And then, I had another brilliant idea the other day. A June book!! Would you read it? I am super excited about it and am working on a first draft. As soon as I post this, a spring story, and a dear little felted flower craft. One your kids will actually do, no seriously they will. Even my boy loved this. There is a foot of snow on the ground and it is in the teens outside, but dammit, tomorrow is spring. And she shall be celebrated, in whatever form she arrives.
Yay. Spring, snow and all.
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| Gather wool rovings, lots of colors. Wool is also super easy to dye. A few minutes in boiling water with a drop of food coloring and a glug of vinegar to make it stick. |
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| prepare a pan of warm water and a bar of soap |
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| get wool good and soapy and wet and rub in between your palms to make a ball. it takes time but it will work |
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| wrap your ball in plastic wrap and add another layer of wool rovings. a hint to make the layers stick or cover holes, use a super thin layer and rub gently at first, use plenty of soap too. |
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| a pot of tea to get me through this craft. |
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| we did a center ball, two more layers of colors, then a layer of green (for the leaves) here are the finished flowers |
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| now cut a little x in the top of the first layer, then gently snip to make leaves, and remove the next layer. at this point the kids were all...OOOOOOH. (after making me finish theirs because they were tired of the felting process) |
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| its BEEE-YOU-TEE-FUL! (yes, this is how she says beautiful lately, HA HA.) |
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| little man's sunflower, colors chosen by him specifically to make it look like a sunflower. |
HAPPY SPRING!! (take THAT you blankety-blank-blank-blank foot of snow!!)
WHY VIOLETS HAVE GOLDEN HEARTS
Once, in the long ago, there was a most beautiful garden
where flowers of every kind grew. There were stately hollyhocks and fresh white
daisies and roses and violets and pansies and hyacinths and poppies and every
other kind of flower that you ever dreamed or thought about.
Early one morning, when the bees and butterflies went to
pay their morning calls, they found all the flowers in a perfect flutter of
excitement.
A strange knight had passed through the garden the evening
before and left word for every flower that the king of the garden was coming
soon on a visit, and to the most beautiful flower he would bring a golden heart.
"To the most beautiful one was the message," nodded the
crimson rose, pressing her baby buds close to her side.
"To the most beautiful one," rang out the lily bells,
sweet and clear. "We heard, we heard!"
"To the most beautiful one," whispered the violets,
bending their heads in prayer.
"Yes, yes," chimed in the snowdrops, one by one; "to the
most beautiful one. We heard the message clearly.
"But who can be more beautiful than we, with our dresses
of spotless white?
"Surely the king will choose us, and for his coming we
shall save all our sweetest nectar juice, all our pollen, all that we have we
shall save for him who is our king."
Thus talked the flowers together in the garden. Of course,
everyone wanted the golden heart, and everyone began to work, trusting and
hoping that its blossom might be the most beautiful one.
Now in those days, snowdrops held their heads up, and not
down, as now,—neither did they have green spots on their dresses then. They were
snowy white, and now that the king was coming, they thought so much more about
their beautiful white [88] dresses that they seemed to forget that it was better
to be beautiful on the inside than on the outside.
They even forgot—these snowdrops—to be kind to their best
friends, the bees and butterflies, and refused to give them either pollen or
nectar juice.
And again they forgot to say good-morning to their other
friends, the lovely violets, growing so close to them and making the breath of
the whole garden fragrant with their perfume.
Indeed, the violets thought so much about making perfume
for others that they forgot all about themselves, and even the colour of their
dresses.
But the days passed quickly in the old garden, and it soon
became a bower of glory indeed, as flower vied with flower to become the most
beautiful, when the king should come.
The morning-glories hung out joy-bells of white and pink
and blue, climbing to the top of the garden wall that they might be first to
tell the news that the king had come.
The trumpet vine climbed yet higher, even to the top
of the tallest tree, that he might be first to see and welcome the king.
But the snowdrops only stood still and fretted. "See,"
they cried, "our dresses are losing their freshness and the nectar juice will be
spoiled. Listen, do you not hear footsteps?"
Yes, someone was coming down the path, but it was only a
wrinkled old woman, feeble and worn with the heat of the summer day.
As she passed slowly along, her eyes fell on the pure
white snowdrops, and stretching her hands towards them, she said:
"Oh, you beautiful blossoms, can you not spare me one?"
"No, no! we have none to spare to-day," replied the
snowdrops; "go away and come some other day. We are saving these for our king.
Ask the violets close by. They can spare you some."
"Yes, yes," nodded the violets; "we would love to give you
some. Take all [90] you please. See, our bed is full,—enough for you and enough
for our king."
And as the old woman stooped to gather the purple violets,
her face seemed very fair to look upon.
"To-morrow, surely to-morrow the king will come," fretted
the snowdrops; "we have waited so long!"
But when the next day came, there was only a little bird
with a broken wing that passed that way. Faint from hunger, he fell in the sand
near the snowdrops and begged for just one tiny seed.
"No, no!" again said the snowdrops, "we have none to
spare. Come some other day; we are saving these for our king."
"Take ours," cried the voice of the violets close by;
"take ours, pretty bird, we have plenty to spare."
And the wounded bird ate and hopped away, and again his
face seemed beautiful to look upon.
It was night, and the breezes were just lulling the
flowers to sleep when another visitor stopped by the side of the snowdrops. But
they sighed and turned their heads [91] away, for this time there was only a
crippled frog with an ugly bruise on his head.
"Water, only one drop of water, pretty snowdrops!" the
frog said. "Your cups are full with sweetest nectar juice. Give to me, for I am
dying with thirst."
But again the snowdrops shook their heads and turned away.
"No, no!" they cried; "go away, ugly frog. We need our water to keep our dresses
white, for the king is coming this way".
"Here is ours," called the violets sweet. "It is fresh and
pure. Drink, tired frog, and rest among our cooling leaves."
And then something wonderful indeed happened. The frog
vanished from sight, and in his place stood the king of the garden himself,
clothed in gold and royal purple, and in his hands he held a shower of golden
hearts which fell among the violets and lodged lovingly beneath their fragrant
petals.
Then turning to the snowdrops, who had hung their heads in
shame, the king said:
"Spotted like thy heart oh, snowdrops, thy dresses shall
become, and when on them thou dost look, think and remember:
"Beautiful flowers are those that do,
Deeds that are loving, kind, and true,
The long day
through."
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"Footsore and weary, I asked of you; hungry, I came to
you; thirsty, I begged of you; but you turned me away."
"We did not know, we did not know," sobbed the snowdrops.
"Come, we have saved all for thee."
But alas! it was too late, for the king of the garden had
come and gone,— leaving the snowdrops with spotted clothes and heads bowed low
in the moonlight.
Such pretty felted flowers!
ReplyDeletethanks TC!!
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