"Stars" on Seneca Lake

With blue skies above and the wind in your sails, whether you're in a "Star" or a "Comet", the sailing is keen sport on Seneca Lake.

Still Riding the Waves,
Marjorie

A Girl Can Never Have Too Many...

Sally Patchins. Not a posh handbag like the Birkin bag (or as they say in the Beijing silk market, a "Barking bag"). It's a basket, but not like its wealthier cousin, the Nantucket basket. Still around these parts a Sally Patchin is a must-have.

Sally (1874-1958) lived in Patchinville, (near Wayland, NY in Steuben County), where she ran a cottage industry of hand-painted baskets from her studio. She did not make the baskets herself, often buying large lots from China and India. Most were utilitarian ~ sewing, laundry and market baskets which she adorned with her designs of birds, and old-fashioned garden flowers (hollyhocks, pansies, delphiniums...) Her work is colorful and cheerful, and some would say primitive.

From the Internet.

From the Internet.

You can't walk into a local antiques shop, or show, and not see the fruits of her labor. Here in Upstate New York, The Wayland Historical Society owns a collection of "Patchins", and Steuben County named her to their Hall of Fame. She received national recognition when the Library of the National Museum of Women in the Arts, Washington, D.C., created a file with photographs of her work and information on her life.

One ardent fan owns a collection of 400 Sally Patchins! I am happy to own two.

First and Last ~ From My Collection.

Counting my blessings and my baskets,
Marjorie

(Posting from the Scenic Finger Lakes of New York State, USA)

Yankee Doodle Dandies

Geneva-on-the-Lake, July 4, 1929

Another Fourth of July celebration at the American Legion. The headliners were local "hoofers", Dorothy Sebastian and Anita Page, who performed a Patriotic tap routine. A dazzling fireworks display followed.

Applause, applause,
Marjorie

Fish Tales

Greetings from the Finger Lakes, Seneca Lake and

"The Lake Trout Capitol of the World"!

Big Fish and Little Fish - At the Cottage, Seneca Lake

Catching Up,
Marjorie

P.S. Handwritten caption on the back of this old photo postcard reads:
A part of the catch at Highgate Sprgs
Aug 20 '12, by Mrs. Hepburn and Walter.
More than 200 fish caught, only 92
strung here. Total weight 60 pounds.
Not a fish wasted: eight families supplied.

Le Vacation

Ten Good Reasons for a Vacation:

#1 Two Moves in One Year - too, too much!

#2 Recent close encounters with a hammer and the door of the Chinese cabinet - OUCH!

#3 Long trip back home-delays, motel, shuttle, plane, cab: zzz!

#4 Open family cottage and sweep away winter souvenirs of mice and spiders;

#5 Missed Memorial Day - need to take flowers to the cemetery;

#6 See the girls from GHS, and catch up on all the local gossip ;

#7 Visit storage unit and start digging for lost treasure;

#8 Time for the Strawberry Festival at the church;

#9 Desperate for an antique fix - it's summer show season;

#10 Need my Mommy!

Will be posting this summer from the beautiful Finger Lakes in New York State!

Marjorie
P.S. My dear pal Bethany found this book for me.

Oh No, Not Again! We're on "The Edge".

In 1969, there was an oil spill in the Pacific Ocean, near Santa Barbara California. 80,000 to 100,000 barrels of crude oil spilled into the water and onto the beaches of Santa Barbara County. 10,000 birds were killed. Soon afterwards, artist Claire Moore published a book, "The Edge", in which she vividly described in words and drawings the impact of an ecological disaster.

The Edge
Prose and Drawings by Claire Moore

The river stinks like slime but
boys jump in. They don’t mind

rivers like
old people
thickening
in their beds.

Fill levels and buries
the marsh and phragmites.
The mud hens, banished,
clutch their shadows.

A skinny winged gull
roosting in swamp
and spittle
echoes her mate,

an augur, blackened,
grieving, “The sea
my wilderness

profaned…”

And the heron.
Is that a heron’s
shadow, one, two,
one, stepping?

Afloat – a girdle of terns.
Terns trilling on the shore’s edge.
The terns rise up all together,
like a quivering cloud.

Whereupon the man
whose small brave body,
to an observer
like an exhilarated bird,
dives in – into the wave.

Oh buoyant bird
listening
to the desert
we call “Sea,”

the tide
slobbers over
thousands
of dead fish.

Fly! You wretched bird
pointing
with globbed beak skyward.

Run babies!
crushing the new-born
mollusks
with your little naked feet.

And my toes too break through
the caked sand.
But a cold brown foam
creeps forward.

It seeps down
into castanet-like clams
wasting their words
in secret burrows.

It seeps down into tubelike shells
into beings
stronger than waves
but stained.

Bodies spill
over the continental
shelf.
The planet dies
innocent
unseen.

Another case of history repeating itself!

Marjorie

P.S. Those of you who read my blog may recall that my grandfather was a charter fishing boat captain in the Gulf Of Mexico. As a child, I spent many hours exploring this special part of the world, and was in constant awe of the diversity of its natural history.

Note: The American artist, Claire Moore was born in New York City in 1917. Since the 1930s, she was writing prose and making prints. She studied at the Art Students League, and worked with David Siqueiros at the Siqueiros Workshop. Sponsored by Fernand Leger, she received a MacDowell Fellowship. Her books and prints can be found in many collections throughout the United States. She died in 1988.

Orange Blossom Time

It is June, the bridal month, and the scent of orange blossoms is in the air.

Generations of brides' veils and bouquets have been adorned with these fragrant flowers ~ for tradition states that they bring Good Luck.

Our clan will soon gather to celebrate the union of our dear niece Jennifer, and her Andrew.

In honor of the young couple, and the McCaffrey ancestors I offer this prayer:

An Irish Blessing for the Bride and Groom

May green be the grass you walk on,
May blue be the skies above you,
May pure be the joys that surround you,
May true be the hearts that love you.

Love,
Aunt Marjorie