L.T. Meade. The Lady of the Forest. New York, A.L. Burt [189-?]
The Art of Book Design: The Lady of the Forest
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Art, Fun, & Nonsense.
L.T. Meade. The Lady of the Forest. New York, A.L. Burt [189-?]
Freezing temperatures have finally arrived in central Europe, we had -6°C a few days ago. Unfortunately, it was not accompanied by any snow whatsoever, not a single flake. However the rapid onset of frost after relatively warm weather has covered every stone, every piece of plastic or metal and every blade of grass and tree twig with ice crystals, so I took my camera and made a few quick pictures.
When I was a kid, usually there were at least twenty cm of snow outside at this time.
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
©voyager, all rights reserved
It was a splendid day here, so Jack and I decided to spend it going for a slow walk in the woods. Lately, Jack’s been walking beside me on the path because of all snow, but today he was off in the woods almost all the way around. He caught up with me at the last bench before the car park, and he seemed a bit out of sorts, so I asked him why the sad face on such a lovely day.
“I can’t tell you. Well, I shouldn’t tell you” he replied.
“Shouldn’t tell me what, Bubbs”
“It’s about the little folk. They don’t like for people to know their business.”
“I see,” I said. “But, it’s ok for dogs to know their business?”
“Silly Mummy, of course, dogs know their business. We can hear and smell everything they do. They’d prefer most dogs didn’t know about them, but they trust some of us.”
I was getting very curious, but I know that if you ask Jack too many questions, he wanders away, so I let a few quiet moments pass when Jack spoke up again.
“Mummy, what would you do if your home wasn’t safe anymore?”
“Well, I’d fix it if I could, and if I couldn’t fix it, I guess I’d move to a new place.” I let a beat pass, “Does one of the little people have a problem where they live?”
“Oh, Mummy, they all do. It’s terrible!” Jack had a catch in his voice, and I saw worry in his eyes.
“Can you tell me what the problem is, Bubbs?”
“It’s the ground, Mummy. It isn’t staying frozen long enough for them to go to sleep.”
I had to think about that for a bit, then I asked, ” Why can’t they go to sleep if the ground isn’t frozen?”
“They can, but this year the snow keeps melting, and it’s been raining, and everyone is worried that their tunnels will collapse. Usually, the meltwater comes in the spring when the flowers and trees can help drink it, but the trees don’t drink much in the winter, and so the ground gets soggy, and their tunnels get mouldy, and their food spoils faster and then sometimes the tunnels cave in.” Jack stopped and looked around before adding, “that’s why they can’t do their winter sleep.”
“That’s awful, Jack. What are they going to do?” I asked, but I could see him wander off the path and knew that to be a sure sign, he didn’t want to talk anymore.
“They have a few ideas, but not everyone agrees.” Jack said, before adding “Can we be quiet now, Mummy.”
“Sure Bubbs,” I said, but I was brimming over with questions. Who are these little folk, and how many of them are there? How big is their tunnel system, and where do they hide the entrances? Do they live there all year, or only in the winter? Do they all bunk together like at camp or do they have proper rooms with furniture and books. What sort of food do they eat, and what do they store down there? How long is a ‘winter sleep,’ and is that like hibernating? What ideas do they have to deal with their soggy tunnels and is there anything we could do to help?
I could see that Jack wasn’t going to say anything more about it, though, so I let the questions lay silent for today. Hopefully, he’ll tell me more, and if he does, I’ll be sure to pass it on to you.
Charles Stedman Newhall. Ruthie’s Story. Philadelphia, Presbyterian board of publication [c1888]
What do you see? ©voyager, all rights reserved
Sometimes Jack and I amuse ourselves by playing a game called “Tree See.” We invented the game, and the rules are simple. You look around the forest until you find an image hidden in the branches or on a fallen log and then you point and ask the other person what they see. If you both see the same thing, the point goes to the person who found the sculpture. If you both see something different, the point goes to the second person who was asked for their opinion. It’s a silly game, really, but it helps pass the time, especially on a winter’s walk when there isn’t much to look at. Jack is better at the game than I am. I think it’s because he’s lower to the ground, but today Jack tells me that it’s because I’m a slow-witted human who lacks imagination. Ouch, Bubba, that stings. ,
Even more Easter Eggs. The last batch from Easter, next will be Christmas.
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
© Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full
©voyager, all rights reserved
Various aurhors. The Lady of the tower. New York; Cincinnati; Chicago,: Benziger Brothers, 1909.
via: The Library of Congress
Photo by Justin Meissen via Atlas Obscura
Minnesota was logging country in the late 1800s, and as a result, most of the state’s old-growth trees were cut down. At present, only 2% of trees in Minnesota’s forests are considered old-growth, but there is an extraordinary place known as The Lost 40, where the elderly giants survive en masse. It’s an area of 144 acres of pure old-growth forest, and its survival until now is due to a mapping error.
In 1882, a surveying and mapping error made loggers believe that the entire section of the forest was underwater, so they passed through it. This area, which is actually located in the Chippewa National Forest, was therefore never logged, and the trees that were growing then continue to grow now.
The tradition of leaving the Lost 40 untouched has remained, and the forest section is still thriving as a result. There is nowhere else in the Midwest like the Lost 40, since most of the trees in other forests are much younger than this swath of centenarians growing in the Midwest.
Story via: Atlas Obscura, where you can find more photos and a small map.
My Bubba in his happy place ©voyager, all rights reserved
It’s winter in January again. That warm spring nonsense has gone back to its hiding place under the snow, and I hope it stays there for a while. Over the weekend, we had snow, rain, ice, and finally, more snow that decided to stay. Jack loves this weather, and we took a walk in the woods to celebrate. The air was cold (-12°c ), but the day was sunny, the sky was a soft turquoise blue, and the path had been nicely trodden by many sets of feet that came before us. There were also signs of life in the forest. We saw lots of squirrels out and about doing squirrel things, and since Jack can’t run in deep snow any more, he glowered at them all. There was also a small, but vocal murder of crows to keep us company and they cawed and howled at us from the trees as we made our way around. Jack barked once or twice at them in reply, and I’m not sure what he said, but it wasn’t very polite. It was a simply beautiful winter’s day, and walking among expanses of virgin snow instead of the slush and ice of city sidewalks and streets made it good for Jack’s feet and great for my mood.
Every once in a while the following conversation happens in my Twitter feed:
Dude: “eating pussy too submissive for me it feel gay”
Woman: “I’m fascinated at this trend of dudes admitting on social media how bad they are at sex.”
And don’t get me wrong, I do get the joke, I’ve made it myself, but today I thought that this was only part of the story. When feminist people talk about sex, we usually think of something that most people (but not everybody!) wants and enjoys, that often includes orgasms and lots of fun together in a mutually pleasing activity. Therefore, a cis guy who is not invested in his cis female partner’s pleasure as well as his own is really bad at this activity. This idea also lines up with the very patriarchal notice of men’s sexual prowess, where a man’s value is linked to his ability to “satisfy” women in bed, only that in that version sheer exhaustion is seen as success as well.
So already we’re talking about different ideas of what “good in bed” means, but for the moment the following definition must suffice: straight guy is good in bed when his female partner enjoys the sex. The guy in this tweet does not think about his partner’s enjoyment. He thinks of his own masculinity, which is very cis and very heteronormative. In his world her pleasure does not feature. Eating pussy is evaluated in terms of his social standing and self image. Giving her oral sex would be submissive, and I bet you a tenner that he absolutely feels entitled to getting oral sex because usually the Venn diagram of straight dudes not giving oral sex and dudes seeing it as her duty to perform oral sex is a circle.
Given that he is very much invested in his own pleasure and not at all in hers, we can pretty much say that he will enjoy sex much more than she will. And usually people crave things they enjoy a lot more and things they don’t really enjoy that much less. What do you think happens when a dominant man who enjoys sex a lot is together with a woman who enjoys it less? Personally I don’t think that he’d simply accept a “no”. At least he will repeat asking, nag, talk about how she’s neglecting him. In the end there will be consent, but there won’t be consent that’s freely given. There will be “duty” at best and violence at worst. A man who publicly declares that he is not invested in giving his partner pleasure is therefore a man you shouldn’t let near you.
