It was almost as though a switch was flipped this weekend and the moment it was officially spring it became, well, officially spring. There were crocus blooming, tulips shooting up from newly dug tiny gardens, and daffodils nearly ready to bloom yesterday. The winter here hasn’t been as intense for us as for those of you in midwest but it still, somehow, felt pretty endless and grey. Seeing green - even in tiny bursts - is a sure sign that warmer weather and growth are on their way.

This is a diamond binding in cranberry linen thread, with purple on purple chrysanthemum covers and a spring green Japanese silk bookcloth on the spine, measuring 10.25″ wide x 9.5″ high. This one’s on Etsy!

Though we have zero outdoor space - perhaps because we have no outdoor space - I’m especially in need of green and am finding as many ways to incorporate it into my days as I can. Between scouring seed sites for information on plants that will grow well on windowsills and fire escapes, I’ve also found a lot of color creeping back in to my books.

This guy’s also up on Etsy! This is also 10.25″ wide x 9.5″ high, and is the same diamond binding, only in a heavily waxed golden Irish linen thread, on chocolate brown book cloth, with chiyogami (Japanese silkscreened) paper covers in a green, gold, and cream vine pattern.

It’s about time to tackle some new card ideas but, for now, the focus around here is on books, both improving on old techniques and adding lots of new materials, bindings, and colors whenever possible. These are just a few…and there are plenty more to come!

These other two diamond bindings are also up on Etsy, of course! On the left is an 8″ x 8″ album, using cranberry Irish linen thread, bronze Japanese silk bookcloth, and a bronze and pink chrysanthemum patterned paper on red. On the right is a 10.25″ wide x 7.5″ high album with chocolate brown bookcloth on the spine, stitching in the same cranberry thread, and the covers are chiyogami (Japanese silkscreened) papers in a floral pattern on pale blue.

The Current
by Wendell Berry

Having once put his hand into the ground,
seeding there what he hopes will outlast him,
a man has made a marriage with his place,
and if he leaves it his flesh will ache to go back.
His hand has given up its birdlife in the air.
It has reached into the dark like a root
and begun to wake, quick and mortal, in timelessness,
a flickering sap coursing upward into his head
so that he sees the old tribespeople bend
in the sun, digging with sticks, the forest opening
to receive their hills of corn, squash, and beans,
their lodges and groves, and closing again.
He is made their descendant, what they left
in the earth rising into him like a seasonal juice.
And he sees the bearers of his own blood arriving,
the forest burrowing into the earth as they come,
their hands gathering the stones up into walls,
and relaxing, the stones crawling back into the ground
to lie still under the black wheels of machines.
The current flowing to him through the earth
flows past him, and he sees one descended from him,
a young man who has reached into the ground,
his hand held in the dark as by a hand.

- from Collected Poems: 1957 to 1982