Tag Archives: Carding Chronicle

Spring Rituals

SH-VioletsIt’s April in Vermont, and spring starts and stops as it struggles to vanquish winter.

Everyone in Carding has their way of coping.

Enjoy!

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There’s a weariness to the end of winter as it slides into spring. People are tired of boots. Tired of wearing heavy coats and mittens. Tired of shoveling.

So when they sense the advent of spring, people try their best to hurry it along.

When you think about it, closing the door on winter and opening it to spring is an act with distinct markers. You just know when it’s happened.

By contrast, when you round the calendar’s corner from spring into summer, there isn’t a single “event” that signals the start of the warmest months. It’s just less cold, the flowers are more abundant, and the scent of barbecue is in the air.

And moving from summer into autumn is a slow parade of subtle changes—the weakening of chlorophyll in the leaves, fewer minutes of sunlight that gradually mount up to six o’clock sunsets, and then the sight of those first red leaves.

But spring is different and in Vermont, folks do whatever they can to push winter to one side. They cheer at the sight of the maple sap buckets hanging from the trees and steam billowing out of the windowed cupolas on top of the sugarhouses. They notice when the boot collections by the back door expand from just one pair of the insulated kind with crampons  to navigate ice to a variety of rubber boots, galoshes and sturdy sneakers.

People hurry to downgrade from their heaviest coats to the more middling variety of jacket. There’s always two in this category, one to throw on when you fetch the mail and another to wear into town.

The first ventures into the yard are to gather the fallen limbs and branches knocked down by high winds and ice. This is a great time for children of all ages to play with the water braiding its way down every available slope as the frost leaves the ground. (“Sailing away on a muddy day designed for play—tra la!”)

By this time in April, barring some strange weather occurrenc, those lunges toward spring are behind us now, and the final push is at hand.

And that final push is raking snow.

Let me explain to the uninitiated. Vermont is a land of folds. Our ground is always busy going up or going down, and this unique feature provides an abundance of nooks and crannies  where shadows can hide.

Those shadows keep out the sun and keep in the snow far into April. This happens on the backside of trees on a sloped lawn, at the bottom of hills that face north, under rocky overhangs, and in the places where the winter’s army of snow plows, snowblowers, and shovels made deep piles of the white stuff.

Except by this time, it’s not really snow at all but ice crystals, and everyone is sick of looking at it.

This snow raking always amused Ruth Goodwin on her rounds for the post office. Agnes Findley was usually the first snow raker of the season. Armed with an especially lethal metal rake, Agnes attacked the pile of white on the northwest corner of the house she shared with her partner Charlie Cooper, pulling it into their driveway where it could melt.

Charlie, on the other hand, used a small hay fork on the last bits hiding behind the stone wall that marked their vegetable garden.

Up on Mount Merino, the grounds crew used a grader to break the last ice on the slopes into small pieces that disappeared in the now warming afternoons.

Everywhere she drove in April, Ruth saw people who lived on her mail route digging, gouging, raking, and sometimes even stomping the last ice of winter into oblivion.

And then as she turned toward home, taking the route that snaked by the marshy area at the east end of Half Moon Lake and the small field glowing purple with violets, Ruth slowed down, the windows of her Jeep wide open. When she reached a wide spot in the road, she pulled over, nose to nose with Gideon Brown’s truck.

They’d nod at one another then lean against their vehicles, their arms crossed over their bodies as they stood in silent vigil listening to the first glowing notes of the spring peepers.

It had come again, and for the moment, all was right with the world.


You can visit Carding any time in my novels, The Road Unsalted,Thieves of Fire, and The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life. The fourth in the series, Light in Water, Dancing, will go on sale on June 15, 2018. And yes, it will be available on Amazon.com.

You can subscribe to the Carding Chronicles by clicking the subscribe button on my home page. When you do, my stories speed from my keyboard to your inbox every Thursday without any further effort on your part.

If you would like to get in touch, my email address is: Sonja@SonjaHakala.com.

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A Solemn Promise

SH-fabric stashIf you are a creative type—a painter or gardener or woodworker, knitter, mechanic, cook or whatever—you understand the obsession that a quilter has with fabric.

With all of the amazing fabrics made now—from hand-dyes to batiks to brilliantly colored prints—it’s difficult to remember that the whole do-it-yourself phenomenon is only about a generation old.

Yep, thirty years or so.

Which is about the same span of time that digital technology has been creeping into our lives with its irritating promises of eliminating the need to make anything by hand.

Personally, I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

Anyway, I digress. Let’s look in on Edie Wolfe and Ruth Goodwin as they attempt the impossible—resisting temptation.

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They did it every year, Edie Wolfe and her friend Ruth Goodwin. Usually right after they’d both spent too much money on fabric during the Vermont Shop Hop.

“Really, we’ve got to use up some of what we’ve got in our stash,” Ruth would say as she struggled to find more space on her shelves for the batik fabrics she didn’t bother to resist because they were on sale.

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right,” Edie would say.

And they’d make that solemn quilter’s promise to “not buy any more fabric until we use up a lot of our stash.” But the promise was usually made over wine and easily forgotten the next time fabric went on sale.

This year was different, however. It was the death of Genevieve Makepeace that did it.

Among quilters in Vermont, Genevieve had been something of a legend. She started quilting back in the 1970s when concepts such as “quilt shops” and “quilting fabrics” were more or less unknown. When she moved off this earthly plain, Genevieve left behind more than 3,000 yards of fabric, all of which was sold to a wholesaler.

Believe me, that made everyone in the Shades of Emerald Quilt Guild sit up and count their own yardage, and think about how their families would cope with all their unmade projects.

Ruth and Edie decided that if they made a big production out of their annual promise and did it in public, they just might stick to it.

So when their guild got together for the annual post-holidays potluck supper, the two friends stood at the front of the room and made a genuine, sincere, heartfelt promise not to buy “any new fabric for a year.”

Off to the side, Agnes Findley collected dollars from the other quilters as they placed bets on how long the promise would last. The pooled money would be donated to a local food pantry while the winner got bragging rights.

January slipped by. Then February and March. As far as their quilting compatriots could tell, neither Ruth nor Edie joined the annual quilt shop hop.

“Do you suppose they’re going to make it all the way to the end of the year?” they asked one another, rather amazed by the two women’s willpower.

But…but…but…April can be such a challenging month. It’s way too cold to garden and yet the sun is strong enough to heat a car’s interior up into the uncomfortable range. In the hills where folks in Carding like to hike, frost is still coming up out of the ground, making the pathways a treacherous patchwork of deep puddles and slick, half-frozen mud.

And traveling by motor vehicle on anything but an interstate is a lot like driving a bouncy castle because of the frost heaves.

Cabin fever is real in April in Vermont.

Finally, Edie just couldn’t stand it another minute, and decided that frost heaves or no frost heaves, she was going to do a spring reconnoitering of her favorite charity shops. It’s always best to do that when you’re not looking for anything in particular because that’s when you always find something.

So she bundled her cocker spaniel, Nearly, into the back seat of her car and headed west on Route 37, happy just to drive with her windows rolled down a little.

First stop was the Re-New-Ables store. This was a particular favorite of Edie’s because it’s where she found her favorite bang-around fall/spring jacket. It was a favorite because no matter how dirty it got from gardening or hauling wood, the jacket came back refreshed from a trip to the washing machine.

Once inside, Edie idled in the glassware section of the store, caressing everything in the color blue. A small vase, perfect for a single rose, found its way into her basket.

Next came the tightly-packed racks of clothes. You had to be very patient and persistent here but Edie was rewarded with a silky black skirt and two lovely summer blouses, all three items on sale from the already-remarkably-low prices.

Last but not least was household goods—mixing bowls, utensils, a few appliances (mostly disappointing waffle irons), casserole dishes, and a huge pile of fabric.

Edie did a double-take. Was it really yardage? It was, all cuts of a yard or more piled on top of one another.

Was it any good? As any quilter will tell you, low-quality fabric can ruin a quilt. Sometimes it bleeds but most often it stretches out of shape, and that has an impact on every piece of fabric around it, skewing a whole block or quilt top.

Tentatively, half hoping the fabric would prove to be useless, Edie plunged her hand into the pile.

She smiled at the smooth, firm feel of good quality cotton.

The fabric on top of the pile was a rather uninteresting green, too muddy in color to do much of anything for or against a quilt top. But just underneath it was a sturdy dark red with a repeating small figure in black.

Edie glanced around. She was alone. The red piece slid into her shopping basket.

She flipped the next two fabrics over, both very dark brown, in order to inspect a large folded offering of swirling black and white interspersed with oversized red butterflies. It was dramatic, yes, but as a backing for a quilt…well, it would be perfect.

Time slipped away as Edie plunged deeper and deeper into the pile, filling and then over-filling her shopping basket. She was in the midst of assessing a yard of bright yellow solid when a voice made her jump.

“Ha! Caught ya!” Ruth said.

Edie whirled around to see her friend, four full bags at her feet, grinning the grin of the deeply satisfied.

“Oh uh. Hmm, hi Ruth.” Edie felt blood rising to her cheeks as she looked down at her soon-to-be-acquired pile of fabric. Then she noticed the four bags at Ruth’s feet.

They were all filled with fabric.

“Yeah, I got here before you,” Ruth said, splaying her hands wide and shrugging her shoulders. “I was just heading out to the car when I saw your Toyota. I figured you’d find this pile. Need a hand getting to the bottom of it?”

Edie laughed. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“No problem. You’re going to need a second shopping basket.”

“Or a truck,” Edie said as they plunged in together. “I do suppose that next year’s another year, am I right?”

Ruth sighed. “If at first you don’t succeed… At least we’ll find out who won the bet.”


You can visit Carding any time in my novels, The Road Unsalted,Thieves of Fire, and The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life. The fourth in the series, Light in Water, Dancing, will go on sale on June 15, 2018. And yes, it will be available on Amazon.com.

You can subscribe to the Carding Chronicles by clicking the subscribe button on my home page. When you do, my stories speed from my keyboard to your inbox every Thursday without any further effort on your part.

If you would like to get in touch, my email address is: Sonja@SonjaHakala.com.

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Boomph!

SH-BoomphAs folks around here are fond of observing, our roads take a beating in winter. But by early April, it’s not the snow or the ice that’s making things difficult but the heaving that’s a challenge.

I remember an April drive on Route 100 years ago when I got behind one of those tall, brown UPS trucks.

Now Route 100 runs right through the heart of the Green Mountains. It’s narrow and windy and the frost heaves are, depending on your perspective, either horrid or stupendous.

It was a little unnerving to watch that truck swing and sway in front of me, and I kept imagining how the packages on the inside were flinging themselves from wall to wall.

That’s one of the many inspirations for this story.

By the way, the illustration for this Carding Chronicle comes from my first novel, The Road Unsalted.

Enjoy!

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Edie Wolfe had her fingers wrapped around the handle of the Crow Town Bakery’s front door when she heard the first one.

“Boomph.”

“I think spring just arrived,” she called to her son-in-law, Stephen Bennett, as she came through the door.

“Did the ice go out of the river? I saw it chunking up this morning,” he said, deftly flipping eggs on the griddle.

“It’s not ice out. It’s our favorite frost heave by the bridge,” everyone’s favorite waitress, Hillary Talbot, said as she swept by with a full coffee pot. “It must have been an out-of-towner in a pickup to make a sound like that.”

Boomph!

Of all the responsibilities of local government, none is more important to its residents than the condition of town roads. In summer, road crews fill in potholes, re-pave streets, and grade dirt roads. Then they cut back weeds in the ditches, unstick stuck drains, replace guardrails, and generally spend the fall getting ready for winter.

Winter, of course, brings plowing and salting and sanding as crews struggle to keep folks flowing back and forth to work.

But no matter how much effort goes into the local roads, no one has ever solved the problem of frost heaves.

“Whoa. Watch it,” Brian Lambert shouted as he struggled to keep his coffee in his cup. “I was hoping to drink some of this before we got to school, not wear it.”

“Sorry,” Wil Bennett said as he slowed down some more. “There’s not much you can do when the heaving starts.”

Brian switched his cup from one hand to the other as he struggled to mop up the drips with a napkin. “We had frost heaves on Martha’s Vineyard but I don’t remember anything like the ones you’ve got here.”

“I’m wearing half my juice,” Wil’s sister, Faye, whined from the back seat.

“And the other half’s all over me,” Suzanna said. She was Faye’s best friend. “Got any more of those napkins?”

Brian handed a couple over the seat. When his fingers touched Faye’s, the two of them glanced at one another then just as quickly turned their eyes away. It had been weeks since the two of them decided to be “just friends” but the desire to be more than that had not faded.

Suzanna, noticed and barely suppressed a huge, impatient sigh. While she could understand Brian’s caution—college loomed on the young man’s horizon—she wished he and Faye would just get on with it and be a couple while they still had time.

“How come they’re so bad here?” Brian asked as he placed his thumb firmly over the sipping hole in his cup.

Wil shrugged. “I don’t know for sure but I think it has to do with the difference in the soils between the Vineyard and here. You folks have mostly sand down there while we’ve got topsoil and clay.”

Brian thought about that for a minute. “I guess that makes sense. When you walk on a beach this time of year, it’s like walking on concrete, hard and flat.”

“Yeah. Think about what the ground is like around here when it first freezes, all bumps and knobs. My guess is that’s what’s happening all the way down, and when things start to thaw, the bumps and knobs show up again.”

That’s when they hit the big one by the bridge.

BOOMPH!

“Wil!”

Brian turned around just in time to see the last of Faye’s juice stream down her face and jacket.

“You know that’s the biggest frost heave in town and you just hit it full on,” his sister yelled.

“If you knew it was coming, you should have been ready,” her brother said as he examined Faye in his rear view mirror. “Besides, that’s not the biggest frost heave in town.”

He started to laugh as Faye’s face congealed into the throwing-daggers look he knew so well while Brian dug a bandana out of his coat pocket to mop up the juice. Faye used it to biff her brother in the head first.

“Are you talking about the heaves up on Belmont Hill?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what, we’ll go up there after school with cups of water, and hang them out the window while Brian drives and then we’ll see who has the most left when we get to the bottom.”

Wil laughed again. “You’re on, little sister. You’re on.”

Of course, Carding High School being Carding High school, news about the frost heave surfing contest had spread through the whole student body by the end of first period. By lunch time, the friendly competition between rival siblings had morphed into a full-fledged contest complete with teams, cheerleaders, and more than a few side bets like the one between Wil and Faye over dish duty at home. The loser got stuck with it for a month.

Andy Cooper, over at the general store, caught wind of the event when the Coop became the object of a teenaged water-buying spree that afternoon, and he alerted the more senior elements in town.

Of course there were people who complained about “the kids these days” but Andy told them to lighten up.

“What else are we going to do in early April?” he asked. “It’s too soon to garden. The hiking trails are all mud and more slippery than they are in winter. It’s too cold to barbecue and the good skiing snow is long gone. Who knows, maybe frost heave surfing will catch on.”

By the time the dozen cars entered in the “competition” slogged their way through the tire-sucking mud to the top of Belmont Hill, there was a pretty good crowd waiting for them at the bottom. Wil’s friend, Dave  Muzzy, arrived in his Dad’s truck, and began to set up speakers and a microphone.

“Color commentary,” he explained to the folks watching him with quizzical brows.

“Okay,” Brian Lambert shouted above the tumult. “Here are the rules such as they are. Every team has four people, a driver who doesn’t have a cup and three who do. Everyone gets the same amount of water in their cups. All windows have to be open and cups held outside the car. Drivers cannot go over 25 miles per hour or you’ll break an axle and have to explain it to your parents.”

Everyone groaned.

“And the chief of police says we’ve all got to wear seat belts or else.” Brian waited until the clicking sounds subsided. “Each car gives the one ahead of it a two-minute lead and then they can go. Everybody got it?”

“Yeah”

“Are you ready?”

Cups were hoisted into the air with another loud “yeah” and then a dozen engines roared into life.

“Let’s go!” Brian grinned over at Faye as he eased Wil’s car from park to drive. In the back seat, Wil and Suzanna leaned out their windows, full cups clutched in their hands.

The first car in line inched forward but then picked up speed as it jumped and kicked its way down the notorious Belmont Hill.

“And they jounce and they bounce and they weave.” Dave Muzzy’s voice carried through the cool spring air. “Whoa, there goes a cup. The recycling police are going to demand a clean up after this.”

“Whoa, Annabelle Nelson is struggling here, getting crossways in the mud. Can she get out of this?” Dave paused for dramatic effect, and then he yelled: “Yes! Yes she can.”

“And here comes Wil Bennett’s car, driven by Brian Lambert. They’re our final contestants so they’ve got the worst road conditions. Good luck with that Brian.”

“Oh wait now, here’s a little sideways action to the right…now to the left…watch out for the big heave by the barn, Brian…Hey, did you see that? There was a lot of air between that car and the road. I see a future in professional frost heave surfing for Brian Lambert.”

The crowd oohed while Wil’s father shook his head, imagining the car repair bill at Stan’s Garage if Carding’s first frost heave surfing contest didn’t go well.

“Oh no,” Dave yelled, “he’s hit ice. Brian’s sliding sideways, getting some more air there. Are they gonna make it? Yes, yes, they do. Now watch the big dip by the culvert, Brian! Wow, ladies and gentlemen, did you see that? I don’t believe there’s a dry person in that car now!”

Later, when folks gathered around the TV in the Coop’s coffee corner to watch the frost-heave-surfing video that Andy filmed, the laughter and groans could be heard all the way down Meetinghouse Road.

But what no one realized, except maybe Suzanna, is that in their airborne moments, Faye and Brian renewed their couple-ness.

By the way, Wil lost the bet with his sister and he will be on dish duty until further notice.


You can visit Carding any time in my novels, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, and The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life. The fourth in the series, Light in Water, Dancing, will be available for your reading pleasure on June 15, 2018.

You can subscribe to the Carding Chronicles by clicking the subscribe button on my home page. When you do, my stories speed from my keyboard to your inbox every Thursday without any further effort on your part.

If you’d like to get in touch, my email address is: Sonja@SonjaHakala.com.

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Frost Heave Surfing

It’s April in Vermont. As Andy Cooper observes, it’s too cold for gardening and everyone’s so tired of the snow, they don’t want to play in it any more.

So what’s a good Carding-ite to do?

Play on the road with the worst frost heaves in town, of course.

I don’t know if this will ever be an Olympic event but it may become an annual thing in Carding.

By the way, the illustration for this story is from my first Carding novel, The Road Unsalted.

Here’s a preview of what’s in store tomorrow. Hope you’ll stop by.

SH-Boomph

To the Rescue

SH-sable storyIn Finland, family’s are not allowed to buy a dog for a pet if there are any rescue dogs available. I wish that were true here.

We share dog duties with our son and daughter-in-law. In fact, the photo accompanying today’s story is of Sable, the inspiration for the annual appearance of this story.

She’s a keeper.

There is nothing quite like a dog for company, silliness, and deep love. If you’ve ever loved a canine, you know what I mean.

Enjoy—and adopt.

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Andy Cooper, the owner of Cooper’s General Store the everything-you-need emporium in the center of Carding, never meant to get another dog. As he told his best friend, Edie Wolfe, he’d lost enough fur-bearing buddies to last him a lifetime.

But he still retains a very squishy spot in his heart for dogs which is why he’s been letting the folks from Vermont Dog Rescue park in the store’s lot for their annual adoption days.

If there’s one thing that Vermonters share, it’s a deep love of dogs. The Coop’s parking lot overflowed all day with people stopping by to pat the would-be adoptees, donate to the rescue organization or take home a new pet.

Every time the latter happened, Andy heard a large “Whoop! Whoop!” from the crowd, and he smiled to know that another little one had found a good home.

It was a busy day so he never got the chance to venture outside for himself until afternoon. By that time, the volunteers from the rescue organization were starting to pack up to head home.

“Thanks Andy,” Ellsworth Fynn said as they shook hands. “I always appreciate that you let us come here. Carding’s such a receptive place.”

“Did the Elliotts come by? They lost their big German shepherd last fall, and I know that Bruce and Cate planned to get a dog today,” Andy said.

Ellsworth looked down at the paperwork on the clipboard in his hands. “Yep, they were the first ones here this morning. I think if it had been left to their kids, they would have taken all the dogs home.”

Andy laughed. “Yeah, there’s a lot of energy in that house. I expect I’ll see them all racing through town this summer.”

Just then, a low moan made his head turn toward the organization’s van. “Somebody sick?” he asked.

“No. We had one little girl left,” Ellsworth said, reaching in to stroke the ears of a large brown dog with expressive eyes.

Andy leaned over to pat her as well. “Soft ears,” he said. “What’s her name?”

Ellsworth looked at his paperwork again. “Sable. We rescued her at the last minute from a place down South. The family who dropped her off said they had too many dogs and couldn’t take care of the ones they had. Too typical a story by half.”

Sable groaned a little louder, rolled over on her side, and embraced Andy’s arm with her front paws. “Aawww. She’s a charmer.”

Ellsworth cocked an eye in Andy’s direction. He was well aware of the store manager’s objection to owning another dog, and he appreciated it. Pets leave big holes behind in the lives of their humans when they move on to doggie heaven. But he said nothing, just in case Andy might change his mind.

“How many dogs did you bring today?” Andy asked as he sat down next to Sable to give her a more thorough rubbing with his hands. Her fur was short but not coarse, and he guessed her name came from the way she felt. Sable closed her eyes in appreciation of his gesture.

“There were a dozen with us,” Ellsworth said. “It’s been a good day for a lot of dogs as well as humans.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Andy drew in a large breath, remembering the promise he’d made to himself about “no more.” He pulled his hand away. Sable sat up, her nose pointed down, her deep brown eyes flicking back and forth between Ellsworth and Andy.

Andy rubbed his face. “Oh man,” he whispered, shaking his head. Sable’s head drooped. “How long have you had her?”

“She’s been with her foster family for about a month,” Ellsworth said. “Though I think we’re going to have to move her because they’ve got three other dogs, and Sable is so docile, she never gets her share of food or attention.”

Andy sighed, and stood up. Sable moaned, a low tone that probably reached only Andy’s ears. They looked at one another for a long, long, long minute. Ellsworth held his breath. He knew this was the crucial moment.

“I hope I don’t live to regret this,” Andy whispered to himself. Then he turned to Ellsworth. “So, how much is your adoption fee?”


You can visit Carding any time in my novels, The Road Unsalted, Thieves of Fire, and The Dazzling Uncertainty of Life. The fourth in the series, Light in Water, Dancing, will be available for your reading pleasure on June 15, 2018.

You can subscribe to the Carding Chronicles by clicking the subscribe button on my home page. When you do, my stories speed from my keyboard to your inbox every Thursday without any further effort on your part.

If you’d like to get in touch, my email address is: Sonja@SonjaHakala.com

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