Jamie thought for a moment. “Couldn’t we all say that about ourselves? As nations, too? ‘We shouldn’t have done what we did.’ Isn’t that what we all now feel about our past?”
“You mean Britain shouldn’t have done what it did? Or America? Or Spain?”
“Yes,” said Jamie. “But not just them. Not just the obvious targets. Pretty much everybody. Russia. Turkey. China. The past is pretty shameful once you start to look at it more closely.”
The Sweet Remnants of Summer, by Alexander McCall Smith, p. 8
Author: Jennifer Mugrage
Spring in the North
We were visited by these Snow Geese on their way north. I took this video out my bedroom window on the third day of spring.
Farm Shoes

So, this week I bought these farm shoes. I know that some people call them “wellies,” but I don’t know what they’re called around here. Just “rubber boots” maybe.
I need them not because I am a real farmer in any way, but because Spring has sprung (sort of … we are also still getting snow), and even if a person only has 3 chickens, their run is still surrounded by mud. With these boots, I feel that I have leveled up in some small way.
As a person who romanticizes the past, the boots naturally got me thinking about what people did for mud shoes (in Europe, say) before they had access to rubber. The answer, of course, was clogs or wooden shoes. You can see them on French peasants in Millet’s paintings sometimes.

“The Gleaners,” by Millet. You can’t really tell what the shoes are made of, but you can see that they’re sort of in the clog family.
But I’m Dutch (actually, Frisian) by ancestry, and we have our own iconic version of the wooden shoe. I don’t know about other peasant clogs, but Dutch wooden shoes have to fit rather large and be worn with several layers of socks. They float, which is important in Holland.

Here is me in a partially authentic “Dutch costume” that my mom made, displaying the klompen. (That’s what the wooden shoes are called, for obvious reasons.) She did not make the klompen. We got those at De Klomp Wooden Shoe factory in Holland, Michigan, which is still in operation to this day. There, you can buy everything from tiny souvenir klompen to ones that fit you to huge painted klompen to put on your porch. You can watch the shoes being carved and hollowed out. You can have your name woodburned onto a pair if you wish. The whole place smells really good, like fresh wood shavings and woodburning smoke.

Here is someone I know (also of Frisian blood), modeling the klompen and the milk maid buckets. I know the blurring, and the basket in the foreground, make it look like this picture was taken in a studio, but it was actually snapped outdoors. The roses are real and those are real, fake Dutch farmer accoutrements.
If you, Reader, work outdoors (whether it’s farming or forestry or plein-air paintings), what do you prefer for spring mud shoes?
Jesus Is Brave
Now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your Name!
John 12:27 – 28a
I’m a D— Fine Latin Teacher!

This is from an old Doonesbury comic by Gary Trudeau. My dad used to be a big Trudeau fan and had a large collection of his books. I devoured them as a kid, which I didn’t realize was giving me a very leftie view of modern American history. But it’s funny little human moments like the one above that make Trudeau (at least his older work) so appealing.
Interestingly, “Herbert” looks a bit like one of my Linguistics professors in college, except for the cigarette.
And now … I actually am a Latin teacher. And d— fine one.
I’d be snapped up in a minute.
What Is A Tell?

A tell is, essentially, a man-made hill that consists of layers upon layers of ancient ruins.
I first heard about tells in a Biblical Archaeology context. The Levant is filled with tells. Often, the original city was built on a high spot to begin with. Then, as successive generations of the city were destroyed and rebuilt, the tell got higher and higher. In the Levant, you often find a current city still thriving on top of the tell. So there is a modern city on top of a medieval city on top of a Greco-Roman city top of an Israelite city on top of a Canaanite city on top of a city from the time of Sumer. If you dig down carefully through these tells, you will find mosaics, pots, coins, garbage, all kinds of good stuff. Tells are different from grave mounds because they don’t usually contain grave goods carefully selected, but rather the debris of everyday life, and often the ash layers of past battles.
Well, it turns out, the Levant ain’t the only place that gots tells! I am currently reading The Civilization of the Goddess: The World of Old Europe, by Marija Gimbutas, published in 1991. As you can tell (haha!) from the title, Gimbutas has her own spin on the history of Old Europe, about which I will no doubt post later. But today, I am just here to talk about tells. There are many tells in Thessaly, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Romania, western Ukraine and southern Hungary (as we call them today) which show that in the 6,000 to 4,000s B.C., the Balkans were a happenin’ place. They revealed tidy planned cities, sometimes of a few thousand people, with hearths, idols, loom weights, and “exquisite” pots. (I love it when archeologists call something like a pot “exquisite.” It means they are really excited about it.)
I have previously posted about the Vinca Signs, which came from this culture area and may have been an alphabet, though Gimbutas looks like she’s gearing up to treat them as primarily religious symbols. The settlements in this area are all fairly uniform, especially in their earlier stages, which says to me that people spread out quickly, probably from the Levant via Turkey and Macedonia. The climate at the time was rainier than now, which made farming easier. The sea levels were probably also lower, which might have facilitated travel.
Take a look at the photo at the top of this post. It comes from page 13 of Gimbutas’ book. The upper image is labeled “Argisa tell, west of Larisa, Thessaly.” The lower one: “Profile of Sesklo tell, c. 12 m of cultural deposits, with Early Neolithic (Early Ceramic) at the base and classical Sesklo on the top, c. 65th – 57th cents. B.C.”
Twelve meters of cultural deposits! Imagine the riches.
At the time this book was published, a few tells in the Balkan area had been excavated (Sesklo by Gimbutas herself), but most had not. I expect that is still true today. There have been some “hills” in Bosnia that turned out to be pyramids and to have tunnels inside, but really, even archeologists like Gimbutas who realize that Old Europe was much more advanced than previously thought are just getting started. I doubt that everything will be excavated, or the ancient story fully told, in this life. But if you have any interest in such things at all, it’s amazing to think of all the wealth of all those tells sitting there with their meters and meters of secrets.
Exquisite.
Jesus Is Funny
I tell you the truth, no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields — and with them, persecutions.
Mark 10: 29 – 30
Ragtag Bonnet

Also known as the Stashbuster Bonnet. But this one just felt like it should be named Ragtag to me. Perhaps I was thinking of the book The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning.
Believe it or not, I made this bonnet using this ribbed bonnet pattern. Here are the changes I made:
- Instead of knitting in 3×3 rib, I used moss stitch (I love moss stitch! so textury!) for the first four inches, then switched to stocking stitch for the next three inches before doing garter for the back.
- As before, I knit for seven inches instead of six before joining in the round. (Again, big head.)
- I also made the bonnet larger from ear to ear by casting on an additional six stitches. I decreased these as I ended the moss stitch section. This created slightly longer ear flaps.

The most striking thing about the bonnet, its “bag of rags” look, came because I used a variety of odds and ends of yarns in my stash, including a dark brown wool, a dark green wool, a dark blue blend, a couple of ombre balls, and even a leftover ball of glittery navy blue (used sparingly). The result is more or less the color story that I was going for. It was inspired by a hat on Pinterest made from a ball of yarn that wavered between shades of gold, brown, and grey. Making my own edgy colored hat was a lot more work, because I had to keep stopping to twine the ends of the different colored yarns together. When I get time, I’ll definitely knit this hat again, but “cheat” and buy a self-striping ball.
For now, I absolutely love this and I also love how it helps me pull off the “witchy lady” look that I am going for as I age. As you can see, it’s still cold here. A poor old woman needs a warm wool bonnet to wear when she toddles out to gather a few sticks for her meagre fire.

What Was Your First Fictional Crush?
I know this sounds like a book lovers’ blog tag, but actually, this question was asked of me by my reader son. I love that he has reached an age where it’s not uncommon that we will have discussions about books while I chauffeur him to his different activities.
However, feel free to answer it as you would a tag.
I had to think about this one, because I’ve been having emotional reactions to fictional characters probably since before I could read.
I remember weeping buckets over the doomed friendship between Todd and Copper, as experienced by me through the little book accompanied by a 45 record that we had and played on our little record player.

So I guess you could possibly say that Todd was my first fictional crush. I was certainly in love with the woodsy setting as well.
I continued to be drawn to wilderness-dwelling characters who were thin, spry, quick, fey, and solitary. As a little girl, of course, it wasn’t so much that I consciously had a crush on these characters as it was hero worship. I wanted to be them. I remember feeling that way about Peter Pan, and this guy:

At the age of about twelve, I had a thing for Durnik from the Belgariad. He was strong, quiet, capable and practical … everything I wasn’t.

But now we are getting closer to my teenaged years, about which, the less said the better. I’ll give you one more though, which was a literary crush when I was about thirteen: Odysseus. That was the year that I read a simplified version of The Odyssey in school. Odysseus is a beefcake like Durnik (after all, he is the only one who can draw that big bow!), but he’s also clever and quick like my old favorites.
So there you have it.
Andrew Klavan is Funny
… after which, the experts fell out of bed into a pool of their own vomit, muttering, “Look at me, I’m an expert,” before passing out again in a haze of alcohol- and drug-induced expertise.
The Klavan monologue, March 3, 2023