Tag Archives: WA

Market madness

I’ll be sticking close to the studio today, frantically filling orders from the shop (thank you for that, by the way!). So the concept of going out on Black Friday is a moot point for me anyway, even if that were my sort of thing.

But I’ll tell you what is tempting, every single year: I love the hustle and bustle of the Pike Place Market on the day after Thanksgiving. I know it’s a complete madhouse on this day, and overtly touristy anyway, and I absolutely don’t care. No matter how long I live here, I hope I never lose my totally impractical love of the place. Our fall veggie haul has the pantry full already, so there’s nothing we actually need there. I just love the energy of the Market, and the crazy jumble of neon signs, upended crustaceans and piles of produce. It’s just about the only thing I’d want to leave the house (and the leftover turkey) for today.

Does that make me crazy? (Don’t answer that.)

Farm to table

These are not sketches of veggie bins at the farmer’s market—this is what our back porch looks like every year at this time. When we’re at home, the Tailor and I eat almost entirely seasonally and locally (what can I say—we’re weirdos). So that means we buy all of our winter vegetables in November, and then nothing until the markets open again in the spring. I confess that by February I’m pretty sick of beets (and when I’m on the road I might sneak a salad in a restaurant), but in the fall I’m nothing but excited about the prospect of all those beautiful sugar pie pumpkins, fresh cranberries and heirloom potatoes.

Each vegetable has different storage needs: the fussy squash and pumpkins like it dry and cool (and need individual newspaper nests); the carrots, apples and garlic do best in the fridge; and the taters and onions like it dark and damp. (And you really can’t kill a beet, so they thrive on neglect.) But before the squash head for the attic and the potatoes for the root cellar, I spread out all the boxes so I can sketch the whole bounty of the cornucopia.

(And then sometimes I swipe an apple while I work.)

R is for Return

Well, I’m no fan of beer, but I do love me a neon sign and a good swash capital. So while I couldn’t make it to the official relighting of the Rainier “R” in Seattle (link goes to my friend Jennifer’s blog, where there are some fun videos about the R), you can bet I moved a SoDo sketch session to the top of my priority list.

Forest fossil

Millions of years ago, central Washington was a lush, dense forest (complete with prehistoric sasquatch-park-rangers, maybe?). The only evidence of it now are some petrified logs, a little museum—and this sign, looking a little fossilized itself.

Which, I have to say, is why I love it so much.

Bottled up

You know how much I love kitschy restaurants and giant statues of random objects—so you can imagine how happy I am whenever the two are combined into one.

And when said eatery serves up a mean huckleberry shake to boot—you can bet I’ll be a fan for life.

Heart of the city

I’m almost hesitant to include this sketch in my week of kitschy food posts, because I’m in the camp of folks who firmly believe that Twinkies aren’t food. Yet I love this building so much that I just couldn’t leave it out. The old Hostess Cake factory in Seattle has seen quite a few changes lately—and not just with the demise of the original company. That part of town is also home to a number of major construction projects, which are in the process of completely rearranging the entire neighborhood. Most recently, the building was bought out by the Franz bread company—so who knows what this corner will look like in six months? I walked by two weeks ago, and already the Hostess signs had been removed. The silhouette hearts are still there, though (for now). Here’s hoping they have many more heartbeats ahead of them.

Beargrass, bare grass

When I was on Mount Adams, the ravenous bugs prevented me from sketching the most spectacular part of the scenery: the endless meadows of cream-colored beargrass. So when I spotted it again at a native plant garden this spring, I jumped at the chance.

As an aside…I have no idea how beargrass got its name, but I would dearly love to see an actual bear standing in a field of this stuff. It would be sketchbook gold.

Notes from the front

Don’t let these pictures fool you—it might look like I was sketching in an idyllic environment, but I couldn’t spend much time marveling at the scenery or relaxing with my paints. That’s because I had to take a break approximately every 4.5 seconds to swat at biting insects, or to take cover from the dive-bombing hummingbirds.

This wasn’t a backcountry trail—it was nature’s war zone. And I’ll tell you one thing: a blank sketchbook page makes for a pretty serviceable white flag of surrender in a pinch.

Raise a glass

Whenever I feel like I’m going stir-crazy in my solitary studio, I go and have a pint of cider with my friends Barry & Renée, who own a gorgeous taproom called Pint Defiance. Next week is the first anniversary of their opening day, so I thought I’d help them celebrate by posting a couple of sketches I did there recently.

I’ve been lucky enough to have a front row seat for Pint Defiance’s beginnings—I even got to design their logo for them (and therefore add some roadside kitsch to my “serious” portfolio!). So come Tuesday, you can bet I’ll be raising a glass to toast Barry & Renée—for the past year, and for every one to come.

Cropping up

I spent one of my teenage years living on a rural military base in North Dakota. An interesting side effect of having to bus half an hour into town every day for school is that I learned to recognize every type of crop in the fields along the way. But when I moved to Washington, where they grow all kinds of things that won’t survive the short season of the northern plains, I had no idea what I was looking at half the time.

Enter the kind folks of Grant County—who clearly understand the incurably curious people of the world. As you pass the farms along any state or federal highway in the Quincy Valley (many of which are certified organic—bonus!), you’re greeted with helpful crop labels in front of every field.

It’s like they knew I was coming, and was going to want to label my sketches!