We had a bad storm on Tuesday night. Winds howling at over 120kmh in this little outport, even higher elsewhere. Buckets full of snow were blasted at the windows, clinging briefly to the panes and then falling in a puddle on the ground and disappearing. Phones blew out, dialup was a dim memory, dinner was cooked on the fire and gratitude was in the heart for being safe indoors as plans were deferred.
The sun came out yesterday bathing all in its path with that special light that only the aftermath of a storm can bring. A wondrous golden hue to everything. Like the child who shrugs after doing something really bad. "Who, me?"
I wore my aran sweater yesterday. I wear it, oh, once a year. It is too bulky to go under a coat and far too warm for spring and early fall. But yesterday was perfect for it. It will last a couple of hundred years at this rate.
We caught up on one of the deferred plans and went to the fishers' museum in St. Vincent's. Fishermen's Museum really. But I do prefer the more PC term. Because it wasn't only the fishermen. It was the women who toiled and slaved and worked so hard in the houses on the shore.
I was completely bewitched with the quilt shown above. Utterly and completely. I don't think I've ever seen women's work more honoured in one outstanding piece of work like this. In stark black and white.
Profound and gorgeous. I had to be pried away. I wanted to spend all day with it.
