choosing dogbane

It turns out—

—that I’m a bit particular about cordage.

At least about which strands I use for what purpose.

This week, for instance, it happened that my first, rough, thigh-spun yards of Dogbane—

—were just the thing—

—for binding the archival paper—

—in comic diary number 42.

And at the same time I quailed at the thought—

—that bundles of slightly mildewed trail detritus—¹

—should be stitched with anything—

—but my finger-twisted finest.

Now I could come up with an aesthetic explanation for this.

Something about the juxtaposition of texture? ²

Or I could go into the importance of not getting too precious about the diary—

—lest I no longer feel free to casually scribble about the days as they actually unfold.³

But since every inch of Dogbane, rough or smooth, feels like a miracle to me—

—and I find the Needles as appealing as the Paper—⁴

—my choices of who goes where, at least this week, were ultimately a matter of quantity, ease and stitching pleasure.

A bit, perhaps, like deciding which trail to take.⁵

I mean on Sunday I thought we had the energy for long uphill miles and a dramatic view—

— so that’s what we tried.⁶

But generally we walk the same trails again and again—

—just to say hi and to be with whoever is there. ⁷

1. All the more lovely for the spots of mildew. Or so it seems to me.

2. Well, there is always an element of that. I’m a sucker for juxtaposition of texture….

3. Because, though I’m not above a little metaphor, I do try to stick to the truth in my comics: what has actually happened rather than what I think should or might happen. Indeed somehow it feels like it would wreck it if I filled these diary pages with dreams rather than with what feels like the truth of the day (or at least the bit of truth that I actually want to draw).

Also, I can’t not be delighted that the vet was so complimentary about Beryl.

Also, also (while speaking of comics)—I’ve been thinking about words, concepts and ideas, especially the potentially awkward ones I have am continually practicing writing and saying aloud—ideally, until they feel normal.

The word comics is one such. For despite having made myriad cartoons for tapestries, comics is a word (and concept) I long found awkward and embarrassing for all kinds of reasons too long to go into here). Or such was the case until about fifteen years ago when Scott McCloud’s fabulous book Understanding Comics literally leapt off a library shelf into my mortified (yet unfathomably eager) hand. This introduction to comics and sequential storytelling led me (after reading it under the proverbial covers as heaven forbid anyone, even I, should acknowledge that I was smitten), to start drawing them myself, to begin using the word comics, and finally (eventually) to start sharing mine in the world.

Same for the word Ki, as introduced to my vocabulary by Robin Wall Kimmerer. I think I will be practicing this one for a while (it is just so deeply ingrained). But I’m working on it.

Also the idea that Rocks and Rivers, Mountains and Oceans are alive and have rights—a thing I’ve always “known” but haven’t often said out loud (a gal can only be scoffed at so many times for audibly asking whether a particular lovely stone on a beach wants to come home or would prefer to stay where it is, before keeping such wonderings to herself).

Happily for us all, this last is discussed in depth in a marvelous episode of Ingrid M. Rieser’s Forest of Thought Podcast with Pella Thiel (working to establish an Embassy of the Baltic Sea) and Robert Macfarlane (author among other marvelous works, of Is A River Alive?), and in Tereza’s lovely guest post on Caroline Ross’s Uncivil Savant. Both of these reminded me that it’s past time for me to start being a little more audible about my knowing.

4. The cordage needs to be pretty smooth to slip through the tight bundles of pine needles, stitch after stitch after stitch, and the smooth(er) finger twisted strands do that more easily. Also, I was running out of untwisted Dogbane fiber by the end of the basket and the little butterfly of my messy experiment was right there, patiently watching—so how not wax it up and let it in on the fun?

5. We were both dragging by the time we reached the end of this trail (7-8 ish miles barefoot is more than we usually do), though for a while dancing downhill in 3/4 time (or 4/4 as the case may be), seemed to be just the thing.

6. I can’t believe Beryl lined herself up so her belly mirrored the line of the mountains…

7. Practical and pleasurable: I can write this and go for a yummy walk and be home in time for a very late lunch.

As for the company — you know—Dogbane, the Trees (too numerous to name them all), the glorious Stones and Mosses (whose names I don’t yet know), the Delicious Duff (with bits of everyone), Beryl (of course), and if we’re lucky, Winter Wrens, a Pileated Woodpecker, Clematis and a Creek we can wade right into without having to take off any shoes—even if it is deeper than it looks so my pants got wet.

Any thoughts on the capitalization of this last list of beings? Should all Trees, Rocks and Mosses be capitalized? Or only specific ones? And the Duff—well, just LOVE the Duff.