A fistful of dandelions in a toddler's grip. A flock of robins in the neighbor's tree. Tiny red leaves budding out on the maple tree. Angleworms on the sidewalk.
I'm never quite sure what constitutes a sign of spring here in Oregon. I've had violets blooming by my studio door since February. The robins could be the spring flock, returning to Oregon, or equally likely the Alaskan flock overwintering here. Geese also spend the winter here, or the whole year, and a skein can be flying any direction, or even in circles, rather than merely north or south.
Weather is also no guarantee. A string of sunny days in the 70s can be followed by torrential winter downpours. Right now, the Willamette is a turbid turmoil, and my friend Dave is cleaning the mud out of his recently flooded studio.
So I default to the one sign of spring I'm always sure of: Saturday Market, opening for the season the first Saturday of April. Rain or shine, market booths will be popping up like dandelions on Saturday, April 5. Off Center Ceramics and Pulp Romances will be there as well, set up in our usual location, space 349, across the street from the Information Booth. I did my first firing of 2025 in February already, and loaded up the van during those three consecutive sunny days we had back before the rains returned, so all I need is some cookies and a Marketing Bear, and I'll be ready to go. There'll be shiny new pots--it really was a lovely firing--as well as paper, cards, and some new pocket sketchbooks from Pulp Romances.
Every year before Market opening, I review the business side of Off Center Ceramics. It's been several years since I made any price adjustments on the tableware, even longer on the bigger-ticket items.
I'm leaving the lower end alone--mugs, bowls, dinner and dessert plates will all stay the same. I know how long they take to throw, finish, and paint, and the amount I charge seems reasonable. But some of the higher-end items will be going up in price. In particular, I'm looking at very labor-intensive items: lidded forms like casseroles, cookie jars and crocks. Handled items like bakers and batter bowls. Butter dishes. Colanders. Colanders are so much work.
I've already changed the listed prices elsewhere on this site, but for quick reference, here's a summary.
New prices will go into effect April 1.
I was always nervous around bees, as a kid. There were certainly plenty around the farm and gardens, and when the alfalfa was blooming, it literally crawled with honeybees. I don't remember ever getting stung, but I swung a wide path around anything yellow-and-black and buzzing: hornets, honeybees, bumblebees.
Our cow dog, Peggy, had no such concerns. She'd actually snap bumblebees out of the air, bite off the stinger, and swallow them whole. We thought it was an amazing feat back then; now, not so much.
I got a much better appreciation of bees as an adult, after I planted my first garden, and a couple of apple trees. We also sorta-cultivate a patch of wild blackberries in a corner of the yard. Blossom time with warm, sunny days means plenty of bees, and plenty of fruit come summer.
I don't know why it took me so long to paint honeybees on pots; after all, I was literally making honey jars. But I finally decided to swap out the bee-buzzed bear cubs with honeybees on some of the jars, buzzing over red clover blossoms or lavender plants. They've since showed up on the occasional dessert plate, tall mug, or tiny pitcher.
For honey, of course.