimore Riots occurred, marking the first bloodshed of that conflict. Another factor in the ‘birth’ of Patriots’ Day could be the popularity Longfellow’s poem “Paul Revere’s Ride”, first published in 1861.
Harbour Seal on the riverbank
What I did not know, however, was that Patriots’ Day replaced the earlier “Fast Day”. Alas, this was not a day to rush around or speed on the motorway. It was “a day of public fasting and prayer,” proclaimed by Colonial governors to fend off natural calamities. A Fast Day could be proclaimed at any time and didn’t always have a set date, but they were always a day off. Often a Fast Day was proclaimed at the start of Spring, for good weather during the growing season. It wasn’t always successful, but the holiday was on the books in Massachusetts until 1894. It hung on in New Hampshire until 1991, when it was replaced by Civil Rights Day.
Nowadays, Patriots’ Day is probably better known as the date of the Boston Marathon, which started in 1897. The first race had a field of 15 and was run between Ashland and Boston. A few years later, the course was lengthened to meet Olympic standards, moving the start out to Hopkinton. This year, as ever, it was run on the same route, but with 29,451 entrants from 129 countries and all 50 US states.
Willow buds
The gansey is quickly approaching the shoulders, and I’m appreciating the pattern more and more. It’s simple to memorise; the only thing that needs attention is the number of rows between cable crosses. It’s flexible as regards sizing too. Although it’s not easy to adjust the size of the diamonds, a stitch or two can be added to either side. The chevrons have no height limitation and can be widened or narrowed as needed. The cables, too, could become 4 stitch cables instead of 6, or replaced with a single cable instead of a pair.
Similar to running a marathon, knitting a gansey is also a long-term commitment. Good progress is being made – in a mile or two the front will be split into two shoulder sections to form the front neck. Then the front and back will be bound off at the shoulders, and I’ll arrive at the Heartbreak Hill of the sleeves.
Late last week, I stepped out of the front door and thought, “This is what Spring is supposed to feel like.” Warm, sunny, with a bracing balmy breeze from the south. The hours of daylight are longer. The sun is brighter and higher in the sky, rising from the sea to gild the houses, trees, and fields. Snowdrops have bloomed and faded, taking advantage of the unshaded light under trees, and avoiding the heat of summer. Blackbirds are trilling their hearts out as the day breaks, unseen larks are broadcasting in the welkin. Wintering birds have flown to their breeding grounds, and geese are migrating. There’s a whiff of long summer days and short sleepless nights in the offing, warm zephyrs instead of arctic blasts, gentle rain instead of sudden downpours, bright blooms and the scent of newly mown lawns. All things to anticipate.
Caithness Potholes
There was an article in the paper last week titled “The vorfreude secret”. With a subtitle containing “ways to fill your life with joy”, my interest was piqued. Everyone can use some joy now and again. I read on. ‘Vorfreude’ translates as ‘anticipation of joy’. The article details many little ways to do this, from looking forward to your morning cup of coffee to scheduling an activity you enjoy. Perhaps my interpretation isn’t an accepted one. For instance, what about that list of things to do. Everyone has one. Why not, instead of dreading all those little and large tasks, look forward to getting them done? And anticipate the sense of accomplishment? That small shift in attitude immediatlely lightened some of the burden away.
An oft-delayed item on my list of reminders is to prune the rose bushes in front of the house. It’s been put off for years. In February or March, when they start to show signs of growth, it’s too cold. Later in the year, it’s too cold again. There never seems to be a ‘right’ time to get into the garden. However, because the pruning hasn’t been done for so long, and the weather was sparklingly sunny with a warm wind, the next day those roses were pruned. One had shoots approaching six feet tall; it is now closer to three and a half. A philadelphus of similar height was also trimmed to a smaller size. It only took an hour, including compressing the twigs into the garden waste bins. Indeed, there was a sense of accomplishment, of something dreaded being done, of knowing it needn’t be done again soon. And there was the unanticipated bonus of being able to see out the lounge windows.
Spring Tides
Another petite fillip was reaching the top of the back of the gansey. The anticipated pattern can now be fully seen. Even a busy morning volunteering at the museum has done wonders for its growth. The ridge and furrow shoulder straps come next, and then the back will be completed.
Over the past two years or so, I’ve been attempting to learn the oboe, with the goal of playing with a group like an orchestra. I found an oboe through a local music school, who provided one on permanent loan. It’s probably over 40 years old and came with some reeds of the same vintage. Although in good condition, some maintenance and minor repairs were necessary, so it was sent off for an overhaul. A month later it came back, and I had to figure out how to play it. The internet was scoured, distant oboe playing friends were queried. Eventually, through trial and error, luck, more error, and persistence, reasonable sounds were produced. At this point I felt confident enough to attend the local community orchestra, which takes all comers.
Eddies below North Head
Attendance at rehearsals ground to a halt last November when Gordon wasn’t well but had not yet been diagnosed. We were advised to avoid infection, and decided that going to social things – the museum, handbells, orchestra – should be put on hiatus. It would be like lockdown – Gordon would work from home, I’d go on walks and would wear a mask to the supermarket. But I couldn’t concentrate on practising, so apart from a few days earlier this year, the oboe rested in its old, battered case.
Artistic Woodsman
Last month, I decided that April would be the time to restart. Spring, new beginnings, return to playing music, exercise the grey cells. The first day’s practice went better than expected. The next day didn’t go as well, but it was a longer session. The oboe is not the easiest instrument to learn. Developing an ‘embouchure’ is the first hurdle. Imagine simultaneously making a fish face and expelling air through a tiny opening. The small muscles in lips and cheeks soon become exhausted and no longer keep a seal around the reed.
The Red Float
The reeds are the most important and fragile part of the instrument, and the best are skilfully made by hand. The subtle profile of the two blades – it is a double reed, looking like this: () – varies according to the tone desired. They are also shaped to influence the resistance – the effort needed to get a sound. Beginners use ‘soft’ reeds for ease of blowing. More expert players have ‘harder’ reeds with more resistance. Softer reeds don’t have the best sound; it has been likened to a duck quacking. To quote Bennett Cerf: “An oboe is an ill-wind that nobody blows good.” I am in this category, but soldier on.
Impressionistic Waves at South Head
The gansey is chugging along. The split for front and back has been reached, and there’s about three inches done on the back. More knitting time has been squeezed in this week, by knitting during my Thursday morning shift on the front desk at the museum. It’s uncomplicated enough to put down and pick up, as there are few visitors at this quiet time of year. A bit more time has also been found by knitting during tea breaks instead of sitting at the desk.
And successful eclipse viewing, for those in the path.
A few days ago, I decided that the curtain rails should be re-installed and the curtains rehung, after being taken down in preparation for the decorator to paint around the new windows. Saturday was pencilled into the schedule as Curtain Day.
The curtains had been washed, dried and folded, and only required ironing to remove the worst creasing. But it was far too spectacular a day to iron indoors. There was not a cloud in the welkin and the winds were light. A walk was in order, and I set off for the harbour. I hadn’t planned to go to the Trinkie, the salt water pool south of town, but found my feet taking me there.
Waiting
From a distance I could see a few parked cars, and assumed they were tourists or volunteers working to repair the pool, which was severely damaged in winter storms. On approaching, it was plain that it was neither. Most had tripods, binoculars, and lenses as long as your arm. They were cetacean watchers, on the lookout for a pod of orca.
A pod had been sighted to the north at Duncansby earlier, moving south. This would be a good opportunity to see them, so I waited for a while. Not having the patience of a die-hard orca spotter, and having curtains to iron, I started home after a while. However, on my way, I asked one of the watchers how they knew where and when to go. I knew there was information online, but had never found it. She said there were Facebook and WhatsApp groups. The Facebook feed was slightly too old to be useful, but the WhatsApp group, which she checked frequently, had more current information.
Watching
Eventually the pod was sighted off North Head, just a mile or two away. We couldn’t see the orca, but my new acquaintance could see a group of people watching them through her camera. When the orca finally passed us, it was, to be truthful, a disappointment. They were difficult to see in the darkness of the sea, and were far offshore. We could only see the occasional white flashes of their sides and an exhalation of vapour when they breathed.
But still – orca!
What does this have to do with curtains? They’re still not up. Waiting for the orca delayed the plan; only half of the curtains got ironed.
Easter Chocolate
In gansey news, there is not much progress, as my week is now busier. After a long hiatus, there was a return to the museum, which seemed much the same, from the displays to the welcoming volunteers at the door. At the top of the stairs, however, the first thing in view was a new gansey display, which had been moved from a corner to a more prominent and better lit location. Surrounding the ganseys are enlarged photos of fishermen in ganseys from the Johnston Collection.
A month or so back, the local camera club met to discuss upcoming events. One of the outcomes was, “Let’s Put on a Show!”. Accordingly, the venue was chosen, someone was contacted to matt and mount all the photos, and the size of the prints was determined. Any camera club member was welcome to take part. After having acquired an elderly but excellent photo printer near the start of lockdown, I decided to participate. It was high time to get to grips with printing photographs at home. Little did I realise the work involved.
Since the printer had run out of ink, it was necessary to source some. Original cartridges are pricey, and don’t last very long. There are alternatives, but the only viable one was refillable cartridges. Accordingly I purchased a starter kit which included cartridges, ink, gloves, and the bits needed to refill the cartridges. Then the learning curve got steeper. I had to fill the cartridges, but the kit had no instructions. The internet, as usual, was the fount of all knowledge.
‘Aquarelle’
Ink cartridges are little marvels of design. Filling them for the first time is more involved than squirting ink into a hole. They need to be ‘primed’ to fill a tiny reservoir within the cartridge. After watching a video, the first cartridge was primed successfully. But the second one . . . there was yellow ink everywhere. There is a reason the kit included disposable gloves! The cartridge flew out of my hand, leaving essential parts behind and the cartridge on the floor (the carpet was o.k.!). The rest of the cartridges – there are 9 in total – were filled without any serious incident.
So, if you’re in the area between 5 April – 11 May, the Thurso Camera Club is having an exhibit at the art gallery in Thurso Library. The exhibit consists of prints and a slideshow, with 5 prints and 5 slides per participant. Entry is free.
Thomson of Thurso
In gansey news, the chart is now done. It took a lot of thinking to arrive at nearly the same chart I’d begun with. The nub of the problem was fitting in 8 stitches. One solution would be to enlarge motifs, making the panels wider. But if the diamonds are wider, they’re also taller, so at the final height of the yoke there might be a partial diamond instead of a complete one. Eventually, a solution appeared – add one stitch to each edge, and one stitch either side of the diamond panels, without enlarging the diamonds.
But there was a heart-stopping moment at the end of the first round of the pattern, when there seemed to be about 5 extra stitches. A recount was in order, during which various fixes rolled were thought of, none of them pleasant. Fortunately, there was only one extra stitch. To avoid decreasing, a 1×1 cable moved the purl at the gusset edge over the extra knit stitch, which moved under the purl to become the increase on that side of the gusset. As a workaround, it’s satisfactory – a good mantra is “no one will ever stare at your armpit”.
On Friday, as I do every year, I was thinking about Patriots’ Day. It’s a holiday in Massachusetts, though it’s now celebrated on the third Monday in April instead of the 19th, to make a three-day weekend. It commemorates the start of the American Revolution in 1775, when the battles of Lexington, Concord, and Menotomy took place. It was immediately preceded by Paul Revere’s (and others) ride.
