 Article and photo by Donna Iverson "Ugly," said a neighbor when I asked him what he thought about Norway spruce. He said he had one Norway spruce in his yard and he would cut it down if it didn't hide the garbage cans. "Oh dear," Norway spruce happens to be one of my favorite trees. I know when it gets old it can look ratty and bedraggled but its inner beauty is what I see. To me, it looks like a tree from ancient times especially when growing next to century-old Michigan stone buildings. They compliment each other, calling up the mysteries of the past. A look right out of legend. In fact, Norway Spruce is an ancient tree...one of the oldest on the planet. When its genome was sequenced in 2013, scientists tagged its origin at about 10,000 years ago. It really isn't indigenous to Norway but arrived there around 1500 BC from the Black Forest in what is now southwestern Germany. But don't tell that to Norwegians, as far as they are concerned, it is their national tree. Every Christmas, Norway sends a huge Norway spruce to London, Edinburgh, and Washington DC to thank these respective countries for helping defend them during WWII. My paternal great grandfather and great great grandfather who emigrated from Bergen around 1880 brought their love of the Norway spruce with them. Although long gone, the Norway spruces they planted still grace farmland in Whitehall where they settled. The trees are enormous and stand as sentries protecting the farm buildings from wind and weather. It's only recently that I learned to identify Norway spruce from a distance. It has droopy branches, well, actually branchlets, which hang downward and a pyramid shape. These characteristics make it easy to spot. In the spring the tree has long cones, which vary in size from 9 to 17 inches. The tree can live for centuries and grows to 100 even 200 feet like the tallest Norway spruce in the world which resides in Slovenia. Animals love it. It provides winter cover for deer, grouse, rabbits, and the woodcock as well as roosting branches for the hawk and owl. It's wood is used to make baskets and musical instruments, like the violin, including the Stradivarius. Foragers eat the bark (don't recommend it) and foodies clip the new young spruce tips to toss in salads and flavor cocktails. It is especially popular with chefs of the New Nordic cuisine. But unless you are an experienced forager, or can go with an experience forager, the safest advice is to leave it alone. As for me, I like that it connects me with my Scandinavian ancestors who planted the Norway spruce to remind them of home. The Norway spruce outside my apartment window does the same for me. 
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 By Terry Grabill
Last year, I wrote a piece about spring migration that turned out to be more of a love note to Mother Nature and, more specifically, bird migration. To avid birders, this is the season we celebrate zugunruhe (migratory restlessness). My day-job is my middle school science classroom and ALL of my personal days-off are saved to travel to birding festivals where we join tens-of-thousands of birders from all over the globe to crowd on boardwalks and trails in search of little gems stopping on their trip north to breed. This year, though, is a little different. Andrea and I will not be crowding onto the Magee Marsh boardwalk with up to 90,000 obsessed birders from every continent to witness the incredible phenomenon of thousands of songbirds resting and staging before their trip over Lake Erie. Nor will we march with masses along the trails of Tawas Point where these songbirds land on their trek north along Michigan’s east shore. I’m not sure what this year’s confusion means to the Beaver Island Birding Trail’s Warblers on the Water event in 2020. I just cannot bring myself to write this one off yet. What in the natural world does an obsessed birder do in a spring migration confounded by social separation? As I sit writing this, I’m fortunate to have a great view of our yard and many bird feeders. GOOD NEWS! The migrating birds have no idea that we’re experiencing a crisis and are showing up every day! In fact, we can track migration from our home computer or device by visiting https://birdcast.info/. This site, administered by Cornell Lab of Ornithology, watches migration progress using doppler radar technology (yes, flocks of migrating birds show up on radar!). Waves of migrants show up daily in a relatively predictable sequence from mid-March through mid-May. In the interest of following CDC’s advice and requests, Andrea and I are watching our yard and feeders carefully to notice old friends as they come back this spring. Not being anxious to get to distant locations to bird this year has made me more keenly aware of the birds I see locally. If the reader is interested in feeding yard birds this spring and reluctant to venture out to buy bird seed at a crowded store, consider visiting www.birdgoober.com where we make bird seed come right to your home! It has occurred to me that social separation is not compromised by me birding in most local places. I’ve seen a wide variety of birds this spring from my driver’s seat! Yesterday, I saw a pair of Trumpeter Swans fly low over M-82 in Garfield Township, Newaygo County. I also found a bald eagle from the bus window as we delivered school lunches to students! Andrea reminds me that as long as we are not stopping to fuel or eat or visit, we are still in separation. I just read a post on Facebook that some American white pelicans can be found in Newaygo, on a lake right behind the high school. Fremont High School also has a wetland visible from the road that hosts a wide variety of birdlife. The Wetland Trail has a terrific boardwalk from which spring songbirds can be seen while still maintaining social separation. This is still a terrific time in nature. Certainly, this season’s effect on you and me is not what we were expecting or prepared for but, just a step outside yields sights and sounds that calm the spirit and remind us that the natural world is still at work. Birdgoober weird fact: COVID 19 is bad, CORVID is a word that refers to birds like crows and ravens. For Birdgoober.com, I’m Terry Grabill  My Garden Bed with gnome standing guard Article and photo by Donna Iverson
As a pandemic spreads around us, my garden bed is looking more and more like a refuge, a place of mediation, even free therapy. While the temperatures are still too low to plant even cold weather crops, it won't be long before we can. Lettuce, peas, onions, arugula, collards, carrots and beets, to name a few. Prior to planting, gardeners need to prepare the soil: pull out weeds and add some organic matter like compost, if you have it..even coffee grounds will enhance soil fertility. The big word in agriculture these days is "regenerative" meaning you need to feed the soil to get healthy plants and a healthier you. Usually this time of year, I use a hoe to loosen the topsoil and a shovel to dig down a few inches in preparation for planting. But this year, I'm not so sure. All winter, I have been reading and learning about the no-till method of gardening. Horticulture experts say that it does more harm than good to disrupt the soil biome. For one thing, you kill earthworms who are your garden friends. But it is hard to resist grabbing that hoe and shovel and getting to work ..as it is often the only chore available to a gardener until the soil warms up and dries out. So this year. I will experiment with this approach and leave the garden tools home. Instead I will weed and grab a handful of dirt and scrunch it into a ball. When I open my hand and it crumbles, I will know planting time has arrived. If it stays tightly packed, I will have to wait a little longer. Sort of like taking your garden's temperature. As for me, guess it's time to buy a thermometer so I can take my own temperature. I have a feeling that spring will find me in the garden a lot more often, as I find gardening calming, my fellow gardeners supportive, and the promise of sprouting veggies seeds offering hope in a dark time.  Article and photo by Donna Iverson
There are fewer and fewer of them, but eye catching when you spot one. Especially a homemade one with a base of straw, old clothes and a whimsical head. Each unique in its own way. We are, of course, talking about scarecrows. Traditionally a sign of autumn and the harvest, scarecrows often survive the winter to oversee spring planting. Their job is to scare birds away from freshly planted seeds. Originally, their job was to scare away crows, hence their name: scarecrow. As you may already know, it doesn't work. Birds, and especially crows, are too smart to be fooled. After a few days they have figured it out that the scarecrow is not a threat no matter how menacing it looks. And even cloth or ribbons waving in the breeze doesn't deter them. Although adding clinking aluminum pie tins might. But no matter. Gardeners love scarecrows and having a human-like mannequin supposedly guarding the crops makes us smile. Historically, scarecrows can be traced back to the ancient Egyptians, who employed them to protect their crops along the Nile River from being eaten by quail. Around the same time, Japanese literature refers to a scarecrow called Kuebiko, a deity of agriculture and knowledge. In colonial American, German immigrants concocted scarecrows they called "bogeymen," which were dressed in old clothes with a red handkerchief tied around their necks. Eventually, thinking these bogeymen were lonely, the farmers created female scarecrows to keep them company. Colonial scarecrows were designed to be as ugly as possible and there were contests to rate their appearance. The scarecrow is featured often in American literature, poems and musicals. Perhaps the most famous Is the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz who is searching for his brain. Eventually, he finds it. In Nova Scotia, a farmer named Joe Delaney began to enjoy his scarecrows so much that in 1984 he created a scarecrow village. Unfortunately, the scarecrow village was closed in 2011 after it was vandalized, someone destroying the 46 scarecrows he had on display. Making your own scarecrow the old fashion way is fairly easy...all you need are some old clothes and straw to stuff it with. Pumpkins or gourds are traditional heads although a stuffed burlap sack will also suffice. Once completed, tie your creation to a pole or fence near your garden beds. The birds may ignore it but I'm pretty sure neighbors, family and friends will be stopping by to admire your handiwork.  Photo and story by Tina Bury
Recently, while on a ship (sofa) in the ocean (living room) with my wee fella, on our way to Mackinac Island (still in our living room), I was mending the knees of his pants. He "fished" while I mended. He wasn't sure that we were both "working". In fact...he proclaimed "How come we're not both working?!" Hmm...we may need to have a talk about what "work" is. It's sort of disconcerting that perhaps my son, MY son, doesn't value "women's" work. Is it in his DNA? What on earth?! Or perhaps it's the age-old quandary of your work/effort doesn't LOOK exactly like mine, so therefore I can't see it's value. That great divide between Me and You and the struggle of overvaluing our own efforts and undervaluing the efforts of others. Interesting to ponder, but I digress. What I really want to talk about is making and "finding" time for making. Honestly, nearly all of my making is in the tiny bits of time that I (gently..now) force it into. I'm guessing you can relate. And yes, I'm claiming mending as making time. Gah, making - it's the one space in my weekly tracking that often remains empty, okay, that and moving my body. Sadly. (If you've been here a while, you probably are not surprised at my nerdiness! Weekly tracking...ha ha ha) So, I'll claim mending, because it makes me feel good. And peaceful. And connected. And that assuredly counts. But sometimes I have no energy for it and those little pants with ripped out knees snuffle and cry and pile on all the guilt...until in a moment of overwhelm, I cut them into rags, ha - the power!, and begin again! And then one gets through. And I'm just sitting on a ship in the ocean after all, doing nothing...sure, maybe I should have been "fishing", but how many fishermen does one ship need? Someone has to do the tending. It's like that, right, life moves along at its swift pace and if we don't make the time and space to do what fills us up, we won't just have the time. Sure, you can argue that perhaps while on the ship at sea I did just have the time, but I would argue that, I had to intentionally choose to make with my hands while engaging with my wee boy with my imagination and self. I plan at least one making outing every week, generally a knitting circle in my town...because I KNOW that making with my hands enhances my life and fills me up. I know it soothes my, very active, mind and allows me to be a better human. And bonus...making and friends are both values of mine, so it's a twofer! I've been thinking a lot lately about making for the pure joy of it and scheduling bullet-proof time in my week for it, beyond the weekly knitting night. I find that living mindfully and making space for self-care requires constant recalibration at any given moment. I make a plan, I follow my passion, diving into what's pressing at the moment and eventually I feel off. Feeling off is my indication that I need to reconnect to my core values - family, engaging work, friends, play, making, tending home, moving my body - and re-balance. Add a little more of this in my week and a little less of that. We have more control than we think. There are times when we mindlessly choose to engage in something that is not enhancing our lives and we have the power to choose instead to fill that time with what does take care of our needs. And those little moments add up, they do! And I think that knowledge is exciting...it means I can do this, regardless of how "busy" I am. I can sew a seam here and there, I can cut out a pattern in the evening or knit while watching a show. I can. So, here's to choosing mindfully and making space for what matters to us and letting go of what does not.  By Tina Bury
Sometimes it’s so hard to accept that we can only do so much at a time, and yet it’s also freeing. The surrender. Surrender…often looks like a kicking-and-screaming-followed-by-peaceful-acceptance cycle for me. Over and over. Maybe someday, I can bypass the kicking and screaming! A blue merino wool jersey dress created months ago is the last garment I’ve made myself with the exception of a sleeveless tee used to teach a class on hand sewing. And I’ve been feeling the doldrums in my closet! It’s been forever since I’ve sewn anything on my sewing machine. Wait, that’s not entirely true…I recently made a rocket ship costume for my boy. To lackluster review. Maybe that’s why I forgot about it. I spent last spring immersed in building my business and caretaking/being with both my Dad and my Dad-in-law, who were both in ill health. I have moments of disappointment that I’ve not made space, energy or time to get my “make” on, but then I try to remember, and embrace, that there are different seasons in life and the last few months have been for caring for family. There’s only so much I can do at any one time. I’m incredibly grateful that I had the room to spend weeks at the hospital with my Dad and that I was able to visit my Dad-in-law several times before he passed. Learning that I can’t cram everything in ALL the time has been a tough lesson for me. I get this fear that when I let something go to make room for something else, that thing I let go will be gone for good. “See you later…I’m outta here”. That I’ll never do it again, get it again, have it again…you get it. Such a scarcity mindset. If I look at it honestly and gently that has simply not been the truth. And, also, it’s okay if it leaves for good, as long as I’m mindfully living…checking in with my heart and body to be sure my needs for creativity, movement, connection and growth are being met. Cause that’s really what I want, right, to feel great. To feel empowered, strong, at ease and engaged. So, I’m trying to be gentle with myself and reassure my Make 9 List of garments from January, that I’ll get to you…or not…and that’s okay. Tomorrow, though, I’m going to sew up a dress with that sweet ochre double gauze I got for my birthday. I think. How do you deal with “seasons” in life? Do you feel the deep disappointments that I do? Are you able to surrender and still feel abundance in your life? I’m working on that. Abundance. I recently committed to a 40 day meditation with a group and I’m still trying to get 40 days in a row, 50 days later. I’m on day 5…again. I’ll get there. The point though, is that during the meditation, after each inhale and each exhale, you hold your breath and, in you head, repeat a mantra of your choosing. When I hold my breath after I exhale, I start to panic. Irrationally…like oh no, I don’t have enough air, I can’t breath, I don’t have enough…ahhhhh, I’m going to die! There’s not enough for me. Gah. Soooo…rather than panic about death from lack of air 500 times during each meditation, I started repeating to myself during that time that I have abundance, I have enough. And, miraculously…it works! I relax and now, I’m pleased to say I can hold my breath after the exhale and calmly repeat my mantra in my head! Turns out, I’m not going to die from lack of air in 2 seconds. Abundance. I have enough. Tina Bury called the Newaygo area home before tramping off to the snowy north where she found herself a mama and a sewing teacher. She hosts sewing retreats and workshops in Michigan for garment sewists who crave connection and finally want to wear and sew clothes they love. She also has an online course where you can get mindful and intentional about what you wear and how you show up in the world and give yourself more joy in your craft. She shares her musing on making in her weekly e-letter and on her blog. Kinshiphandwork.com  Article and photo by Donna Iverson Gardening with a cat or cats, as the case may be, can be a challenge. By nature, cats like to nibble your house plants and eye your freshly turned over garden bed as their personal litter box. While most gardening articles are about how to keep cats out of your garden, this article is how to welcome them in. Let's start with cat grass. A perennial native to North Africa, cat grass satisfies a cat's natural urge to chew grass. It acts as a digestive aid, helping them expel hairballs. In the wild, cats eat grass after eating their prey, expelling the parts that are indigestible. Cat grass is easy to grow from seed or you can buy it ready made in the vegetable section of your local grocery store. A pot or planter of cat grass, inside or outside, provides your kitty with their very own substitute garden. And they can nibble to their hearts' content. If yours is an indoor cat, the cat grass will give them a welcome taste of the outdoors. And not only that, the cat grass will benefit them health-wise, supplying Vitamin A and D. It also freshens their breath with its trace amounts of chlorophyll. What exactly is cat grass? Depending on the mix, it can contain a variety of sprouted grains, like wheat, barley, oats and rye. Once full grown, cat grass only lasts three or four months, as it quickly becomes root bound. When it turns yellow, it's time to replant or buy a new pot. Either way, your cat will love it and also enjoy having their own garden plot. Next up, catnip. Some call this cannabis for cats. A couple of plants in your garden, will have your cats rolling around in ecstasy, an effect that can last from a few minutes to an hour. Catnip is a member of the catmint family, which is its more ornamental cousin, producing beautiful lavender flowers. Both catnip and catmint attract butterflies and repel aphids, squash bugs and Japanese beetles. They are drought tolerant, deer resistant and have been naturalized in the US. Catmint can also become invasive. While medicinal herb books recommend catnip tea for humans as having a sedative effect, others warn that it is unsafe for humans, especially those with acid reflux. As for cats and houseplants, I grow herbs indoors and call them house plants. Cats don't like most herbs and will leave alone, especially lavender, thyme, lemon balm, rue, rosemary, and geranium. And even if cats nibble them, they will cause no harm. Of course, if you are someone trying to keep cats out of your garden, these same herbs will act as a deterrent, and your cat or the neighbors cat may just ignore your garden plants and focus on mousing. Garden tip: a metal mailbox on the ground in your garden is a good place to store tools.  By Tina Bury
Not long ago I had the honor of teaching at a skill swap. It was a lovely, peace-filled day full of happy, smiling people intermingling, learning a thing or two and sharing both bread and a dance step. I taught a class on hand sewing a tee shirt…and I failed at it. Really…not one student had enough time to pick up a needle let alone stitch a stitch. Not only did I misjudge the time it would take to cut out our patterns and fabric, but I also did not plan for an outdoor venue. The wind would not let our patterns and tissue paper rest, not for one moment. And I didn’t ask for enough tables. Ugh. When my class was over, my heart sunk with dismay and that harsh, little internal voice whispered, “See, you’re not good enough. Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to reach for this dream?”. Then the most lovely thing happened, my wise woman spoke firmly and said, “what this was, was a learning experience, nothing more. You are enough. You have what you need, right now. “. As a testament to the work, I’ve put in this past year or so, I didn’t sink into shame, but took my lessons and had a really wonderful day. I’ve spent much of my life fearing that if I wasn’t amazing, impressive even, that I would not be loved. I didn’t know this about myself until recently. Finding myself underwater, after the birth of my son, brought this painfully to the surface. I had never before felt depression, I had never felt so needy, and along with it came this torrential pain that no one would love me like this. To be clear, I have several lovely humans in my life that love me just as I am, impressive or not, but the stories/beliefs that live in the shadows have such power. It took hitting the bottom of that hole for me to really look at what was there and ask myself why. I spent the last year or so, gently reading, meditating and doing the work that was mine to do. (Also, that’s when the baby started sleeping through the night…so that helped.) And honestly, I sensed that I didn’t have enough time for this class from the get-go. My intuition was quietly speaking for weeks…but I’ve yet to consistently listen to her. I can’t say how many times I’ve had this small feeling that something wasn’t quite right and yet I forge ahead. This is my lesson in this exact moment of my life…courage to follow my intuition and recognize it when it speaks. But still, I had a great time in my class. I loved engaging with the folks and I loved sharing my passion for handwork and for garment sewing. I loved working with each person to fit the pattern to their unique measurements and talking about why that was important and how I found it so empowering. And you know…several folks came to me throughout that day and told me how much they enjoyed the class and I even received a lovely email saying how inspired this student was and thanking me. I’m struck by the thought that when we follow our passion and come from openness and service, it all works out…failing or not. Let’s give it another go, shall we? Tina Bury called the Newaygo area home before tramping off to the snowy north where she found herself a mama and a sewing teacher. She hosts sewing retreats and workshops in Michigan for garment sewists who crave connection and finally want to wear and sew clothes they love. She also has an online course where you can get mindful and intentional about what you wear and how you show up in the world and give yourself more joy in your craft. She shares her musing on making in her weekly e-letter and on her blog. Kinshiphandwork.com  Article and photo by Donna Iverson This time of year, West Michigan's landscape is one of leafless dark tree silhouettes contrasting sharply with the white snow cover under our feet. But here and there are small bursts of color, ......red, yellow, blue, purple and orange winter berries, like holly, viburnum and bittersweet. They jump out at the eye begging to be noticed. The bittersweet vine blazes with dozens of bright yellow-orange berries on vines that wrap around trees and fences, often at the edge of wood lots or in waste places. Decorators love bittersweet and use it for fall and winter displays on wreaths, around candles, and hanging from doorway entrances. But it's name signals a warning. While the berries look sweet and inviting enough to eat, they are not unless you are a bird or a squirrel. In fact, the berries are toxic containing a poison called solanine. It is the same toxin found in green potatoes. And while all winter berries may look enticing and edible, most are not. Fifty percent of red wild berries are poisonous. Most of the Bittersweet found in the Midwest is an alien brought over to this country around the time of the Civil War. Since then, it has been referred to as Oriental Bittersweet. And like most plant aliens, it has become invasive killing off trees by strangulation and displacing its cousin, the American Bittersweet. The reasons for this are many. It produces more berries than the native variety, which birds eat and disperse the seeds over a wide area. Once established, it is difficult to eradicate as its roots run deep and even a small section of root can regenerate. The Michigan State Extension Service gives eradication instructions on its webpage, saying that a professionally-applied herbicide may be required. See https://mnfi.anr.msu.edu/invasive-species/OrientalBittersweetBCP.pdf Once again one of my favorite plants turns out to be harmful to pollinators and killing off trees and native plants. Other offenders, in addition to Oriental Bittersweet, include several honeysuckle varieties, autumn olive, multiflora rose, purple loosestrife, burning bush, wisteria, and English Ivy. Which brings us back to American Bittersweet which is almost extinct. So how can you tell the difference between the two? If there is a bittersweet vine in your yard, it is most likely the Oriental variety. To be sure, check where the berries grow. On the Oriental variety, the berries grow evenly spaced along smooth stems. Berries on the American Bittersweet grow in a clump at the end of a thorny branch. Bottom line: if it's Oriental Bittersweet in your yard, best get rid of it. If you want to grow bittersweet, look for the American variety, Latin name Celastrus scandens. Avoid its cousin Celastrus orbiculatus Garden tip: Keep the water in your garden bird bath from freezing over by floating a small ball, such as a ping-pong ball, on the surface. The wind will keep the ball moving and the ice at bay.  Well…not made me, per se, but certainly inspired me to do it!
Grandma Marian, she’s the one I often think of when I think about my making journey. She’s the one I feel alongside me as I sew clothes, cursing the sewing machine, with pins in my mouth. To my understanding, she was a factory worker by day, a seamstress by night. Making wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses in her spare time. She died when I was 17, but the 41-year-old me wishes I could ask her some questions. Like, did she harbor dreams of becoming a seamstress full time? What did she want to do with her life? Ideally? Why did she knit, crochet, sew? I wonder what her dreams and aspirations were at this time in her life. In high school, she always made my formal dresses. Patiently sitting at the pattern table at Joann’s while I painstakingly chose a dress pattern and then promptly fell in love with ill-fitted fabric. Then she’d adjust the dress to fit my body, pins in her mouth, swatting at me to hold still. Fight the cat for table space and tell me, you better pay attention, I won’t be around forever. I didn’t and she wasn’t…around forever. She died in the winter of my senior year of high school. Before we got the opportunity to take a color tour (and stay in hotels!) around Michigan. Before I learned any technical skills. Way before I was ready. But not before I became inspired. In my late twenties, I was tired of trying on dresses in stores to have them never fit. Never. I finally, grudgingly accepted that I had a body that was not right for dresses. Until one fateful day, while thrifting, I found a handmade knit dress that seemed to have been made for me. For my body. (I love to imagine the woman who made that dress. Would I see her and recognize her body as a mirror of mine? Did she garden and plant flowers in that dress? Did she wear it on picnics by the riverside? Run through a meadow of wildflowers with a straw hat and giant smile? I like to think so!) So, being an intrepid maker, if not yet a garment maker, I traced the dress onto a grocery bag, found the perfect quilting cotton, and sewed it up. If you know a thing or two about fabric, you may know how this ends. Knit fabrics stretch, quilting fabrics don’t. Still, I could squeeze it over my head, wiggle each shoulder and body part into place and wear it with pride. I have no doubt Grandma Marian was there with me, thrilled with my success. She may have even told me my fabric choice was not a good one…or maybe not! I was elated! It fit! Mostly. People stopped me in the streets, in awe of my dress! Well, maybe not exactly, but my friends were properly impressed and it certainly gave a new spring to my step and swagger to my walk. A garment maker was born. I never looked back. I now make (or thrift) nearly all of my wardrobe and it has been an empowering and delightful journey. I wear clothes that fit my body. The one I have right now. Nothing is more flattering than clothes that fit. I wear clothes that fit my style and make me feel strong and beautiful. Because, I no longer accept anything less than clothes that make my best shine through, clothes that help me glow. (and I get to connect with my Grandma! win – win.) To be sure, I come from a long line of makers…male and female. My Dad a carpenter and maker of tools and materials for his hobbies. A Mama who made her own dress for my brother’s wedding, (I think it was out of quilting cotton!). And her mother, Grandma Hilda, who sketched and painted on fabric and created lovely things. And those are only the ones I can quickly bring to mind. For them, I’m deeply grateful. |
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