Flowers on Tuesday

The Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival hardly needs an introduction, as it is very much an institution, at this point, as the largest festival of it’s kind in the US.  Over 40 years of festivals in sun, rain, and snow have culminated in the event as it exists today – part outdoors Spring outing, part legendary shopping extravaganza, part creative arts think tank, part sheep (and wool) farming guide, and part fiber arts knowledge exchange.  What always strikes me most about this festival is the thing that struck me my first year attending: it is full of artisans who are experts in their extremely niche (and in our 21st Century, very under-the-radar) fields, who are creating immaculately crafted, made-to-last, and made-to-bring-joy, functional products.  There are artists- in the true sense of the word- of many kinds.  There are sheep shearers, weavers, basket makers, wood turners, herders, horticulturalists, viniculturalists, musicians, painters, fiber dyers, spinners, metal craftsmen, knitters, and of course the broom makers.  Every person at this festival has a story, is part of a heritage, has an amazing machine/ technique/ handmade artifact/ animal, that is many generations older than they are, that is rare, that has come through personal experience, that is unique.

Regardless of whatever initially brings you out to the festival, once you’re there and that first thing has caught your eye and then your attention, it’s nearly impossible to be standing in the middle of it all, and not be excited about the general feeling that you are part of this tidal wave of humanity who are keeping the traditions of the past alive while charging forward into the future with all the rush of technology, and the artisan banner held high.  At least, that’s how it feels to me.

I love this festival.

This year, as always, I bought some things.  I got my traditional basket, and my traditional wood spindle (and yes, I do stop to wonder how much longer I will be able to keep up those traditions, if those particular vendors will still be crafting and selling their wares).  The particulars of my purchases aren’t worth going into, as nearly everybody who walks through the gates finds the most. amazing. thing!  Besides, my finds will be posted in later updates as I get working on the projects…  This year, most of my focus was on having a good time introducing my family to this festival, as they (voluntarily!) offered to attend for the first time ever since I’ve been going.

Another highlight was hearing Judith McKenzie talk about the History of Wool on Sunday afternoon.  What was so meaningful to me about her talk, was as much the sheer knowledge she presented, direct from her experience as a rancher,  spinner and knitter, and dye-er, as it was that her talk was so obviously unscripted.  Her lecture wasn’t quite as rambling as a true, at-the-moment remembrance, yet wasn’t anywhere near as formal or planned as a scholarly presentation.  At the same time, she presented knowledge at a university level.  I may have taken notes.  …on my cell phone.  …while knitting, with my new purchases…

I was having such a great time that the only photos I took (with my cell phone, because I brought my camera and charged the battery only to discover that I left my SD card in the computer, again) were of the momentous occasion of happening across a one day old lamb at the booth of the outdoor vendors.

It’s going to take me weeks to mentally process all that went on – from my mother’s showing up with a stomach bug (oh, port-a-johns) and my aunt “losing” her cell phone in the parking lot for an hour and a half (it was in the trunk of her car), to the strangers I befriended in various booths (thanks for the pattern, Dee O’Keefe!), and the tools I bought (kudos to the Bosworths for honoring my down-to-the-deadline spindle request), and all the many ideas that started churning just from seeing so many beautiful options.  As always, it was a weekend to remember.

With the onset of Spring in full swing now, I’ve been thinking about plants this week, and trees in particular.  There are quite a few beautiful old specimens in my neighborhood, some of which are over 100 years old.  On my recent walks, I’ve been noticing that several of these have gone missing through the late winter.  A couple were partially rotted and had become a danger to the house they lived next to.  Unfortunately, a good few of those that went missing were simply unceremoniously cut down.  This was done, I suppose, to afford a better view of the house from the street, since the houses then went up for sale.  This is not a good reason to cut down a perfectly healthy (and beautiful, and useful) tree, in my view; but they’re not my trees, and it’s not my house.   Now every time I pass the greying stumps, I huff out some semblance of a sad sigh, and move on.  Except –  these past couple weeks, a few of my very favorites have disappeared.  Today, my usual run literally ground to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, as I stood gaping at the carnage of London Plane tree trunks cut up on my neighbor’s lawn, and at the huge vacant spaces now completely devoid of plant life.  Had anyone appeared at that moment, I very likely would have demanded, “What happened??”, and launched into a blathering tirade of disbelief.  Lucky for my reputation with my neighbors, I was the only one there.

In a previous life as a landscape designer, part of my work was choosing the species of trees that were planted around residential developments, homes, and in the parking lots of shopping malls.  Dogwoods and redbuds are among my favorite flowering trees, and I’m partial to these, and almond trees, for my own yard.  Far and away, though, my favorite “street tree” is the London Plane Tree.

 

There’s really nothing not to like about this species.  First of all: the bark.  Each trunk looks like an artist’s canvas, in grey shades of green to orange.  No two are the same.  As the tree grows, the patterns change, and you’re got an absolutely gorgeous, living art work for your yard – year-round!  And, unlike some trees with interesting “shedding” bark, these don’t leave a mess of debris for you to constantly clean up.  The bark of London Planes change bit by bit, at a slow, stately rate.

 

 

Then: the leaves.  The branches of London Plane trees are among the first to bud up in the spring, and among the first trees to leaf out.  They’re a beautiful true spring green that deepens through the summer.  The leaves turn yellow with the first hint of Fall, a burnishing glow from one side of the tree to the other, and then curl to a beautiful light toast brown, until they all come down at the same time, usually one windy autumn weekend.  They are the quintessential leaves for “crunching” through on your way up the walk to your front door.  And when you’ve had enough of that for one season, they make for relatively easy clean-up and bagging, because they’re so large.  Then you’ve the beautiful bark to keep you company, through the cold winter months.

And finally: this tree gets bonus points for usefulness.  The large leaves and open branch structure provide the perfect amount of airy, dappled shade.  You can plant a lawn or perennials under this tree, and they will actually grow – thrive, even!  London Planes are also salt tolerant, an advantage if you live where it snows.  They’re also tolerant of poor soils and less-than-ideal growing conditions, such as the 8-foot-square patch of bare ground in the sidewalk in front of your townhome.

In one particular part of my neighborhood, London Plane trees are planted along one side of a parking lot, and the grassy strip between lot and sidewalk is a popular dog-walk spot.  As the pooch does his sniffing, I often catch myself getting lost in thought, creating infinite colorways from bark, and shade, and roots, and leaves.  Someday I might even use one of these ideas to dye something!  It doesn’t matter if the weather is grey and dreary, or if there’s glowing blue skies; this tree always shines, and always makes me smile.  Look for them – and if you know a landscape architect, ask for them!