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DIANE CADRAIN

Connecticut-based fiber artist

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Things I'll Miss, and Won't Miss, about Florida

Joe and I have been here in Panama City, Florida, for about a month, and as we pack to leave, I’m reflecting on some of the things about Florida that I’ll miss, and others that I won’t.

For example, I’ll miss live oaks and Spanish moss:


I’ll miss stunning, glorious beaches with pristine white sand dunes

But I won’t miss the political climate

And I won’t miss the poor stewardship of the environment.

…such as putting up a sign about the fragility of a dune lake, then allowing a big bridge to be built across the lake, and condos built on its banks, including a housing development right by a nature trail:

In a similar vein, there seems to be little sense of reverence for the past. For example, this was all that was left of an Indian mound which we had read about and hoped to find:

I also won’t miss the rampant development, with construction everywhere, some under way, some already standing by the shore:

In Connecticut, where I come from, there’s not much land left to develop…not as much as in Florida, anyway. So when a developer submits a plan to a town, people always have a lot to say about it. And some of it doesn’t happen.

Not so here.


Wednesday 03.08.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Portuguese Man O' War

I had never in my life seen one of these before, until the other day. Although I’d never laid eyes on one, I was able immediately to identify the translucent creature lying on the sand at my feet: a Portuguese Man O’ War. It was immediately identifiable by its inflated float.

This isn't the Portuguese Man O' War I saw o the beach today, but a better image, courtesy of Pixabay.n

The system of flags flying at the beach indicated, with its two flags, one red and one black, that yes, the water was rough, but also yes, there was stinging marine life about:

The flags didn’t lie: there were plenty of stinging Men O’ War on the beach, baby ones, only about 4 inches long at most. Like this:

Many of those I saw on the beach had long, long tentacles of a stunning dark teal color. You can get a look at some on the right side of the creature above.

I especially like this image, because it shows the “sail” on the top of the inflated pneumatophore. I think that the gathered blue material on the u[per right is the collection of parts that usually dangle below the creature as it floats.

When I saw these on the beach, I decided to learn more about them.

I learned, to my astonishment, that a Portuguese Man O’ War, named after a sailing ship under full sail, is not a jellyfish, and in fact is not one creature… but a number of them, all living together as a colony.

 According to National Geographic, it “is made up of a colony of organisms working together. […] it comprises four separate (types of organisms). It gets its name from the uppermost (one), a gas-filled bladder, or pneumatophore, which sits above the water and somewhat resembles an old warship at full sail.” The pneumatophore is filled with carbon monoxide, nitrogen, and argon.

The smaller units hang from the pneumatophore in clusters. The second kind are the tentacles, “long, thin tendrils that can extend 165 feet in length below the surface (and which) are covered in venom-filled nematocysts to paralyze and kill fish and other small creatures.”

The other two types of organisms are the gastrozooid, which takes care of feeding, and the gonodendron, which takes care of reproduction.

So a Portuguese Man O’ War isn’t so much an “it” as a “them.”

Not only that, but it has no ability to move on its own. The pneumatophore is a floating device driven by the wind and currents. According to Wikipedia, it “can be oriented towards the left or the right (dimorphism), The ‘left-handed’ (ones) sail to the right of the wind, while the ‘right-handed’ (ones) sail to the left. The wind will always push the two types …in different directions, so at most half the population will be pushed towards the coast.” This is thought to be “an adaptation that prevents the entire population from being washed on shore to die.”

I’m amazed by all of this. The thing is a floating city that delivers a sting.

It sure is beautiful, though:









The one on the left here isn’t the one I saw on the beach today, but a better image, from Pixabay. The one in the image at left is a mauve color; the ones I saw today were an ethereal shade of blue.

Below are a couple of shots of the ones from today, lying on the sand at St. Andrew’s State Park in Panama City, Florida.



Thursday 03.02.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Florida Phenomenon: Eclectic Churches

I never saw so many independent churches in one place before I came here to the Florida panhandle. These church organizations don’t seem to be affiliated with any larger entities, or if they are so affiliated, that affiliation isn’t apparent from their signs.

Why are there so many unaffiliated, independent religious congregations here? I don’t know, but I’m hoping that a knowledgeable friend who reads this blog post might be able to tell me (I’m looking at you, clergypeople).

In an effort to understand the dynamics of this kind or organization, Joe and I watched Robert Duvall’s film, The Apostle, the other night. In it, Robert Duvall plays a charismatic pastor who is ousted from his position and goes on to found a second congregation…and a third, from jail, where he ends up. From the film, I gather that founding an independent church like that takes blazing charisma, iron-hard conviction, hard work…and funding.

Here’s a look at some of the eclectic religious organizations I’ve seen since I’ve been here in Panama City, Florida:

I’m fascinated by this phenomenon, and wish I knew more about the sociological history behind it.



Sunday 02.26.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Not Found: Indian Mound

Here in Panama City, Florida, where Joe and I are staying for a few weeks, our address is on Mound Avenue. I figured that name must indicate the presence of an Indian mound in the area.

After a little research, we learned that there was, or had been, such a mound on the corner of Mound Avenue and 17th Street.

Until now, I thought that a native American mound was a place where people disposed of shells. It turns out that the name for a shell disposal heap is a midden; a mound is something that is built intentionally and used for sacred or ceremonial purposes.

This one is called a mound, so it must be the sacred kind.

When we got to the corner of Mound Avenue and 17th St., we saw this mound:

It doesn’t look like a sacred mound to me. It looks more like a pile of cement blocks.

Nearby was this conduit.

But at least we did see this in the neighborhood:





Saturday 02.18.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Lake Powell: W.T.A.F., Florida?

Yesterday we went on a two-mile walk around Lake Powell, a lovely coastal dune lake here in Bay County, Florida.

According to signage at the park, and according to Wikipedia,

…coastal dune lakes are rare and fragile.

So what does Florida do?

Build a big, four-lane highway right across it. We were within earshot of the traffic the whole duration of our two-mile walk.

They’ve also allowed development right down to the shore of this “rare, fragile” body of water.

What the actual f**k, Florida?




Wednesday 02.15.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Tale of a Table

When Joe and I rented this lovely vacation getaway in Panama City, Florida, we did not know that all the chairs in the place, and the table, were counter height. Ordinarily the height of a table or counter or chair doesn’t mater. But to me it does, because I brought my sewing machine here with me, plus several art projects. Problem is you can’t use a foot pedal sewing machine with a counter-height stool.

Oh no!

I volunteered to put the foot pedal on a stack of books, but Joe had a better idea: Buy an inexpensive sewing table from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Studio-Designs-13373-0-Folding-Multipurpose/dp/B01MRH6WS3/ref=sr_1_8?crid=2UYRXBUNGZ51W&keywords=sew+ready+sewing+table&qid=1676327845&sprefix=sew+ready+sewing+table%2Caps%2C117&sr=8-8&ufe=app_do%3Aamzn1.fos.f5122f16-c3e8-4386-bf32-63e904010ad0

The table came today.

Joe is very handy. He studied the instruction manual

And here it is:

I situated it under a window with a water view.

And here’s a view of the piece I hope to quilt while I’m here: a view of the John Day River in Oregon, with thanks to Deborah Letourneau for allowing me to use her photo.

And thanks to Joe for thinking of buying a table and putting it together for me. Love you, Joe!



Monday 02.13.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Craving Cannabis in the Panhandle

Here in Panama City, in Florida’s panhandle, so much is different from Connecticut. I’m having fun noticing all the differences. For example:

Spanish moss and live oaks. They’re both beautiful and ubiquitous. I know that Walt Whitman wrote a poem, “I Saw in Louisiana a Live Oak Growing.” I’ll look it up. If there’s anything sagacious, moving, or otherwise memorable about it, I’ll let you know.

P.S. Not a very long poem. He said that he broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, and brought it away, and placed it in sight in his room, [where] it remained to him a curious token, and made him think of manly love.

That might not have been my reaction, but in a way I can see what he means.

And while I’m writing in a botanical vein, I have to mention palm trees! “Cause this is Florida.

Eclectic churches. There are so many. churches here that seem like entities unto themselves, rather than adherents to a larger denomination. I wrote about those yesterday. Here’s another one.

Cash-strappedness. I see more pawn shops here than at home. Like this:

Craving cannabis. Florida hasn’t legalized recreational cannabis yet. But I think it’s coming. Look at all the weed shop wannabees:

I had to look up kratom. Wikipedia said this:  “Some people take it for managing chronic pain, for treating opioid withdrawal symptoms, or for recreational purposes.[5][10] The onset of effects typically begins within five to ten minutes and lasts for two to five hours.[5]

Anecdotal reports describe increased alertness, physical energy, talkativeness, sociability, sedation, changes in mood, and pain relief following kratom use at various doses.[10]”

So what’s next? Maybe the arrival of a new sewing table.



Monday 02.13.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Cruising toward Cannabis and Pinching Pennies in the Panhandle

Cruising toward Cannabis and Pinching Pennies in the Panhandle

Here in the Florida Panhandle, where my husband Joe and I are spending the month of February, I’m having a lot of fun noticing what’s like, and what’s different from, our home in the Northeast.

Here are a few observations.

Eclectic churches. There are a lot of churches here. Many are mainstream: Baptist, Presbyterian, Lutheran. But others seem to be congregations unto themselves with no ties to a larger denomination.

This one seems to be a congregation unto itself. Why was the building sold? Has the congregation moved to a better place? If I find out, I will let you know.

This one blows me away. It’s the commercial-looking logo that grabs my attention. It’s out on the commercial strip, right by Walmart and Winn-Dixie, where people go anyway. People can go to church and do their errands in one fell swoop, and that’s a convenience. I’m betting that blue jeans are not only accepted but welcomed. This church looks like, say, a slightly upscale clothing store. It even has a coffee shop inside, and a special trailer for kid activities:


This is one congregation that is going where people are and giving them what they want.

On the other hand, there is one familiar religious congregation here:

If this one Unitarian congregation is the only Unitarian presence in Bay County, it must be spread pretty thin: Bay County occupies 1033 square miles. Hartford County, where I live, has three Unitarian congregations in 750 square miles.

Cruising toward Cannabis. Recreational cannabis is now legal in a handful of places, including California, Colorado, Massachusetts, and even Connecticut, but not here in Florida. Still, I can see it coming. Look at these establishments:

I have to admit, I find this hilarious.

Pinching pennies. There are more Family Dollar, Dollar General, and Dollar Tree stores here than at home. Also more Goodwill stores. Also more stores that explicitly cater to thrift: Money Mizer, Pinch A Penny. This is consistent with Bay County statistics stating that the median household income and per capita income here are lower than those in the rest of the country, and the percentage of people living in poverty is higher.

Food truck finds. Here’s one thing I found here in Panama City that isn’t offered back home: Beignets from a food truck:

I could get used to that.














Sunday 02.12.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 
Sunday 02.12.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Perceptions of Panama City

Here I am in Panama City, Florida, in the Florida Panhandle, with Joe, taking a one-month respite from February in Connecticut. We knew that this part of the Panhandle is sometimes called the Redneck Riviera. So I’m noticing many ways in which it is different from my liberal enclave in the blue Nutmeg State. For example:

Demographics. An official Chamber of Commerce publication from Bay County, which is where we are, states that this county is whiter than the rest of the United States, and poorer: the median household income is lower here, and the number of people in poverty is higher. There are fewer people with higher education and more veterans here than in the country as a whole.

I suppose those factors make for a certain amount of political conservatism, and these photos bear out that supposition:

Development. There is far, far more construction here than in Connecticut. I suppose that’s because Florida has a lot of room to expand, and a lot of ocean and sunshine. That’s what people want. So that must mean more construction jobs, and that’s good. But I worry about habitat destruction and degrading of aquifers, among other types of environmental damage.

Some developers think that a condo community sounds classier if the name of the place has an “e” on the end of a word. that doesn’t ordinarily end in an “e”: Paradise Pointe. Baytowne.

Here’s one construction site among dozens:

Many of the already-built new buildings are oceanside condos. They tower over the landscape. Take a look at these beachside behemoths:

In appearance and location, these buildings remind me of the Champlain Towers, in Surfside, Florida, which collapsed in 2021, killing almost 100 people.

Of all the media photos, the most poignant was the one with the white bunk bed.

The media reports I read stated that the collapse was due to Florida’s lax enforcement of building codes. I guess if development is a big priority, and government control is not favored, that’s how buildings collapse.

Chain stores. There are so, so many of them here! Mom and pop stores are in the minority. We have chain stores in Connecticut too: WalMart, Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, etc. All those chains have a presence here. But there are others we don’t see up north: WhatABurger, Alvin’s Island Tropical Department Store, Waffle House.

Weather. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the weather. After all, that’s why we’re here. The temperature is in the low 70’s. I have put away my fingerless gloves and long underwear camisole tops for the duration. And that’s a good thing.

Friday 02.10.23
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Thoughts on Thanksgiving

Today, at my religious congregation, the Unitarian Society of Hartford, I delivered the sermon for our annual pre-Thanksgiving service.

Here’s what I said:

Thoughts on Thanksgiving

 

I don’t know how many of us visualize Thanksgiving through rose colored glasses and think of it in this idealized Norman Rockwell way:


Thanksgiving has been idealized in our culture, but scholars have deconstructed it, and viewed it through the rational lens of history, and what they’ve found is that the first Thanksgiving was not a “thanksgiving,” in Pilgrim terms, but a “rejoicing.” If they were actually giving thanks, they would have been engaged in prayer and quiet contemplation.  By contrast, a rejoicing featured feasting, drinking, militia drills, and target practice. It was a party, not a prayer, and the Pilgrims didn’t invite their Native American neighbors. Rather, the Wampanoags showed up unbidden because they had previously entered a mutual defense pact with the Pilgrims, and when they heard the gunfire, assumed that the settlers were under attack and came to aid them. A lot of the Wampanoags showed up.  There was a long moment of wariness as the two groups faced one another, but the two peoples recognized one another, in some uneasy way, and spent the next three days together.

The childhood myth is that friendly natives welcome the Pilgrims to America, teach them how to live in this new place, sit down to dinner with them and then disappear. They hand off America to white people so they can create a great nation dedicated to liberty, opportunity and Christianity for the rest of the world to profit. That’s the story—it’s about Native people conceding to colonialism.

But the mythic story of the first Thanksgiving from our childhood days was, according to another historian, developed at a time when Americans were worried about the number of immigrants flooding into the country, and decided that the Pilgrims, and New England as a whole, were perfectly cast as national founders: white, Protestant, democratic, and blessed with a noble American character centered on family, work, individualism, freedom, and faith.

The Thanksgiving we celebrate today did not start to take shape until 1841, when a New England-born Unitarian minister, the Reverend Alexander Young, looked back onto an almost contemporaneous account of that day, published in 1622, and decided that the events of that day were a rejoicing harvest festival and an opportunity to give thanks.  

This myth may be a self-serving fraud.  And regardless of the origin or veracity of the myth, there is plenty in our contemporary life to challenge the Norman Rockwell image of Thanksgiving, and to bring us to grief, rather than thanks:

·      the theft of land from the Native Americans and the erasure of their culture;

·      the war in Ukraine, bringing death, starvation, and cruelty to innocent people;

·      racial inequity bringing suffering and hardship to people whose ancestors were brought to this country in chains;

·      the suffering of refugees around the world;

·      the subversion of our democracy here with lies and even violence;

·      the rape, violation, and slow death of the planet that has given us so much; and more.

 On a more individual level, many of us are suffering wrongs, sadnesses or injustices in very personal ways.

And so, if we still feel gratitude now, it might be called gratitude in a time of trauma, as expressed in this poem by American poet W.S.  Merwin:

Thanks

By W. S. Merwin

Listen

with the night falling we are saying thank you

we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings

we are running out of the glass rooms

with our mouths full of food to look at the sky

and say thank you

we are standing by the water thanking it

standing by the windows looking out

in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging

after funerals we are saying thank you

after the news of the dead

whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you

in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators

remembering wars and the police at the door

and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you

in the banks we are saying thank you

in the faces of the officials and the rich

and of all who will never change

we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us

taking our feelings we are saying thank you

with the forests falling faster than the minutes

of our lives we are saying thank you

with the words going out like cells of a brain

with the cities growing over us

we are saying thank you faster and faster

with nobody listening we are saying thank you

thank you we are saying and waving

dark though it is

W.S. Merwin

(LONG PAUSE)

Yes, parts of our world are dark, but we can and must look for things to be thankful for.  It is by no means easy to find ways of being grateful in times of adversity.  Adversity doesn't discriminate. If you are alive, you have dealt, or will deal with some tough times.   Sometimes we have to go out of our way to find causes for gratitude.

Brother David Steindl-Rast, a 96 year-old Benedictine monk, reminds us that causes for gratitude are all around us.  Nature’s beauty, for example, is a gift that cries out for appreciation and gratitude.  Look at the sky. This day, right now, has unique weather, maybe a kind that will never exactly, in that form, come again. The formation of clouds in the sky will never be the same as it is right now. Let’s open our eyes and look.

Brother Steindl-Rast also urges us to open our hearts to the incredible gifts that civilization gives us. “You flip a switch, and there is electric light. You turn a faucet, and there is warm water and cold water, and drinkable water. These are gifts that millions and millions in the world will never experience.”  We can also find positive sides in personal and family relationships, even if not in all of them.

 

Brother Steindl-Rast’s message is that if we open our hearts to gratitude, we will be happier.

 

I know that many Unitarians like to focus on the concrete, the verifiable, and the pragmatic.  For those folks, the pie is not in the sky but on a plate.

 

So in deference to the fact-based Unitarian mindset, I’m going to turn to some consequences of gratitude that are physically and psychologically verifiable.

 

The benefits of expressing gratitude are psychological, social and physical -- increases in happiness, decreases in depression, having stronger relationships and experiencing positive emotion.

There is physiological evidence of the benefits of expressing and experiencing gratitude. Brain imaging shows that when we experience and express gratitude, several parts of our brain in the medial prefrontal cortex are activated.    Expression of gratitude wires and fires new neural connections and works the way many antidepressants work. 

These activated neural pathways help us cognitively restructure potentially negative thoughts to better manage our circumstances. And the delightful thing about this process is that we can intentionally activate these gratitude circuits in our brain, and the more we do this, the easier it becomes.

 

Brother Steindl-Rast says that he wishes “for all of us to open our hearts to all these blessings, and let them flow through us, so that everyone whom we will encounter on this day, and every day, will be blessed by each of us, by our eyes, by our smiles, by our touch, or simply by our presence. Let the gratefulness overflow into blessing all around us.

 

In that spirit I offer a prayer of gratitude for simple beauty, written in the 1200s by Francis of Assisi.  Francis started life as a wealthy young man living the high life who later came to renounce his ways and live a life of poverty.  He and his followers celebrated and even venerated poverty, which was central to his character.  He believed that nature itself was the mirror of God. He called all creatures his “brothers” and “sisters” and experienced a deep sense of connection under God.  I know that many Unitarians dislike references to the Lord, but I ask you to remember that Francis lived in the 13th century, and also to respect the deists and theists among us, for whom “the lord” is not a foreign phrase.

 

The Canticle of the Sun (Canticle of the Creatures)

by Francis of Assisi

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord! All praise is yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing. […]

Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in the heavens you have made them, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance.

 

Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.

 

Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.

 

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth, who feeds us and rules us, and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

 

Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you; through those who endure sickness and trial. Happy those who endure in peace, for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.

 

Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whose embrace no living person can escape. […]

Praise and bless my Lord, and give thanks, and serve

with great humility.

 

And in conclusion, friends, let’s accept the empirical evidence of the beneficial effects of expressing gratitude, and open our hearts and feel it.  May it be so.


Sunday 11.20.22
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Twigs and Tides: My solo exhibit at the Duncaster retirement community

Some time during the summer of 2022, I was asked whether I would like to have a solo art show at the Duncaster retirement community during the coming November.

Of course I would!

I was asked to come up with 25 pieces of work. No problem. I have more work than I know what to do with!

I decided to call the show Twigs and Tides.

I, and a team of capable folks from Duncaster, hung the show on Saturday, October 29. Fortunately, Duncaster uses the Walker display system, which makes the hanging a lot easier.

Here I am, affixing a name tag to the wall next to one of my pieces.

It didn’t take long to hang the show, especially with all the help from the folks at Duncaster, who included Kathy Prewitt, my Duncaster contact, the show coordinator. Thank you, Kathy! I was thrilled to find that Kathy, like me, graduated from Albertus Magnus College in New Haven.

The next day was a Sunday, with a reception planned for 4:00 to 5:30. I was to do a little speech at 5:00.

Of course there was the primal dilemma of what to wear:

My daughters, who live in California, Connecticut, and New York State, helped me decide.

When I took my place at the podium, I described the process of my development into the fiber artist I have become.


I won’t cut and paste my whole talk here, but I will show you one of the visuals:

This is a photo of my grandmother, Lillian Cadrain, sitting on the beach and…crocheting. What else do you do at the beach? I showed it by way of demonstrating that I come from a line of women who make things with fiber, incliuding my mother, who sewed a lot of my clothes, and lots of household items as well.

My talk was warmly and well-received, with a lot of laughs.

Afterward, there was a lovely reception.

And by now, two weeks later, I can tell you that so far, seven pieces of my work have found new homes. Here they are:

This is Sundown Dazzle

This is Violet Twilight II

Early Moonrise, Late Fall

Solstice Snow[ath

Sunset and Sand

Celery II

Lobster Landing

I’m so grateful to Duncaster for inviting me to exhibit my work, and also grateful to the buyers! Thank you so much!

BTW, the Duncaster show will be exhibited until the end of November, 2022. PM me if you would like to go see it.

Thanks!

Friday 11.11.22
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

This enigmatic structure in New Haven has been haunting me for as long as I can remember

Who, while driving south on Interstate 91 entering New Haven, Connecticut, hasn’t seen this enigmatic structure lurking on the west side of the road near the Ferry St. exit? ? It’s so mysterious and ominous-looking that it has always creeped the hell out of me.

Coaling tower.jpg

I’ve been seeing this structure since I was four years old, from the back seat of my grandparents’ red Plymouth, as we rode through New Haven to visit their friend Mrs. Smedberg in East Haven. I would have been in its capacious back seat.

Best looking maroon plymouth.jpg
Plymouth car with sailing ship.jpg

That car had a big bas relief of a sailing ship on its hood. Why? Was it supposed to be the Mayflower because the car was a Plymouth?

As we neared the hulking brown structure, probably as we drove down New Haven’s Middletown Avenue, I asked my grandparents what it was.

They didn’t know.

It reminded me a little of a brown milk bottle from New Haven’s Brock Hall Dairy.

Coaling tower.jpg
Brock Hall Dairy brown bottle.jpg

IDoes it look like a milk bottle to you? In my four year-old frame of reference, it was a viable guess, although even I could see that it wasn’t exactly a big milk bottle.

In the days when milk came in glass bottles, and was delivered to back porches, Brock Hall was the only dairy in the area that sold its milk in brown bottles. The theory on the color of the bottles was that it blocked sunlight from damaging the milk within.

A scion of the Hall family, Donald Hall, a Hamden native and Harvard graduate, became a distinguished poet and Poet Laureate of the United States.

But the bottles were much better-looking than the desolate brown structure.

It also reminded me of a windmill.

Another windmill.jpg
Coaling tower.jpg

The railroad tracks look abandoned and disused. Look at the number of missing ties:

Clearly, the tower had something to do with the railroad.

When we got home, there was a Google search: “New Haven Railroad Structures.” Or something like that.

Soon, we learned.

The structure is a coaling tower, dating from the time when locomotives ran on steam and the steam was created by coal fires. The tower fed the coal into the locomotive beneath it. According to Wikipedia, “As railroads transitioned from the use of steam locomotives to the use of diesel locomotives in the 1950s the need for coaling towers ended. Many reinforced concrete towers remain in place if they do not interfere with operations due to the high cost of demolition incurred with these massive structures.”

This one was built of concrete around 1910. Apparently too expensive to demolish, it stands in an area of New Haven known as Cedar Hill, which, according to Wikipedia, was named for the cedar trees which were plentiful there in 1665. There’s nary a cedar tree there now; in fact it’s a degraded urban landscape in which even the extensive gray network of railroad tracks looks unused.

Cedar Hill is, in turn, part of the Fair Haven neighborhood, which was originally called “Dragon.” It got this name from the seals that once hung out on the muddy banks of the Quinnipiac—apparently thought to be dragons by the first European sailors, who had apparently never seen seals before.

The Quinnipiac reportedly once produced up to 5,000 bushels of oysters a day in its heyday. What does it produce now? Oil slicks? This makes me sad.

At the Cedar Hill railroad yard, the only saving grace to the bleak landscape is the vertical reddish face of New Haven’s East Rock, the red color of which inspired Dutch explorer Adriaen Block, seeing the landscape from his ship in New Haven Harbor, to name the area Rodenburg (Red Hill).


IMG_6776.jpg

This painting of East Rock by George H. Durrie shows the reddish vertical face of the rock. The red color is much more striking when the sun is low in the sky, at sunrise and sunset, and shows up much better in this image of East Rock’s twin, on the other side of town, West Rock.

West Rock showing red color.jpg

Both are formations of trap rock, the name of which comes from the Swedish word “trappa” or stair. The name was inspired by the step-like formation of their vertical faces. The red color comes from oxidation as the minerals are exposed to the elements. East Rock and West Rock are both part of the Metacomet Range, which extends up central Connecticut and comprises, among other landmarks, Hamden’s Sleeping Giant, Meriden’s Hanging Hills, Simsbury’s Talcott Mountain, and Massachusetts’ Mt. Tom.

In New Haven’s desolate Cedar Hill railroad yard, the towering red face of East Rock softens the landscape and hints at its natural history. And in the railroad yard sits the hulking coal tower, a landmark for over 100 years, finally identified.

Cedar Hill Rail Yard.png
Cedar Hill Rail Yard.png
Cedar Hill Rail Yard.png
Wednesday 02.17.21
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

My Moment of Fame


In November, 2020, the Connecticut chapter of the Studio Art Quilt Associates, an organization of which I am a member, focused a section of its monthly newsletter on me and my art. That made my day!

Here’s a look:

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Friday 10.30.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Genderqueer Cardinals...Birds and Others

Late September is a lovely time of year for so many reasons: Misty mornings, warm sunny afternoons, and especially, the fruition of the plants and animals that emerged, tender and unformed, at the beginning of the spring. Now the tomatoes we planted in May are ripe and the herbs yielding the juiciness of their full grown leaves. In the animal kingdom, the baby birds are fledging, going through an awkward adolescence as they transition into adulthood. This is my favorite part of this late September fruition: watching the newly fledged birds.

One of them, in my yard, is a juvenile cardinal that can’t decide whether it’s going to be a male or a female, or even whether it’s going to be a cardinal or a robin. It’s as if this bird, in its juvenile adolescence, is trying on various identities before it becomes a serious member of cardinal adulthood.

Read on to learn about a different, serious member of cardinal adulthood, a human, who also has tried on different identities.

The cardinal in my yard is hard to photograph, because ze moves so quickly. But I was able to get one shot the other day. In this one, the brown back and red breast make me think ze is considering being a robin…

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except for the black mask, which definitely identifies zir as a cardinal

The funniest thing about this juvenile is its crest. If a normal cardinal crest has, say, 300 feathers in it, this juvenile has 50. It’s the sparsest cardinal crest I’ve ever seen.

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See how sparse that little crest is? Here’s another shot, not mine but from the web, of the measly crest on another juvenile cardinal:

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Ze wants to look punk, but it’s tough without a pompadour.

Can birds even BE genderqueer? I’m no ornithologist. But I do know that among turkeys, males sprout chest feathers, called beards, in the middle of their chests…and so do some aggressive females.

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If there’s gender fluidity in turkeys, then why not in the rest of the world’s fauna?

Like the feathered adolescent in my yard, whose gender fluidity has been a backyard entertainment for the past week.

But there’s another genderqueer cardinal in my recollection, one whom I learned about from my hair stylist, Vinny. Vinny was a handsome man if there ever was one: chiseled cheekbones like Willem Dafoe, courageous jaw like Arnold Schwarzenegger, lithe body like Rudolph Nureyev. Before he was a hair stylist, this handsome man was a model. In Manhattan. Hanging out with other handsome male models, and I imagine, doing a lot of partying and a lot of nightlife. Vinny told me about all this as he cut my hair. One of the guys in the group, he said, was Franny, an older guy all decked out in black leather everything, down to hat and gloves, and riding some kind of impressive motorcycle. Franny hung out with these guys enjoying what New York has to offer at night.

Vinny was a practicing Catholic, and one day when he went to Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan, there, amid the pillars and pomp, up at the front, facing the congregation, was Franny. Wearing priestly vestments.

Francis Cardinal Spelman.

Or so said Vinny.

Was Cardinal Spelman genderqueer? I don’t know. I only know what I heard from Vinny.

At least we can see that Cardinal Spelman liked fancy clothes.

At least we can see that Cardinal Spelman liked fancy clothes.

I now see that I’m not the only one who thinks this human cardinal experimented with different identies. Take a look at this:

http://queerhistory.blogspot.com/2011/09/cardinal-francis-joseph-spellman.html

As for this other cardinal, the one in my yard, well, I’m enjoying him as he explores different personas and comes to his full fruition. As the rest of nature does in September.

Saturday 09.26.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Purchases and a Prize

It’s been a busy year for my art, before and even during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Before the pandemic hit, I was invited to participate in a five-person fiber art show called Thread Count at Hartford Fine Art and Framing. The curator at that gallery approached me and four other fiber artists, Clara Nartey, Judy Ross, Cathy Smith, and Kate Themel. All of us are members of Connecticut Women Artists. It’s so flattering to be sought out and invited!

Here’s our postcard:

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And here’s a look at a few of my pieces that were part of that show, complete with thermostat and light switch:

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To my surprise and delight, buyers bought SEVEN of my pieces! Thank you, buyers! You made my day, week, and month! I’ve written thank-you notes to all of you, but I believe that only two of you have received my notes because Hartford Fine Art and Framing had been waiting until the end of the show to give customers their purchases and hand over my thank-you notes. I wasn’t able to send the notes directly to the buyers because the gallery was keeping their names and addresses confidential.

I’m going to show you the pieces that were bought, below. And please continue on past these seven, because a little later, I sold three more pieces, bringing the total of my art sales to ten so far this year.

This is Conflagration II, a felted landscape with beading and embroidery, purchased by a buyer from Fairfield County.

This is Conflagration II, a felted landscape with beading and embroidery, purchased by a buyer from Fairfield County.

One Hartford area couple bought three pieces: Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail II, Violet Twilight, and Fall Walking into Winter. I’ll display all three sequentially below:

This is Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail II, a felted, embroidered landscape with a little photo transfer.

This is Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail II, a felted, embroidered landscape with a little photo transfer.

This is Violet Twilight, a felted landscape with hand embroidery and a little thread painting

This is Violet Twilight, a felted landscape with hand embroidery and a little thread painting

This is Fall Walking Into Winter, a felted landscape with a little embroidery and applique.

This is Fall Walking Into Winter, a felted landscape with a little embroidery and applique.

This is Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail.  I still don’t know who bought this one.

This is Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail. I still don’t know who bought this one.

This is Pemetic Trail, a felted and embroidered landscape.  Don’t know who bought this one.

This is Pemetic Trail, a felted and embroidered landscape. Don’t know who bought this one.

This is Last Day of Summer, First Encounter Beach. Don’t know who bought this one.

This is Last Day of Summer, First Encounter Beach. Don’t know who bought this one.

I believe that the gallery is waiting for things to open up a little before they give out peoples’ purchases, and my thank-you notes, although a few of the pieces have already been picked up and carried off.

The next thing that happened was that two buyers from England bought three of my pieces! Before you go thinking I’m an international art tycoon, I can tell you that all of the purchasers were and are friends. Thank you, friends! You made my day, week, and month!

Anna in London bought two pieces: Bright Sky, Fading Day and Colors of Dusk. Here they are:

Here’s Bright Sky, Fading Day, a felted landscape.

Here’s Bright Sky, Fading Day, a felted landscape.

Here’s Colors of Dusk, a felted landscape with a little thread-painting and hand embroidery.

Here’s Colors of Dusk, a felted landscape with a little thread-painting and hand embroidery.

Malcolm and Pamela of Bury, Lancashire bought Spring Rain, a quilted, beaded fabric collage.

Malcolm and Pamela of Bury, Lancashire bought Spring Rain, a quilted, beaded fabric collage.

In the middle of all this, I found I won a prize awarded by the Cape Cod Art Center for their show, Through Your Eyes, which combined both landscapes and abstract images. I won a cash prize for Best Landscape in Show, for my felted landscape, Connecticut’s Charter Oak, after Frederic Church:

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After all that excitement, I took a break to work on making masks for the pandemic. I don’t know how many I made because they just flew out the door. Some of my friends made dozens, even hundreds. I don’t think I made that many.

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What else? I’m still making things, always creating. One of them is a large 30 x 40 piece called Not a River, which has taken me over a year to finish. Still working on that and a couple of other things. I’m looking forward to a number of upcoming exhibits, which I hope will actually take place.

Meanwhile, we wait and see.





Thursday 05.21.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

How to Build a Home with Mud

A couple of days ago, inspired by the sight of grackles waddling around my garden, gathering sticks and leaves for their nest, I wondered how they construct those nests. I knew they used mud, because last summer, when a big nest crashed down to my deck, I saw it was constructed with a lot of mud, and when I looked up into the Norway spruce from which it had fallen, I saw a pair of grackles up there. I assumed it was their nest. Now that I see the grackles gathering materials again this year, I raised a burning question: HOW do they get the mud into those nests?

Two friends had an answer for me. One, Kathy, who is a naturalist at Rocky Mountain National Park in Estes Park, Colorado, told me that they use worm casings, aka worm poop. She sent me this video of a robin doing that:

How do you like that?

And my friend Margaret, who was a naturalist at West Hartford’s Westmoor Park when my daughter Lucia was in the 4-H club there, had a different answer. She said,

“[M]any birds use mud to help hold their nest together. They do use their beaks to carry out and pack it with their tongues. A good book about bird nests is ‘ A Field Guide to the Nests, Eggs, and Nestlings of North American Birds’ by Colin Harrison.

Imagine using your tongue to build your home? Well, if you’re a bird, necessity is the mother of invention.

So I actually acquired the book that Margaret recommended:

This book came from the library of Covenant College in Lookout Mountain, Georgia.

This book came from the library of Covenant College in Lookout Mountain, Georgia.

You probably don’t know this about me, but I collect nests. Only if I see them on the ground.

Here’s one that was sent to me by my brother-in-law, Deepak, who lives in Missouri. I love this one because mud is one of its predominant materials:



The eggs in this nest are from other birds, other times, other places. I pick them up off the ground in my neighborhood. It’s a big deal to me, and a sure sign of spring, when I find the first egg of the season.

The eggs in this nest are from other birds, other times, other places. I pick them up off the ground in my neighborhood. It’s a big deal to me, and a sure sign of spring, when I find the first egg of the season.

I don’t know what kind of bird built this nest, but I can tell that it was a resourceful one. Can you see the piece of plastic wrap or cellophane protruding from the right side?



And how about the nest below? Can you see that the bird who built that nest used a cigarette filter?




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I even have a nest made predominantly of fishing line, picked up off the ground in—where else?—Cape Cod. The Harrison book, the one I showed you above, says this about that:

“Provided that they fulfil certain criteria, apparently unlikely man-made materials may be used. Pieces of wire resemble strong flexible twigs and may be used for the nest, while rags and paper form acceptable substitutes for dead leaves.”

Since the Covid pandemic, backyard birdwatching, and bird-wondering, has become an even more significant pastime for me than it has been in the past. I hope that my readers have found something equally absorbing and satisfying.

tags: #mud nests, #birds' nests, #grackle nests
Thursday 04.23.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

Today in Art: New Work

I recently completed three pieces of fiber art, and my spouse has now had a chance to frame and photograph them. Here they are.

Late Afternoon

Late Afternoon

Late Afternoon is a felted, thread-painted, and hand-embroidered image of a lovely path right down by the Connecticut River in East Hartford. It’s the Connecticut River Walk and Bikeway, and it’s both secluded and easily walked.

Now, I know as well as anyone that the Connecticut River flows south, into Long Island Sound. But the day I was there, the waves were decidedly flowing north. I wondered how that could be. Consulting my electronics, I learned two things: one, that the river is tidal all the way up to Enfield (that’s right on the Massachusetts state line), and that it was high tide at that moment. And I knew there was a full moon at that time, so I’m sure that made the flow extra strong. Because there was the Connecticut river, vigorously flowing north. Who knew?

I called this piece Late Afternoon because that’s when I was there.

Here’s a detail of the piece:

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Next, Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail III is my third image of that beloved spot in Cape Cod National Seashore.

Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail III, full

Atlantic White Cedar Swamp Trail III, full

This is an 18 x 24 felted, hand-embroidered landscape, with a little bit of photo transfer.

Here’s a detail:

DSC01936_edited-1Atlantic White Cedar Swamp detail.jpg

Finally, here’s Bella, who lives in Atlanta with my sister-in-law, Clare Rubin, and her husband, Moshe Gittelson. This is a 9 x 12 image, done in Derwent Inktense pencils, lightly thread painted, and lightly quilted.

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We last saw Clare and Moshe in mid-March, when they traveled from Atlanta to Brooklyn to see the new baby in the family, Acadia Jean Arian Cadrain, who was born in August 2019 to my daughter Julia Cadrain and her wife Elana Arian. We had a lovely visit that weekend. Clare and Moshe traveled just before the Covid curtain came down. Bravely. I made this for them because I love them. Now all I have to do is figure out when and how I can get this image of little Bella shipped to Atlanta.

I still have two more works in progress. But they’re not ready to show you yet.

tags: #cedar swamp trail, #felted landscape
Sunday 04.19.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

The Grackles Sing Avant the Spring

“The grackles sing avant the spring.”

American poet Wallace Stevens, who lived near where I live, in Hartford, wrote those words in late winter when he was good and tired of seeing snow on the ground. When he heard the raspy call of the grackles, even with snow still coating the grass, he took their calls as one sign that spring was on the way. A straw to grasp.

I’ve been watching grackles a lot this year, in this time of social isolation, as they flap and splash in the birdbath and waddle around the yard, picking up grass and leaves for their nest.

They’re beautiful birds, iridescent teal around their head and shoulders, iridescent purple on their wings and backs.

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And when they splash in the birdbath, they do it with such unfettered enthusiasm, I feel happy just looking at them. (Photo credits to Joseph Rubin).

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Grackles aren’t the only visitors to our birdbath. We also squirrels, and all kinds of birds, especially robins and mourning doves,

Grackles aren’t the only visitors to our birdbath. We also squirrels, and all kinds of birds, especially robins and mourning doves,

Did you know that the Latin name for the common robin is Turdus Migratorius? “Turdus” is the Latin word for “ugly.” I don’t get that. If I were a robin I would hold a gigantic grudge against the ornithologist who made that decision.

Did you know that the Latin name for the common robin is Turdus Migratorius? “Turdus” is the Latin word for “ugly.” I don’t get that. If I were a robin I would hold a gigantic grudge against the ornithologist who made that decision.

We get a lot of squirrels, too. I don’t usually think of squirrels as having lips, and yet….

We get a lot of squirrels, too. I don’t usually think of squirrels as having lips, and yet….

I watch the grackles gathering materials for their nest, and I’m glad that my garden cleanup efforts have spared them a few things.

This is my little backyard garden, where the grackles waddle around picking up nesting material.

This is my little backyard garden, where the grackles waddle around picking up nesting material.

I watched the grackles doing the same thing last year, but I never saw or thought about where they were putting all those leaves and twigs.

Until midsummer, when this thing blew down onto my deck. I didn’t take a picture of it because at first I didn’t know what it was. It was circular, about 8 inches in diameter, about the size of a small personal pizza. It had a narrow lip around the perimeter. It was made of plant materials and a lot of mud. And it was heavy.

I poked at it and turned it over. It finally dawned on me that it must have been what those grackles were building. It must have been in the Norway spruces hanging over the deck.

And what do you know, research revealed that grackles especially like to build their nests in conifers, AND that they make them with mud. The Cornell University Ornithology Lab’s excellent site, All About Birds, says this:

“The nest can take as little as a week to as long as six weeks to finish. It’s a bulky cup made of twig, leaves, and grasses along with bits of paper, string, cloth, corn husks and other incidental materials. The female reinforces the nest cup with mud and then lines it with fine grasses and horse hair. The finished nest is 6-9 inches across, with an inside diameter of 3-5 inches and a depth of 3-9 inches.”

The nest I saw on my deck was nowhere near as concave as this one. It was pretty flat, I guess because it had slammed down from the high Norway spruces above.

You can see the mud around the edges of this nest, sort of.

You can see the mud around the edges of this nest, sort of.

Here’s the full text of the Wallace Stevens poem that begins, “The Grackles Sing Avant the Spring.

In his orotund, Wallace Stevens way, he’s saying that the grackles are saying that it’s almost spring, that he’s sick of the snow, and the Devil can take the snow to hell and have a big party there.

I get him.

SNOW AND STARS

 

The grackles sing avant the spring

Most spiss— oh! Yes, most spissantly.

They sing right puissantly.

 

This robe of snow and winter stars,

The devil take it, wear it, too.

 

It might become his hole of blue.

 

Let him remove it to his regions.

White and star-furred for his legions.

And make much bing, high bing.

 

It would be ransom for the willow

And fill the hill and fill it full

Of ding, ding, dong.

 

tags: #Wallace Stevens Snow and Stars, #Grackles
Monday 04.13.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 

2019 in the Rear View Mirror: A Very Good Year for My Art

Selling my work is in no way my goal when I create art: the creation is enormously rewarding in itself. Sales, while not the goal, are nevertheless life-affirming, appreciated, and so exciting that I consider them a Very Big Deal that Makes My Day…and enormously flattering as well.

That’s why I’m happy to say that discerning buyers bought eight pieces of my art in 2019.

Here’s a look:

November-December 2019

Connecticut Women Artists’ Council Show, Mandell Jewish Community Center of Greater Hartford. One buyer from West Hartford, CT bought two pieces from that show.

Last Day of Summer, First Encounter Beach II

Last Day of Summer, First Encounter Beach II


Campground Beach

Campground Beach

August 2019, exhibit at the Indian Hill Country Club, Newington, CT

A buyer from West Hartford, CT bought Spring Woods

A buyer from West Hartford, CT bought Spring Woods

A buyer from Hartford, CT bought Summer Evening, Looking Westward

A buyer from Hartford, CT bought Summer Evening, Looking Westward

A buyer from Newington, CT bought The Last Picnic

A buyer from Newington, CT bought The Last Picnic

February 2019, Seven Sisters Sewing at the West Hartford Art League’s Saltbox Gallery

Homage to Cabbage III, 22x 26, hand painting, embroidery, quilting, $350.jpg

A buyer from Farmington, CT bought Homage to Cabbage III

This buyer sent me this image of Homage to Cabbage III as it appears in her home. I love the way this shot shows the dimensionality.

This buyer sent me this image of Homage to Cabbage III as it appears in her home. I love the way this shot shows the dimensionality.

A buyer from West Hartford, Connecticut bought Heaven on Earth III

A buyer from West Hartford, Connecticut bought Heaven on Earth III

A buyer from Farmington, CT bought Penwood Overlook, Fall

A buyer from Farmington, CT bought Penwood Overlook, Fall

tags: #First Encounter Beach
Wednesday 01.01.20
Posted by Diane Cadrain
 
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