The trip to Glacier was wonderful. The mountains around here have gone all wonky with color; amazing for what looked to me like a state full of evergreens. There's aspens by the rivers and on the edges of course, but even better than those the trees that I am assuming are larches. I've mentioned I'm not so good with the botany thing, right?
These trees were masquerading as evergreens, until a few weeks ago, they suddenly started to blaze. Now there are fabulous patterns on all the hillsides. The one outside my window is green all the way up its south face, then yellow most of the way down the north, until about halfway down where it goes all spotted. Some mountains are so perfectly spotted, they look like quilts, a not-quite-random marriage of colors. Others have one yellow stripe running at a certain elevation, or a gold V where the mountain dips and rises. A few even have spots of red added into the mix, and don't even ask me what those are. The larch thing was lucky guess from my momma.
I drove north through the leaves, on backroads the whole time, the light absolutely perfect. It was bouncing off the clouds up ahead in entrancing ways, and enhancing the highlights of color on the mountains.
The clouds should have given me a warning, though. By the time I got to Glacier, it was overcast and drizzling, and halfway through it started to pour. I'm not actually sure the mountains really exist; they just ended 20 feet above my head.
That's not to say it wasn't gorgeous. It is Glacier, after all, and I managed to get all the way through on the Going-to-the-Sun (yeah, right) road. Just in time, too. It snowed that night over my camping spot in East Glacier, and the road was scheduled to close today anyway.
The night was not so much fun. The leaks that plaqued the second half of my trip have turned into a minor flood. I could actually see the water dripping in. I scrunched to the other side of the truck, and cozied up in my warm, warm sleeping bag (Ruprecht, I seem to remember naming him), and slept just fine. Except that I was parked next to a very active rail line. And I kept falling off the bed. It's been a while since it was just me and a mattess in there; I was always boxed in before, with no where else to go.
I headed home the next morning, and enjoyed the rest of my weekend by sitting on my ass and reading, knitting, painting, and being a lazy bum. It was great.
I am (still) at the armholes in my Montana sweater. I've stalled a bit. I don't know if I'm scared to tackle them (as I'm adapting the pattern quite a bit), or if I've just been busy with other projects. Which I have. I finished a mobius scarf (meant to be a shawl, but I put an extra twist in, so really it's best as a scarf now) in a lovely green Jo Sharp tweed accented with lime green mohair. The combo was odd, but I think it worked. Sorry, no pictures. Someday I'll go digital, till then, words only.
I am also almost done with a autumnal/halloweeney scarf that I just love, made with yarns from Art Fibers. It's lush. It's also the first time I've worked with any type of novelty yarn, and I have resolved never to mock the stuff again. It's freaking hard to knit with that! The only thing saving my sanity is that it's alternated with a nice wool in woodsy colors.
Aaaand... I started another sweater for a guy, and a shawl for a gift. I'm ADD girl nowadays, it seems. Speaking of, I've been doing this one thing for far too long. Must flit...