Knit­ting at Red Gate Farm: The New Chickens

Yes, knit­ting.  Because I had to have some­thing to dis­tract me from the intense qui­et of Life With­out Chick­ens.  Last sum­mer was such a hoot.  But one can’t have chick­ens every sum­mer.  It was a one-off, I fear.

It’s been three hap­py and for the most part peace­ful weeks here at Red Gate Farm, for one day of which Avery was here with me, then we fran­ti­cal­ly unpacked her suit­cas­es, repacked them for every­thing she would need for her sum­mer in New York, and dashed down to the city.

There we set­tled her into her room at a kind of eclec­tic board­ing house­/hostel/all-pur­pose “stay here safe­ly” des­ti­na­tion and raced fur­ther down­town to the gallery.  Where Avery saw the show, final­ly, FINALLY.

We were lucky enough to be joined by our friend Anne, who had been to the open­ing par­ty and as such was con­tent to wan­der around with us see­ing it all again, and tak­ing some love­ly pho­tos.  Avery seemed very hap­py to see every­thing in place, to read her wall text, to give her reac­tions to the cul­mi­na­tion of so much hard work.

There were sev­er­al pieces that she had not seen in real life, help­ing me to choose them from often rather enig­mat­ic jpegs.  Appre­ci­at­ing them in the flesh was some­thing else entire­ly.  How fulfilling!

What fun it all was.  One of the best days ever, to be honest.

We walked con­tent­ed­ly, slow­ly, through the rooms, appre­ci­at­ing each piece in its place.

What a cul­mi­na­tion, what sat­is­fac­tion.  We hon­est­ly enjoyed our­selves so much, I can’t real­ly explain it to you.

Then, fast-for­ward a week and John was there!  Fresh (well, not real­ly, actu­al­ly steam­ing hot as we all were) from Newark, he had jumped in an Uber with only a brief­case, and met us at the space.

Now, it only looks as if Avery has spent the entire inter­ven­ing week in the gallery, because she is wear­ing the same dress!  But it was too appro­pri­ate to miss a sec­ond oppor­tu­ni­ty.  It was such fun to walk through with John, who has suf­fered right along with us in the quest of a per­fect show.

Anoth­er heav­en­ly after­noon.  Christ­mas card picture?

Now, Avery and I had plen­ty to tell John just from our activ­i­ties from ear­li­er in the day: the Anne Gilman stu­dio vis­it!  It was a lit­tle hairy, both of us get­ting to the Dum­bo stu­dio on time through var­i­ous mode of trans­porta­tion (car, train, sub­way).  But the vis­it was worth every­thing.  I knew Avery would love Anne’s work, and she did.

Because our fam­i­ly’s taste in art is com­plete­ly pre­dictable, I knew for absolute cer­tain that Avery would be in heav­en.  If only we had walls.

We are more deter­mined than ever to make anoth­er exhi­bi­tion hap­pen, in Lon­don, with Anne and some oth­er bril­liant artists we have been stalking.

It was time to leave Avery to her city, and come up to Red Gate Farm, just the two of us.  Of course I had been hav­ing my soli­tary (not very!) adven­tures since my arrival.  A new driveway!

Mike, as usu­al, and his entire fam­i­ly saved my life, my lone­ly (not very!) week.  When he was­n’t here with equip­ment to spread my new dri­ve­way, he was invit­ing me to their house for din­ner, with his beau­ti­ful family.

Were there every such beau­ti­ful chil­dren?  Final­ly, this sum­mer, I don’t make Eliz­a­beth cry anymore.

Abi­gail and I have made fast friends.

When I was­n’t hang­ing out at their house for din­ner, we met up at the local farm­ers market.

The apple cider dough­nut saved me from jetlag!

Or we met up for a pic­nic at a near­by lake.  Oh, the land­scape!  I was real­ly not in glassy, glossy Lon­don anymore.

Of course, Jill and her per­fect fam­i­ly turned up for a hot, steamy out­door lunch, to keep me com­pa­ny in my (not very!) isolation.

Miss­ing some­thing to take care of ter­ri­bly, I remem­bered past sum­mers with Avery’s fos­ter kit­tens.  And I found a shel­ter for myself, with kit­tens to play with.

I can vis­it any time, they say.

I have been vis­it­ed, this sum­mer with adult Avery in New York on her own, with enor­mous nos­tal­gia for sum­mers gone by with a child at home and her many friends vis­it­ing.  I hope that I appre­ci­at­ed them as they hap­pened, and I must say that I’m grate­ful for the blog to help me remem­ber.  It has always been such fun here, our sum­mers at Red Gate Farm.

And it all got so much bet­ter with John at home, this sum­mer!  I don’t mind being alone here, unlike my many urban friends (and daugh­ter, I think!) who would freak out at sleep­ing alone in this road on a lone­ly sum­mer’s night.  I find it cozy.  But how much nicer to have a hus­band at home, to cook for, espe­cial­ly.  His request­ed first sum­mer lunch!

We spent a hys­ter­i­cal after­noon putting togeth­er the glo­ri­ous grill Jill and Joel gave us!

The insou­ciance of this pho­to­graph does­n’t reflect the drama.

We all gath­ered to appre­ci­ate the glo­ries that came therefrom.

How on earth is Jane near­ly taller than I am?  How is Mol­ly  8 years old?  They are so much fun now, prop­er con­ver­sa­tion­al­ist peo­ple with sto­ries to tell.

Speak­ing of sto­ries, we have been vis­it­ed with the most charm­ing of Irish­men, Vin­cent, to help us build a stone walk­way from the (new) dri­ve­way to the ter­race and from the (new) dri­ve­way to the front porch.  I could lis­ten to his accent FOR­EV­ER.  He and John are so clear­ly cut from the same Irish cloth!

John and I then had a very, very warm and bug­gy after­noon pac­ing the five acres behind our house, look­ing for appro­pri­ate stones.  We have a lot of respect, now, for the fel­low who built our ter­race entire­ly from stones on the property.

We’ve had the first lob­ster feast of the year!

And clam chowder!

But back to knit­ting.  Because I have been.

Avery taught me the basics, very patient­ly, back in Lon­don.  But once in Con­necti­cut, I’ve had to repair to the farm­house of Judy and Rol­lie for her emer­gency help.  Rol­lie mows a bit in the back­ground, then retreats with the paper, in the shade, while Judy and I knit and dis­cuss Days of Our Lives.

Then I had to jour­ney to near­by Tor­ring­ton when I ran out of wool.  “In Sheep­’s Cloth­ing” is an Aladdin’s cave, a mecca.

Its pro­pri­etor Gin­ger is a won­der­ful help and friend.  We were strangers for about four min­utes.  Here she is turn­ing my “skein” into a “ball.”

“Why don’t you sit down and fin­ish your yarn you have now, then I’ll help you [ha! euphemism!] begin your new wool.”  We did this, exchang­ing tales of life in Tor­ring­ton and life in Lon­don.  She did notice lots of mis­takes in what I’ve knit­ted so far.  “Do you want me to help you rip this out and begin fresh?”

“No, I’ve decid­ed to embrace my mis­takes,” I said, think­ing back to my les­son in Vis­i­ble Mend­ing.  And so I have.  Knit­ting Meets Vis­i­ble Mending.

I’ve darned every sin­gle one of my mis­takes with gor­geous, vin­tage, eBay silk embroi­dery thread.  My hope is that I will make few­er holes as I go along.  (I’m not hold­ing my breath.)

And so has been our July,.  Tomor­row I head into the city for lunch with Avery!  Watch this space.