feathers of hope plucked?

Well, not really. But after all my words and pictures yesterday about blossoms and hope and spring, wind of mythical proportions blew in, stayed, brought more rain (a good thing), shut down the view of the mountains and made us feel temporarily cosy and secure with our cups of tea and Easter eggs. When it cleared off today we saw the snow!

Wind is still with us. Our house has sustained some minor damage with the constant beating it's getting. So far wind has blown down an ancient TV antenna that we were unable to remove from on our tall roof when we bought the house (thanks, wind) and one quite long gutter that ran along the west side (not so great but it could be worse). What will be left when the winds recede? I mean, really, how much abuse can a nearly 30 year old house with 51 windows take?
     Instead of obsessing and worrying over it, I painted my toenails an outlandish color and noticed that they matched the shawlette I recently finished. I'll spare you the close up of my toes. But they're blue.

book report
I'm finishing up Vanilla by Tom Ecott and have been surprised at what I've learned about the world of vanilla growing, buying, selling, its myriad uses. I had no idea of what that process involved nor, frankly, had I given it a thought until the book found its way into my hands from a friend who assured me that I'd like it. Ecott did exhaustive research, interviews, and traveled to remote parts of the globe to gather material. The first third of the book was packed with facts and written so densely that I didn't think I'd stick with it. Then it got interesting. Turns out the vanilla trade is akin to the drug trade! There are murders, robberies, armed guards, dirty doings, secrets, cheating, power plays. sheesh! who knew? Or that it takes 18 months for an exacting process that produces that expensive shriveled brown thing called a vanilla bean. Apparently the world is as greedy for vanilla as it is for oil and coffee. Chanel No.5 contains vanilla! It's a good read.

"Everything moves so suddenly in the spring. The sun will be shining some sweet afternoon, and in an hour the cloud full of rain rolls over the mountains. It turns to hail and comes down in white lines of ice, threatening the young shoots in the field."
(Mabel Dodge Luhan wrote those words in Taos in 1935. I guess some things don't change).