Blackberry Winter in the Ozarks

Today is nearly as cold as a summer's day in San Francisco (apologies to Mark Twain or whoever was supposed to have said; "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco").
Everyone who stopped in at our garage sale this morning had something to say about the weather, but one woman offered that it was "Blackberry Winter." I had never heard the expression which I learned refers to a mid-May cold snap after the blackberries have bloomed. So, today the heater is blasting, earlier this week it was the A/C. Doesn't seem like it is ever just right.
My new camera takes much better pictures than the i-phone, I'm sure you'll agree. This picture shows the portion of the quilt I have finished quilting. Here's a progress report: Approximately 30% done, 1,500 feet of thread, 150,000 stitches, and 600 hours spent hand quilting.
Grandson Robby sent me a beautiful piece of his original art work which had been printed on a piece of white fabric. I quilted it and framed it so I could easily show it off. Looks like fish swimming through kelp to me; I wonder what Robby thinks.


Ben is through performing and receiving awards for this school year except for the coup de grâce - the band trip to Florida and a performance at Disney World. I've never been to Disney World (neither have Ben or Logan). I wish we could all go! Logan's award assembly and 8th grade celebrations are scheduled for all of next week. Look for better pictures with the new camera.


By the way, I forgot to post books I read in April:
Great Expectations: Charles Dickens -- this one is a little bit different, not quite such dramatic changes in fortune as Oliver Twist or David Copperfield, and a lot more symbolism. I liked it.

The Fiery Cross: Diana Gabaldon -- not quite as much sex and violence and a lot more early American history.

Bastard Out of Carolina: Dorothy Allison -- not sure whether the Bastard is the illegitimate girl, or her abusive step-father. Sad tale of Southern White Trash featuring a girl called Bone. This story evokes another of poor white folk: Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell in the telling of hard-scrabble lives that hit below the poverty belt.