HIGH UP IN THE TREES

Branches & foliage.

{Climbing the ladder with a basket of owls}

The parliament is in place, or if you prefer, the parliament is in session (which would not be possible to say had we created a charm of hummingbirds instead... I don't think hummers are all that keen on dabbling in treetop politics, they are far too busy clambering over flowerheads... though, not being a twitcher, I could be wrong).

So should you find yourself strolling down or up Flinders Lane in the city, pause at the Craft Victoria window and wave to our happy little family of owls (and of course, if you can't resist the odd 'hoot', that's okay too...). As promised, here are a few photos snapped whilst installing the wise, winged & beaked ones in the early afternoon, with more to follow on flickr & elsewhere shortly.

{In the window}

114 owls have taken up their place amidst both the manmade trees and downstairs at counter. A further few have flown the long distance to WA (to Distracted) and our store (including one of my favourite nocturnal sweets, April wearing a back panel constructed from the sleeve of a kimono. Meet April here.). The bookshelves around the house, where previously they had sat side by side, row by row, are sadly now bare save for the sprinkle of dust and clumps of daily tizz. Perhaps I'll have to fill their recently vacated spots with a kissy kissy stuffed companion.

Climbing up the ladder to reach the window the trees rooted themselves in place and the owls followed suit. A few took a tumble, though other than this, all went to plan.

And finally the owl pinnie that started it all, it seems only fair that you should be introduced. A lime green misfit of an owl... a working pincushion prototype with floppy ears tufts, mismatched button eyes and a face sewn once stuffed (... what were we thinking?). Charming in his own special way. This one, and all those which followed, were originally modelled on my grandmother's owl pincushion made from pieces of coloured felt and with a chest decorated in all the appropriate Girl Guide pins and badges which made mobility a chore for the little guy... all that heavy metal in his chest.

{The finished window, minus white signage... and the original green creation}

Random owl facts for your Tuesday evening:
Buffy Fish-Owl (S.E.Asia from Burma & Borneo to Java), with their bare legs for plucking fish from the water, lack the silent flight of other owls, whose feathers have a fine surface layer of downy strands to muffle the sound of wing flapping... especially handy when in pursuit of a tasty vole.

The Snowy Owl (breeds in N.North America, Greenland and N.Eurasia... and migrates beyond southern limits of this range in years of food shortage), feed on lemmings, hares, gulls and ducks. They hunt by day as well as night.

The Southern Boobook owl (Timor, S, New Guinea, Australia and New Zealand) is mobbed by songbirds if found by day. Hear one here (via Parks & Wildlife Tasmania).

The Barred Owl (North America, mostly east of the Rockies, and the Central Plateau of Mexico to Veracruz and Oaxaca) has asymmetrical ear openings on either side of its head. One opening is higher than the other to enable pinpoint accuracy when hunting. Take a listen here.

(Continue finding more owl facts via Birds of the World, Colin Harrison & Alan Greensmith, Dorling Kindersley Limited.)

In lieu of Friday Five Senses.

The week has sped by, a complete sensory feast, which has left me with little time to snare a trap to catch my Friday Five Senses for you. In lieu of this, I offer five new Friday collages... with the promise that Friday Five Senses will resume next week, to usher in the first day of September and the first day of Spring.

Wandering through the State Library, leafing through the pages of books such as Kingfishers, Bee-Eaters & Rollers by the likes of Fry, Fry & Harris and many field guides... five new collages, with a nod to Audubon sprang forth (created from my own collection of sourced imagery, not using torn pages from the Library's collection). To welcome in the weekend, please meet Audubon's rotund Black-tailed Prairie Dogs found on the plains from Canada to Mexico, and now on my page... a nimble Long-tailed weasel in its winter dress and the legs of some Indian miniature men in red slippers.

Prairie Dog facts... when not "yelping, visiting, sleeping underground, or watching for predators, they spend most of their time eating preferred grasses and other plants, or cutting down the less savoury stalks to ensure a clear view of approaching enemies" (The Living World of Audubon Mammals, Robert Elman, The Ridge Press).

Hear a Prairie Dog chatter its teeth when it meets another Prairie Dog here... (via National Geographic).

Happy weekend to you and your Prairie Dogs!

You're invited (part II).

A snow white, wooden forest brimming with owl friends will be in the front window for all to see... 24 hours a day.

A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS - HANDMADE BY HAMMER & DAISY
28 August - 10 September

In the window
Craft Victoria
41 Flinders Lane
Melbourne

Hope you can pop along and see it...

{owl friends in a white landscape and an owl themed mail out}

And, here is a final peek at said wooden forest, in its current guise, squished onto a table by the window. One last look at our forest (of ten trees) teaming with (some) stuffed owl companions before we install them this coming Monday afternoon. These little guys, nestled in their white branches tie in with the Wednesday Piles popping up here and here. Ten freshly painted, white trees certainly equals a pile, as does over one hundred owls "ready for their close up". Hopefully they will all fit into my large striped African basket when it comes time to pack them up. The trees stack neatly in the boot, branches resting one on top of the other.

{Paper towers and actual tree branches}

Aside from being lost in a noisy sea of hooting owls, other piles like a new metropolis, have popped up where once their was space, save for the weeds. The principle city of the country of Paper has sprung up virtually overnight, like a new development threatening to engulf us all.

{Paper covers and fabric pieces}

Bags, numerous bags, of fabric remnants, offcuts, tablecloths and curtains fill what once was foot room underneath the bookbinding table. Envelopes, once neatly stacked, have taken a hit from a rogue cat paw en route to the sunny spot by the door. An actual tree branch brushes the ceiling with its twiggy ends. No longer required, it now looms over a pile of paper, covers, cardboard and more.

Why not post or share your own pile universe?

(Or get a chuckle out of... demons trying to rouse a sleeping Kumbhakarna as he is surrounded by piles of food and jars of liquid. A marriage ceremony with an altar bursting at the seams with piles of pots. Plus piles, stacks and rows of red books stored at the British Library Newspaper Library.)

Five Senses for Friday.

to feel:
Lost time. I have lost all track of the tread of time, save for the sun going up and the sun going down. Many hours have been spent jigsawing fiddly, sharp branches from a brittle sheet of ply, and later, with an audio cassette for company, painting every bare expanse of wood in a layer of chalky white undercoat. Yesterday I 'read' Leslie Thomas's Dangerous Davis, The Last Detective unabridged... all eight cassettes (Remember them? I'd previously never called upon the services of the tape deck in this particular stereo. It had until yesterday remained an unused component, hidden in the top of the stereo, out of sight. It's been a while since I have used my finger to help rewind the crumpled ribbon of audio which had come loose. As a consequence, I missed sides 10 and 11.). As I painted trees, Dangerous Davis solved a 25 year old case of disappearance and murder, aided by brandy, sherry and more (him, not me). Ena Lind, a creme-de-menthe swilling character in a cat suit sounded every inch like a Monty Python impersonation of a woman, as Alexander John, the sole narrator guided me through London's northwest housing estates, massage parlours and cafes (without the accent above the 'e').

Aside from the feel of loosing all track of time, other notable Feel sensations included...
The rough, dry feel of my hands after sanding all afternoon.
A bite of cake sticking to the roof of my mouth.
The joy of winning free tickets to see Unfolding Florence, The many lives of Florence Broadhurst directed by Gillian Armstrong at the Kino... (find a little more here too).

to smell:
The violets plucked from the front garden. They give off their pleasant perfume as I run their heads under a tap. A jade green sake bottle doubling as a suitable bud vase. The vase now sits perched on top of a stack of old cigar boxes on the mantelpiece. The mantel is groaning under the weight of several coat hangers of washing hanging unceremoniously from its wooden lip. It seems disgruntled with its own appearance.
The smell of washing, both hanging off the mantel and draped across the bar heater, slowly drying.
Sawdust in the tool shed.
Jasmine flowering outside the lounge room window.

to taste:
The acidic tang of a pineapple half... shared with Louise in the late afternoon. Warmer weather is on the way.
Small, bite sized pink lady apples gobbled up in five or more bites, stalk, seeds, core and all.
Hot salted popcorn at the movies. Best enjoyed in the dark.

to hear:
The crackle of our home phone line... our phone is on its last legs. In order to hear and be heard, you need to hold the cord tightly pinched between your thumb and forefinger at a sharp right angle, all the while repeating the lines "Hello? Hello! Hello?? Hello, can you hear me? Anyone?". Exasperated, we're finally considering resorting to pulling forward the bookcase and plugging in the beautiful black bakelite dial phone. The black phone has a solid, pleasing heaviness to it and its sound is distant like an overseas telephone call. And, most importantly, unlike its modern counterpart, it works.
The rustle of the gum tree overhead as I sand trees in the striped deckchair planted below. Wilbur at my feet, momentarily settled, before being distracted by the hidden promise of a buried bone somewhere nearby.

to see:
Magnolias in bloom everywhere. Rosy fleshy pinks and creamy white flowers proudly on display in countless front gardens.
Wilburs happy, shaggy white form, helping us in the toolshed.
The trailer for The Cave of the Yellow Dog, Byambasuren Davaa's follow up to The Story of the Weeping Camel.
Piles of tasks, both finished and unfinished, all around me. An ordered system of messiness. Piles of things have been the order of the week, from caterpillars in growth chambers here to books on their sides here, and polaroids and source material here... plus many, many more. My piles consist mainly of towers of yet to be read library books stacked one on top of the other. Last weeks news in last weeks papers, piled high by the old couch with its springs connecting with the floor below... (photos to come, I promise).

Happy weekend all.

You're invited.

Please come and join us, we'd love to see you...

Dervish
16th of August - 9th of September, '06
145 Greville St, Prahran
Tuesday - Saturday, 12 - 5pm

A dervish of an exhibition to celebrate Greville St Bookstore’s 15th birthday and the opening of IMP above Greville St Bookstore.

All the usual suspects will be there... a familiar to many orange legged bird propped up by many small ladders, some rats silently stealing away, aided by a collaged bird wearing an Audubon animal as a jacket, an extinct black feathered Mamo and an Ilin Island Cloudrunner fresh and remarkably uncrumpled from the pages of the dubious clue, a mouse in mourning for his kingfisher chum, and an elephant trying to prevent his hillside hut from being flattened by a giant duck caught in a golden orb... plus a few more animal friends on display at IMP, above the wonderful Greville Street Bookstore.

If you can't whirl on over, you may wish to follow these Dervish links...
Dervish flowers - flyingpuppet
"Then the boy displayed to the Dervish..." - Marc Chagall and his Four Tales from the Arabian Nights
And brush up on some extinct animals and birds...
The Passenger pigeon and friends - John James Audubon's Birds of America
The extinct Carolina Parakeet and no relation at all, the extinct Great Auk - The Ivory Bill.

And now I must go and empty my pockets for they are full of sensory delights for Five Senses Friday.

Grits for breakfast, lunch & tea.

{Mixing, stirring, slicing and sifting in the kitchen}

We've finally opened our own little portion of North Carolina, a heavy white 2 lb packet of grits from Chapel Hill. Sent to us mid July from Shari, a generous delivery of grits and many accompanying treats, trinkets and treasures... a little something special to cover each and every sense.

So, here you have it, savoury, delectable and piping hot muffins straight from the oven to you... the result of a morning spent in the kitchen with my Mum and LJ, post Saturday morning yoga class, using a recipe for Polenta Corn & Ham Muffins as the base (polenta being a close relative to grits). We omitted the ham and cheese, switched the polenta for grits, and had ourselves a breakfast muffin feast in the Winter sun.

Summon a little Southern charm and mix up a batch today. Or give Paula's recipe for pesto grits (via Diana of one black bird) a whirl.

{Ready for the eating}

Corn and Grits Muffins

You will need:
110 g (3 3/4 oz / 3/4 cup) grits
1 tbs sugar
210 g (7 1/4 oz / 1 2/3 cups) plain flour
1 tbs baking powder
2 tbs oil
1 egg lightly beaten
310 ml (11 fl oz / 1 1/4 cups) skim milk
125 g (4 1/2 oz) tin creamed corn
4 spring onions (scallions), thinly sliced

Preparation time: 15 minutes + 5 minutes cooling
Cooking time: 20 minutes
Makes 12 (finger licking good muffins)

Preheat the oven to 200 °C (400 F/ Gas 6). Sift the grits, sugar, flour and baking powder into a bowl. Place the oil, egg and skim milk in a separate bowl, mix together well and pour in the dry ingredients.

Add the creamed corn and spring onions, and stir together with a large metal spoon until just combined. Do not over mix. The mixture should still be lumpy. Spoon the mixture into twelve 125 ml (4 fl oz / 1/2 cup) non-stick muffin holes and bake for 20 minutes, or until risen and golden brown. Leave in the tin to cool for 5 minutes before turning out onto a wire rack to cool fully. Store in an airtight container (or, eat straight away, as we four did... besides, who wants a cold muffin when you can enjoy one straight from the mouth of the oven).

NB: these muffins provide carbohydrate, some B-group vitamins and minerals and contain less fat than many commercial muffins. Add 50 g (1 3/4 oz) low-fat Cheddar, grated and 150 g (5 1/2 oz) low-fat shaved ham in with the spring onions for variety.

(Recipe via: Fitness Food - The essential guide to eating well & performing better, Murdoch Books.)

{Furnish the table with a mandatory bird vase for optimum enjoyment}

We've since made a further twelve muffins... an addiction to spring onions and corn had me heading to the mixing bowl once more. Next time we plan to try one of the recipes on the packet... we're on a culinary roll. The return of those 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 senses and a further peek at the white forest coming soon.

Owls in the woods.

{Hazel gives the new forest the once over}

A Friday peek into the owl den. Here, as promised, is a wee look at the forthcoming owl window in its current guise. Six of a planned ten trees have been drawn up and cut with the mighty jigsaw, sanded back and then sanded back some more (and then some more...) puttied up and glued in place on an irregular curved base made from 14mm MDF. A further four trees are still in the tool shed, drawn up with black texta and awaiting our handy work early next week... the four largest tree shapes remain, the tallest one just reaching my hip.

{Pleasance and co inspect the sturdy branches}

We laid out a paper template of the window proportions, a mammoth and somewhat daunting three metres by two, on the lawn in the mid morning sun... drawing out several angular tree forms worthy of a cartoon wilderness directly onto the sheets of ply wood. As the last of the ten trees were drawn up and measured at the trunk, the rain came... at first a little, then a lot. A hasty retreat to the confines of the tool shed was in order... no more working outdoors today.

Wilbur work dog proved to be an excellent companion in the tool shed at Louise's parents place. He sat curled up beside me on a striped deck chair as I sanded each wooden tree limb one by one. We eked out a cosy spot together by the open door, cobwebs overhead and the afternoon sun lapping at my sandalled feet. Louise set to work on the fiddly jigsaw process whilst her Dad worked on the bases.

Each individual tree is wobble free thanks to carving a little slot in the base with a router forming a perfect shaped groove for each tree trunk to fit snugly into. An additional lick of glue and they are now super sturdy trees. From trees to timber to trees once more.

{Moon-eyed Rex approves of the new home}

I've since pulled the tiny splinters from my palm and washed the sawdust from my peepers, ready for phase two, to paint our bare wintry trees from base to branch in pure white... a mini Winter wonderland. Though at this stage, in their raw 9mm ply glory, they could pass for angular hybrid cacti in the desert. On the whole our workplace injuries were few and far between, though a large splinter of ply managed to work its way between my finger and the nail, a good half a centimetre of wood clearly visible through the nail. I managed to pull it out with relative ease. It now remains tender though sadly, with no apparent bruising, it elicits little sympathy.

White trees for show and tell next week, plus a grits surprise... tomorrow, post yoga, the grits mix from Crook's Corner shall be opened by hands other than the chaps at Customs. The seldom used apron has been dusted off so to speak and the camera is resting in its cradle.

May your weekend also be fruitful and happy weekend all.

{Owl sounds: Hear a Barred owl... to help you imagine your own little wooden retreat.}

A whale in the hall.

{Mum's cat, the lady Stella, admires the blooming garden}

The warm Winter sun has had me toiling in the garden, propping up toppled bricks that had failed in their efforts to hold the green beds of goddess lilies and helleborus in place. The garden had been in need of repair, of a little tweaking here and there, of a snipping and a sweeping in order to tempt Penny Pigeon, Benito Blackbird and Sid Sparrow back to the trees to wow me with their orchestra once more. So, send those missives via Parrot Post, our backgarden is now ready for your chirping and whistling. Preen your feathered coats and accept our invitation... bread crumbs and seed piled high in the feeder await you. Roll on Spring!

If only the same could be said for indoors, where our pseudo owl factory has turned the house upside down. There may as well be "Whales in the Hall, Lilies in the Teapot... Honey on the Chandelier... (&) Monkeys in the Studio" (The Peacock Party, a sequel to The Butterfly Ball and the Grasshopper's Feast by Alan Aldridge, 1979). As our owl friends get ready to take over the window at Craft Victoria come the end of August, I've discovered I've lost a house. An imaginary painted forest for our owl pinnies still needs to be created. So, tomorrow it is time to free the jigsaw from the tool shed and set to work on trees and nests. Their forest may not be as resplendent in gold as the Regent Theatre, but I'm sure they'll be more than comfortable in their new camp. They have also promised to only eat their serves of sugared mice and rat dumplings once the lights in the display are dimmed.

{Seated at the Regent}

From a one year old's birthday party to catching An Inconvenient Truth at the Regent with LJ, from feasting on hot slices of rye bread in the garden to a tantalising slice of lemon and orange poppyseed cake at Mart... from stuffing owls to stuffing more owls... it's been a speedy weekend. Now, if only I could budge that whale from the hallway and find "Banknotes in the Shed".

{Rewards at Mart 130}

(Psst... our hammer & daisy owl window at encounter runs from the 28th of August through to the 10th of September, '06. And find new to the shop owl pairs, for a fraction of the cost, over here.)

Friday animal house.

Please meet some Friday animals, gathered together under the one circus tent today... a European rabbit (Oryctolagus cuniculus), a Pygmy mouse (Baiomys taylori), a Ring-tailed coati (Nasua nasua), an Edible dormouse (Glis glis) and a Black-backed jackal (Canis mesomelas). An Iberian Lynx (Lynx pardinus, sometimes Felis pardina) was also scheduled to be added to the brew however he didn't quite work out on paper. I'd envisaged a white chinned lynx sitting down at a circular cafe table opposite a rabbit however it wasn't to be. For now, it will have to remain an image in my head.

The Iberian lynx is one of the rarest cats... "from 1960 to 1990, the lynx lost 80 per cent of its range. Two highly inbred colonies totalling barely 150 in the craggy hills and scrubby forests of Andalusia are all that remain" (Lack of curiosity may kill most endangered cat, Anthony Ham, Age correspondent, Madrid). He has been able to hang on for as long as he has thanks to his chum and fellow lunch partner - the rabbit... roughly 90% of his diet. A declining Spanish rabbit population (due to a host of not so lovely diseases, myxomatosis, viral hemorrhagic fever, tuberculosis etc.) and human beings have put this handsome fellow and his family at risk. His naturally shortened tail hinders his communication skills with his fellow lynx mates so as a result conspicuous ear tufts are relied on to do all the talking... which could prove handy should you ever meet one, though with as little as 150 remaining it seems unlikely.

Iberia Nature - with info on the cubs born in captivity
Two endangered Iberian lynx killed in southern Spain, WWF
Once regarded both as an attractive hunting trophy and as a vermin, WWF
A great cat in a shrinking space, WWF
Iberian lynx in 'gravest danger', BBC news
Find more Iberian lynx facts here and Lynx specifics here...

The European rabbit, at the opposite end of the status spectrum is considered common. Originally from the Iberian Peninsula and southern France more than 3,000 years ago, the European rabbit inhabits a complex labyrinth of a warren, think Watership Down.

The Pygmy mouse from South-western United States to central Mexico has small, round ears by mouse standards. They too, live in a complex network system which runs under rocks and through the undergrowth... they are renowned for leaving droppings piled high at the various junctions. A little street sign for its fellow Pygmy mates or possibly to signal to other hoards of mice that this turf is a part of their elaborate network system.

From Northern South America from Columbia and Venezuela to Uruguay, the northern parts of Argentina, and into Ecuador, in woodland areas, lives the Ring-tailed coati. As his name suggests, his long tail is banded with stripes. High up in the treetops this magnificent tail acts a super handy fifth limb... how handy would a prehensile tail be.

The Edible dormouse, also known as the fat dormouse, are common throughout central and eastern Europe, extending west through northern Spain and introduced into England... (Apparently the Romans kept these agile climbers in terracotta containers to fatten them up for the table to enjoy stuffed with pine kernels. They are still a rare delicacy in Slovenia.). They belie their reputation as Champion Snoozers with the arrival of Spring when for 6 months or more they go without sleep.

'Wake up, Dormouse!' And they pinched it on both sides at once. The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. 'I wasn't asleep,' he said in a hoarse, feeble voice: 'I heard every word you fellows were saying.'

Alice in Wonderland, Chapter VII, A Mad Tea Party.

And our final of the famous five, the Black-backed jackal from Southern Africa and East Africa, they live in close knit pairs and communicate by a legendary series of screaming yells and short sharp yaps. Though best of all, fact wise, in parts of South Africa, jackals were known to create havoc feasting on large numbers of pineapples. I'll leave you with that image in mind, a cry of jackals greedily devouring pineapples.

Pipit, peck, pearl, pedal.

{Not a pipit, a detailed snippet of a wordy tail.}

Not a pipit... not many things are a small "songbird with brown plumage streaked with darker brown or black" and our hand coloured in parts, collaged in others, lithographic offset print for lexicon isn't one either. A recent work created using a supplied double page pulled from Chambers's English Dictionary (London, 1898), featuring a bevy of 'P' words. One of those 'P' words nuzzled up next to the likes of pin wheels (a type of cog wheel that has pins projecting radially or axially from its rim), pistachio (a pale green or yellowish edible nut, often roasted and salted or used to flavour confectionary), piquet (a card game for two players played with a 32-card pack) and pippin (an eating apple with a yellow skin strongly flushed with red) was a definition of a small pipit which we took an immediate shine to.

Catch a more detailed view of this little Robust white-eye fanning his giant paper word disc at Gallery @ City Library, 253 Flinders Lane, Melbourne from the 1st of August through to the 30th along with a swag of countless other works. We swung by yesterday, en route to a yoga class to take a peek. Some lucky soul received a double page, double delight with the words mountain goat (or was it mountain deer?) and mouse tail hidden on the one spread.

{A recent variation of Blink & it's over for a friend, last seen here.}

Today I plan to use as many 'P' words as I can recall... pirate, pipsqueak, pirouette, pinto bean and pit-a-pat have all rolled off my tongue and made a crashing appearance in conversation. I wonder how many more I'll be able to pull off? I fear this little exercise may be short lived...