#birch hardwood

[tonksnymphdora]

Loft-Style Living Room Vancouver Large urban formal and loft-style medium tone wood floor and brown floor living room photo with gray walls, a ribbon fireplace, a wall-mounted tv and a plaster fireplace

[youmakemelikecharity]

Living Room Loft-Style Large industrial formal and loft-style living room plan with gray walls, a plaster fireplace, a wall-mounted television, and a medium-tone wood floor.

[wally-b-feed]

[killthemwithyourawesome]

Family Room Houston

Inspiration for a large contemporary open concept dark wood floor and brown floor game room remodel with gray walls, no fireplace and no tv

[kuku-doodles]

Traditional Living Room in Boston Large classic loft-style living room design example with a medium tone wood floor, white walls, a regular fireplace, and a brick fireplace.

[yeahkrystal]

Midcentury Kitchen Eat-in kitchen design with a large, l-shaped, medium-tone wood floor and vaulted ceiling, an undermount sink, medium-tone wood cabinets with flat panels, quartz countertops, a green or porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and white countertops.

[wanderers-of-sornieth]

Vancouver Living Room Loft-Style A large, formal, loft-style living room with gray walls, a ribbon fireplace, a wall-mounted TV, and a plaster fireplace can be seen in the photograph.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: cut my life into pieces, this is my worst villain.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy shows you to the guest room. It’s big. Much bigger than your own.

Rather, yours is overcrowded with collectible figurines of women in big gowns and books about vintage fashion. When you were less exhausted, you would cut out the pictures and make collages. It’s been ages since you did anything more than lay around. 

He leaves you to take it in. The bed frame is birch, the bedding all white, without a single wrinkle, the nightstands match the bed, and there’s a beige rug across the floor. There’s a book shelf against one wall, a window in the other, and an armchair in the corner. Simple but nice. 

You roll your tank across the floor as you hear Andy coming up the stairs. He peeks in as you turn to see him carrying your mom. He nods as he passes by. A door opens further down the hall. You feel too unsettled to lay down even if you are tired. 

He returns and peers around the door frame as he taps with his knuckles. 

“Here, I just realised you don’t have any clothes here,” he holds a folded tee. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

“Thanks,” you keep your tank on the hardwood as you cross to him. You take the shirt and clutch it under your arm. 

“The bathroom’s right across the hall,” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. “Did you need some water or anything?” 

You shake your head, “thank you. No, I’m alright. Just need to... rest.” 

“Of course. Any extra blankets? The AC too much?” He asks. 

You shrug, “I’m fine.” 

He smiles softly, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be overbearing I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

“That’s okay,” you assure him and back up. “Really, I can handle it.” 

“Alright, but please don’t hesitate to ask for anything, alright, sweetheart?” 

You turn and put the shirt on the bed, “okay. Thanks.” 

He lingers in the door. He’s watching you. His gaze hangs over you like a shroud. Slowly, he reaches for the handle and shuts you in. At last, you can breathe. Well... 

You slip the tube from around your nose as you change. You sit as you pull on the tee, keeping your flowery cotton briefs on. You loop the tube around your ears again and set it right. You feel woozy from the effort. 

You turn off the light and shuffle cautiously through the dark. You put your tank to the side of the bed and stretch the tube. You lay down and let your eyes close. Your fatigue descends faster than you expect. 

There’s some noise from outside your walls, but you don’t think much of it as you drift off. You wake up still on your back. You’ve trained yourself not to move much lest you get tangled up. All the water you had with dinner has you squirming. 

You drag yourself up and fix your tube. You stub your toe on the take as you get out of bed and groggily stumble around. For a moment, you go into autopilot and collide with the end of the bed, thinking it to be much smaller. You’re not at home, you remind yourself. 

You wheel the tank behind you and open the door. You cross the hall to the open bathroom and dip inside. You park the wheels under the tank and do what you need to, the seat cold, the tile even colder. 

You wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t do that often. Under your nose is chafed, your lips are chapped, and your eyes are sunken. You’ve never been pretty, just sick. You always wanted to be beautiful like the glass women you kept in your room. You don’t know why you’re thinking of that now. 

You shut off the light before you open the door and step out into the darkness. You don’t get far as you hear a grunt and your tank lurches over a bump. You stop and squeak as the shadow backs up and grumbles. A switch flicks and the overhead light glows. 

You face Andy in surprise, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise--” 

“No, no,” he grimaces and wiggles his foot. “I shouldn’t be creeping around in the dark.” 

He chuckles and pushes back his hair, it’s tussled, and his beard has uneven lines in it. More concerningly, he’s almost naked. He only wears a pair of grey boxers. His chest is thick with hair that trails down his stomach, and his shoulders are rounded with muscles. He somehow seems even bigger in that moment. 

You lean back, about to tip. You’ve never seen a man like that in the flesh. You’ve never been that close to such a bare man. Even when you see it on screen, it makes you squirm and heat up. 

“It’s... It’s... I’m sorry.” 

You turn and hit your tank with your leg. It slips and wobbles before it clunks over. You trip over the wheels and tumble forward. You squeak as a tight vice closes around your arm and keeps you from hitting the floor. 

Andy pulls you steady to your feet and you turn to stare at his hand. He’s touching you. No one touches you. Only your mom and she only does that when she wants to make a show. You stare at his knuckles and he slowly lets go. 

You stand frozen. He bends down to lift the tank back to its wheels and he looks it over. He turns his ear towards it. 

“I don’t hear a leak.” He says. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you insist and grab the handle. “Thanks.” 

“Hey, but what about you, honey? You okay?” 

“Yep,” you cough and veer the tank across the hall with you. 

You don’t look back. You're embarrassed. Especially as you shut the door and realise you’re in little better state than him. You have the tee shirt and your frumpy underwear on. Oh gosh, that’s horrible. He saw you like that. 

💚

You wake up and get dressed in the same clothes you wore the night before. All in all, you’ve been awake for most of the time there. Strange places make you wary. Even hospitals, as often as you’ve been there, keep you on edge. 

After you get your meds from your belt bag, you sit on the bed and stare at the window. Your mom will be up eventually and you’re sure she won’t want to hang around unless Andy is there. He must have work, right? 

You hear movement in the hallway. It could be her. You hope it is. You listen to the footsteps descend the stairs and minutes later return. There’s a back and forth in the hall and through the house once more. Yet you don’t hear voices. 

A knock comes at the door and you make your way over. You’re not surprised to find Andy on the other side, only disappointed. He’s in a pair of slacks and a button-up. He must be near ready to go. 

“Hey, checking on you,” he puts his hand on the door frame. You glance at it. You won’t be able to close it. “Everything okay? I put coffee on.” 

You nod, “okay. I don’t drink coffee. Thanks. Too much caffeine.” 

“Oh, I should’ve remembered that,” he puts his other hand on his hip. “Well, your mom isn’t doing too well. She’s hungover. I did mention about the wine.” 

“Uh, I... I’m sorry,” you frown. 

“Sorry? Why?” He tilts his head, “you don’t have to apologise for her. It’s the consequences of her own behaviour.” 

You shrug. You guess it’s a habit. You’re always the one apologising to the nurses or the service workers or just the last person she decided to argue with. 

“Yeah...” you murmur. 

“Well, I can make you some breakfast? I have some muffins. You like blueberry?” 

“It’s okay. I’ll just wait for mom,” you pick at the hem of your shirt. 

“Alright, but I think she might not be up for a while. Even then, I don’t know if she’s going anywhere.” He glances over his shoulder. “How about, I’ll leave a muffin out for ya and you can have it if you get hungry? I got a short day, I won’t be gone very long but you get full rein of the house when I’m out. Keep your mom safe, huh?” 

You blink at him. You can’t quite process what he’s saying. More his tone than his words. He’s talking to you in this sickly sweet voice. Is he trying to be fatherly? You don’t need a dad and he didn’t need you either. 

“Right, I...” you shift on your feet. “I’ll just lay back down. My head hurts.” 

“You sure you’re not hungry? I can get you some coffee before I go?” He offers. 

You shake your head, “no thanks, “ you wisp out, “er, have a good day, Andy.” 

“I’ll try, sweetie,” he surprises you as he moves his hand from the door frame swiftly. You can’t react as he reaches for you. He cradles around the back of your head and leans in to kiss your forehead. “You too.” 

He pets your head before he pulls away. You’re too stunned to speak or move. You squeeze the handle on your tank and your chest starts to split. You have to breathe! 

He steps back with a grin and turns to strut away. You watch after him. Was that... well, no, it’s... it can’t be anything. He’s just being him? He’s with your mom now so technically when they marry... that’s it.  

You just don’t know any better. You’re stupid. You’ve never even dreamed of having a man interested in you that you confuse the most innocent things for more. It’s not that. He’s being nice. If anything, he just feels sorry for you like everyone else. 

When he disappears down the stairs, you finally get some sense back. You shut the door and go back to the bed. You’re dizzy and a bit queasy. You lay down and watch the ceiling. If your mom isn’t up in an hour, you’ll have to go find her. 

You can’t stay like that. Despite the shadow of exhaustion that always follows you, you’re restless. You get up and make sure the bed is tidy. You fold the used tee shirt and check to make sure you tank hasn’t left any marks on the floor or carpet. 

Alright then, that’s enough waiting. You peek into the hallway before you emerge. You go down to the door where you think she is. You can’t remember which one now. You knock and wait. She doesn’t answer so you hit the door harder, making yourself flinch. 

You hear a grumble. You stand in indecision. Should you just let her be? Well, you don’t want to be here all day. You rub your forehead then rip your hand away. Right there, where he kissed you... 

You drop your hand to the door handle and push inward. Your mother is shrouded in darkness, the curtains are drawn, and she groans. You sniff and stay close to the threshold. 

“Mom, are you okay? It’s almost nine--” 

“Go away,” she gurgles. 

“Mom, we have to go home.” 

“Oh, shut up. Go. Fuck, my head is pounding,” she rubs her head and writhes. 

“Mom?” You squeak. She can be harsh but she doesn’t swear at you like that. “Can I help--” 

“Leave me alone,” she rolls her back to you, “you’re making it worse.” 

You frown and look at her. You were just trying to help her. You know you’re useless but you don’t mean to be. You back out and roll the tank with you. When you close the door, you jump at the figure along the edge of your sight. You turn to Andy as he stands just down the hall. 

How long has he been there? 

“Told you, she’s in rough shape,” he says. “Well, good and bad news. My case for this morning got pushed. Lawyers put in a request so I’m gonna work from home so if you need anything, I’ll be around.” 

“Oh, uh, right,” you hunch and shrink toward the wall. 

He nods and smiles softly. You’re both silent, stuck in a strange valley of uncertainty. He clears his throat. 

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, you know? I’ll... I’ll tell her that.” He says. 

You shake your head frantically, “no, don’t do that.” 

“But she shouldn’t--” 

“Please. She’s just not feeling good,” you insist and roll toward him. “It’s fine. Just... I need to sit down.” 

He lets you pass and you dip back into the guestroom. You click the door shut and heave out a long breath. You just want to be at home. Everything here feels so weird. 

[starblightbindery]

FanFic Pipe Book Press

In 2022, I prototyped an affordable nipping press using black steel pipe fittings. The challenge: To make something under $100, compact, portable, and easy to make without electric tools.

I'm sharing the supply list here (under the cut) with updated thoughts and notes.

Please note that when I've linked to Amazon in this post, I'm using an affiliate link.

Basic Materials

QTY 1 - Press Screw 2 - ½ pipe Mini Flanges 2 - ½ pipe 90° elbow fittings 2 - ½ pipe 4in nipples 2 - ½ pipe 6in nipples 2 - 1x½ pipe hex bushing reducer 1 - 1x1 pipe cross tee 1 - Large hardwood board at least 16"x6" 1 - Smaller hardwood board ~ 9-10" across and at least 6" wide 8 - #8x¾ flat head wood screws

Press Screw The press screw is the crank/long screw in the middle of the nipping press. As of this writing, the most affordable press screws are the one by Pony Jorgenson or the one by ShopFox. For just a little bit more, McMaster Carr sells a beautiful stainless steel hole mount screw clamp from Taiwan.

½ pipe parts These form the bones of this book press. Pipe fittings are designed to be resistant to water pressure and are easy to assemble. You can find some at your local hardware store (cheaper) or order on Amazon. You have the option to use basic black carbon steel pipe or go fancier by using stainless steel. This will likely run you between $40-$65.

Wood & Screws You'll want a hardwood (like Oak, Birch, Walnut, etc.) not a softwood (pine or basswood) for this project to prevent warping. A strong plywood such as baltic birch may work as well. Most hardware stores will cut wood to size for you. The screws are for attaching the pipe to the wood--but, depending on how you want to engineer the press, you could also use bolts.

Additional Supplies

Sandpaper in various grades

Sealant for the pipes (especially if you use pipe that sheds carbon, so you don't stain your books. I used clear coat, you can look into shellac and other finishes that work for you.)

Wood Finish (I used tung oil, you have so many options)

Screwdriver, Hand Drill, or Electric drill

Mallet (if you want to pound the lead screw into the cross pipe

Epoxy to glue the lead screw into the cross, or to affix the base of the screw to the wood.

Optional Upgrades

Use a hole saw to drill through the wood and a forstner bit the size of the flange to run the flange through the wood from the bottom. That way, pressure isn't put on the wood screws and the press will last longer.

Use Rub N' Buff to decorate the press

Use longer nipples, such as 8" or 10" nipples, instead of the 6" to get more daylight.

This press is sized for fanfic binders, but if you want a bigger one you can size up the pipes.

If you can afford thicker wood, especially for the base, you may want to opt for 8/4 wood instead of 4/4 wood.

Happy crafting! Let me know how things go, and if you end up making one, I'd love to see a picture.

[katsukikitten]

A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest. 

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders. 

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot. 

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race. 

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best. 

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight. 

Humans. 

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first. 

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went. 

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what? 

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first. 

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.  

You think you choke when you swallow. 

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes. 

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief. 

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it. 

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably. 

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it. 

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time. 

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home. 

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands. 

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.  

Should you start digging your own now too? 

Since no one else was going to be around to do it. 

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders. 

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property. 

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up. 

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well. 

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left. 

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night. 

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough. 

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log. 

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand. 

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all. 

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake. 

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep? 

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling. 

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he? 

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate. 

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death. 

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting. 

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise. 

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs. 

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel. 

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in. 

ASTRID     EMROY 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet. 

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure. 

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them. 

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box. 

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine. 

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm. 

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX  Six years after the "Rapture" 

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. 

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules. 

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta. 

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house. 

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya. 

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.  

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter. 

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.  

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows. 

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it. 

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too. 

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory. 

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home. 

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck. 

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere. 

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around. 

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink. 

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard. 

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone. 

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow. 

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust. 

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl. 

But at least you had your strawberries. 

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit. 

Well, well worth the price. 

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

[dinictis]

Had a fun blacklighting session last night with the amateur entomologist group, here are a few of my observation pics In order: - A cute, lichen-looking Epinotia I wasn't able to ID to species - Ligyrus (formerly Tomerus) relictus, one of the only dynastinae (rhinoceros beetles) found where I live - Catocala sp., photo wasn't great unfortunately so I'm not sure which out of 2 possible species it is - Habrosyne scripta, fairly common but a beautiful drepanid that's always fun to see - Cisseps fulvicollis, smaller lookalike of the virginia ctenucha - Ischnura verticalis - very common species but I don't often see odonates at light traps - Tropisternus lateralis, a hydrophilid, this species in particular looks a lot like some dytiscids to me but the clubbed antennae are a surefire giveaway for hydrophilidae - Corixidae sp. - Parapoynx badiusalis, good example of how cute crambids are - A really cute ichneumonid, but probably not identifiable from photo - Argyresthia calliphanes - pay attention to micromoths! So many of them are absolutely stunning - Nemapogon sp. (maybe granella?) - Ennomos magnaria - Elophila icciusalis - Cerastipsocus venosus - new species for me, their common name is "tree cattle" and the clusters they form on trees get called herds. Felt really big for a psocodean The area had a lot of habitat variety, with multiple light traps being set near a wetland, forested areas (mainly yellow birch with some other hardwoods, and conifers- mostly balsam fir) and a sandpit. I have a lot more but I also have specimens to get around to pinning so I won't spend too long on posts haha, here's some uncropped photos of the sheets though

[midwestbramble]

Birch Folklore

Betula alleghaniensis

Ruled by ♀

⸙༄𓆤𓆩���❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Contents:

Overview

Folklore

Uses in Witchcraft

Safety Notes

Conclusion

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Overview

A fast-growing deciduous hardwood that reaches 65 feet or more at maturity. Grows near lakes and streams and throughout urban landscapes. The bark of yellow birch is a pale yellow-bronze or gold color and is scored horizontally with lenticels (the bits that make it look like it has eyes). The outer layers often peel into thin, papery strips giving the trunk a shaggy appearance. In older trees the bark is gray and can develop ragged strips that curl or loosen along the edges.

The leaves are ovate and serrated, usually around 2 1/2 to 5 inches long. They are arranged alternately on the branches. Flowers (catkins) grow on both male and female trees and form in late winter before the leaves open. Male catkins are pendulous, and female catkins are erect.

The tree has a distinct winter green scent and flavor of tender new branches and leaves. Almond flavor tends to be a cherry tree which also has shiny bark with lenticels.

Also a good host for the chaga mushroom.

Bark and twigs should be taken from smaller saplings or from fallen branches. These should be taken in early spring when sap is flowing and wintergreen flavor is prominent. Use pruning shears or clippers to snip off tender spring growth, leaf buds, and leaves, and then dry. Store in airtight containers to preserve flavor (volatile oils are prone to evaporation).

Tap mature trees and harvest the tips of branches in moderation. Sap should be collected in late winter at the same time as maple. Seek out stands and select trees that are at least 6-8 inces in diameter. Need 20 gallons more sap for birch than maple to make 1 gallon of birch syrup.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Folklore

-Evoking Leshii or Lieschi-

A Russian ritual calls for using birch to summon the Lieschi, a slavic tutelary forest spirit. Peasants would cut down very young birch trees, arranging them in a circle for protection before calling upon the spirit.

-Baba Yaga-

This Slavic witch of legend was said to make her home in a birch forest, surrounded by a fence made of birch posts topped with enchanted human skulls. It was also said she used a birch broom to sweep away her tracks while traveling in her mortar and pestle. In the story of "Vasilisa the Beautiful", Baba Yaga even instructs the birch tree not to harm the young girl, which tries to lash her and put out her eyes. When Vasilisa escaped the birch let her leave since she cared for it while staying with Baba Yaga.

-The Wife of Usher's Well-

In this old Scottish ballad describes three sons who have died returning to their mother in spirit wearing a birch hat. The ballad also describes the gates of Paradise being guarded by birch trees.

-The Lady in White-

A Czech tale tells of a young woman who dances in a birch forest with a lady in white. The lady in white gives the young woman a bunch of yellow birch leaves which turn to gold once she leaves the forest. Incidentally, the young woman had been spinning wool the first two times she danced with the lady in white, and upon the second time the lady had spun the finest thread for her in thanks.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Uses in Witchcraft

Birch is a wonderful spirit to call on for protection. When treated right she will bestow upon you gifts and protect you from those who would harm you. Not to just be used as a shield, birch is a spirit that has no qualms about fighting back and thus may aid in curses aimed at those who have harmed you. But be warned, if treated without respect, she may turn on you.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Safety Notes

No known safety issues.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Conclusion

The birch is a wonderful guardian. Even before learning all the lore, there was a birch tree in a park near a town I used to live in that I worked with as a protector. She didn't put up with disrespect either. So remember to treat your birch tree with care. This isn't even all the lore out there, so much of it is little beliefs about how to work with her. What have your experiences with birch been?

References:

Midwest Foraging by Lisa M. Rose

Midwest Medicinal Plants by Lisa M. Rose

Vasalisa the Beautiful

The Wife of Usher's Well

The Lady in White

Images:

Title image made on Canva, birch photo from Nathan Anderson on Unsplash

An Illustration, 1906

Vasilisa at the Hut of Baba Yaga by Ivan Bilibin

The Wife of Usher's Well (found in the Allen Ginsberg Project)

From "Favorite Fairy Tales Told in Czechoslovakia" illustrated by Trina S. Hyman

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Cecropia Moth

Hyalophora cecropia

The cecropia moth is a member of the family Saturniidae or the family of giant silk moths. This species was first described in 1758 by Carl Linnaeus. This moths gets its name from the mythological kind of Athens, Cecrops I.

Description The cecropia moth’s wings are brown or black with crescent spots which are white in the center and then fade to red then black. They are larger on the hindwings. All the wings also have a white stripe followed by a red one and then frilled white patterns and white and grey edges. The forewings have a black eyespt on the upper corners. The moth’s head and back are red with a white band and dark antennae. The body is hairy with red legs, a white upper body, and an alternating red and white abdomen.

Average wingspan: 15.24 cm (6 in)

Diet and Habitat Caterpillars eat trees and shrubs such as wild cherry, plum, maple, willow, boxelder, apple, crabapple, and lilac, to name a few. Adult moths have no mouths and do not feed. These moths can be found east of the Rocky Mountains in the United States and Canada. Their range goes west to Washington and north into the majority of Canadian provinces. They prefer hardwood forests and are most commonly found on maple, cherry, and birch trees.

Mating Mating season for this moth is late May or June. The females release pheromones which the males detect with their antennae. They can detect up to a mile away but can fly up to 7 miles during their search. The mating usually begins early in the morning and lasts until the evening. These moths are univoltine, meaning they have only one generation per year.

Predators This species is parasitized by some species of wasps and flies, especially the Compsilura concinnata, who lay their eggs in or on the caterpillars. Other threats are squirrels, loss of habitat, and outdoor lights.

Fun Fact The cecropia moth is North America's largest native moth

(Source: Wikipedia; Iowa State University, Horticulture and Home Peat News; National Wildlife Federation; Prairie Haven; AZ Animals)

[arctic-hands]

Okay I can acknowledge how reckless it was to use a knife that is completely capable of going thru meat bones to whittle down some glue-together popsicle sticks probably made out of birch hardwood, but my bigger problem than the What If of losing fingers is that that paring knife was not ergonomically designed to be held for three or four hours and oh my god my hand is still throbbing a day later

[madhavsarawagi]

How to Choose the Right Plywood for Your Project

Selecting the right plywood for your project can make a significant difference in the outcome. With a variety of types, grades, and sizes available, it’s essential to understand what to look for to ensure you get the best results. In this blog, we’ll guide you through the process of choosing the right plywood for your needs. Plus, we’ll show you why Bhawani Plywood is your go-to source for top-quality plywood.

Understanding Plywood Grades

Plywood is graded based on its quality and waterproof level , and knowing these grades can help you make an informed decision.

BWP-Grade Plywood : This is the highest quality plywood, Which is boiling water proof best for places like chennai which are near sea . It’s ideal for projects requiring a long life, such as cabinetry and furniture.

BWR-Grade Plywood : Slightly lower in quality than BWP-grade, BWR-grade plywood has a little less life than BWP . But can be used for furniture which are not often in contact with water.

COMMERCIAL-Grade Plywood : The lowest grade, with several imperfections and lowest level of water that is moisture resistence . It’s best used for structural purposes where appearance isn’t a priority or temporary furnitures. It is also called as MR grade

Types of Plywood

Different types of plywood are designed for specific applications. Here are some common types:

1. Softwood Plywood : Made from softwood species like pine, fir, or spruce, this type is often used for construction and industrial purposes. 2. Hardwood Plywood : Made from hardwood species like oak, maple, or birch, this type is ideal for furniture, cabinetry, and high-quality interior finishes. 3. Marine Plywood : Specially treated to resist moisture, marine plywood is perfect for outdoor projects, boat building, and areas exposed to high humidity.

Key Factors to Consider

When choosing the right plywood for your project, consider the following factors:

1. Application : Determine where and how the plywood will be used. Structural applications require strong, thick plywood, while decorative uses benefit from high-quality veneers. 2. Exposure to Elements : For outdoor or high-moisture areas, choose BWP or marine-grade plywood to prevent damage. 3. Budget : Higher-grade plywood costs more but provides a better finish and longevity. Balance your budget with the quality required for your project. 4. Thickness : The thickness of plywood affects its strength and stability. Ensure you select a thickness appropriate for the load and stress it will endure.

Tips for Selecting Plywood

Here are some expert tips to help you select the right plywood:

1. Inspect the quality : Look for smooth, even surfaces with minimal defects. High-quality face ensures a better finish. 2. Check the Core: The core layers should be consistent and free from gaps. This affects the strength and durability of the plywood. 3. Consider the Weight : Heavier plywood indicates a higher density, which can be beneficial for structural applications but might be overkill for decorative uses.

Why Buy Plywood from Bhawani Plywoods

At Bhawani Plywood, we are committed to providing the highest quality plywood for all your project needs. Here’s why you should choose us:

- Quality : We offer plywood of kitply which is our most trusted partner for plywood with good support for any issue. - Expert Advice : Our knowledge and experience can help you select the best plywood for your specific needs. - Competitive Prices : We provide top-quality plywood at competitive prices to fit your budget. - Convenience : Shop online at Bhawani Plywood or visit our store for a hassle-free shopping experience.

Conclusion

Choosing the right plywood is crucial for the success of your project. By understanding plywood grades, types, and key factors to consider, you can make an informed decision that ensures the best results.

Ready to get started on your next project? Visit Bhawani Plywood for the best selection of high-quality plywood. Our team is here to help you find exactly what you need to bring your project to life. Shop with us today and see the difference quality plywood can make!

[todaysbug]

February 4th, 2024

American Lappet Moth (Phyllodesma americana)

Distribution: Found throughout North America, from Nova Scotia to northern Florida in the east and Yukon to Texas in the west.

Habitat: Found in mixed and hardwood forests where at least one of their hosts occurs.

Diet: Larvae feed on the leaves of alder, birch, oak, poplar and willow trees, as well as tobacco brush, golden chinquapin and plants of the rosoideae family. Adults do not feed, but still retain their vestigial mouthparts.

Description: American lappet moths are best known for their unique appearance, imitating a dead leaf, which allows them to camouflage themselves within dry foliage. The term "lappet moth" refers to the tufts of fur and skin present on the caterpillars' prolegs, giving them the appearance of lappets.

This species is quite common throughout their distribution, though they are not known to cause any significant harm.

Images by Bob Jacobson and Yurika Alexander.