Cutie Pie Sunshine Girls Kids Sun Summer Paper Piecing Premade
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Star Seller. This seller consistently earned 5-star reviews, shipped on time, and replied quickly to any messages they received.
Listed on May 5, 2023
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Directions, Transportation, & Road Conditions
Click road or icon on the map for more information.
This report contains the most recent information available for road, hiker/biker, and entrance closures as well as snowplow status. It may be outdated and inaccurate as our information can change quickly.
Important Travel Warnings:
In summer 2023, a vehicle reservation is required for four areas of the park: Going-to-the-Sun Road, the North Fork, Two Medicine, and Many Glacier. Each location has unique details and requires a separate reservation. Please see the Vehicle Reservation page for details.
How do I get to Glacier National Park?
How do I know what roads are open?
When does Going-to-the-Sun Road open and close?
The road is open year-round near the West Entrance. The entire road does not usually open until late June at the earliest. Please see the map above for the most up-to-date information. The alpine sections of Going-to-the-Sun Road typically close for the winter around the third Monday of October, but this can happen earlier due to wintery weather. In 2022, the road will close on September 30 at 10 pm MDT. You can find historical open and close dates on our Press Kit Page.
Are there restrictions on Going-to-the-Sun Road?
Specific Vehicle Size Limits
Vehicles and vehicle combinations longer than 21 feet (including bumpers) or wider than 8 feet (including mirrors) are prohibited between Avalanche Creek and Rising Sun. Vehicles over 10 feet in height may have difficulty driving west from Logan Pass to the Loop due to rock overhangs. Stock trucks and trailers can access Packers Roost on the west and Siyeh Bend on the east.
How can I use Glacier’s shuttles?
Glacier’s summer shuttle system is updated and adjusted from year to year. Please visit our Shuttle System page for more information. The park’s shuttle service is a point-to-point transportation service only, not a narrated tour. The Going-to-the-Sun Road audio tour has information about each shuttle stop.
Glacier National Park Lodges may offer a seasonal shuttle for a fee that connects to St. Mary and Many Glacier.
How long does it take to drive across the park?
Times listed below are estimates and will vary based on road construction, traffic, and time of day.
How can I cross the border into Canada?
Are there guided tours on Going-to-the-Sun Road?
Three companies provide guided tours through the park:
The Blackfeet Perspective
Historic Red Bus Tours
Glacier Institute Tours
Glacier’s free shuttles adjust run times for Hiker/Biker Season and the Summer. Click here for more information.
Biking Going-to-the-Sun Road
Learn the rules for biker access on Going-to-the-Sun Road and other opportunities available to cyclists.
Learn about current road construction projects in and around the park.
Last updated: June 12, 2023
Read online “On the Border of the Fading Sun”, Evgenia Alexandrovna Motyugova – Litres, page 4
She knocked on the door of a neighboring house, a woman opened the door for her, on whose face a fright of awareness and understanding immediately flared up. She muttered thoughtfully, darted into her fur coat and, grabbing Yoni by the arm, went out into the cold with her. The woman was saying something all the way, and perhaps the girl would have listened to her and would have been grateful to her, if not for the prospect of parting forever with her child shortly after cutting the umbilical cord in the name of the happiness and prosperity of all these people.
After the insistent thud of a strong hand, the midwife opened the door of her dwelling. She immediately nodded in understanding, with a serious face, took Yoni from her neighbor’s hands into her own. So that later the mother and child would not wait, the work of the midwife has not changed. Her concern is to take the child and save the mother.
Pain came over Yoni in waves more and more often. The midwife laid her on a narrow bed, on which she had already received almost all the children in this city. Probably, even Yoni once came out of her mother’s womb into the hands of this woman, and now she herself is screaming and crying from hellish pain in front of the midwife.
Time disintegrated, minutes melted into hours, how long has she been here? Screaming. Cries. Endures. Pushing. Follows all the orders of the old midwife. She forgets how to breathe for another minute and it seems that death is better than these pains. Sweat soaked through her shirt, the agony seemed endless, until in an instant it all ended abruptly.
She felt it. Relief.
Feelings immediately aggravated: pain below, wet clothes and a bandage on the forehead, thirst, noise outside the window, cold stretching from behind the door. She began to distinguish voices more clearly: the voice of a midwife and the voice — thin and shrill — of a baby. The baby that this woman has just taken out of her. Red, covered in blood and mucus, he began to cry, indignantly shaking his little arms and legs.
Yoni knew, felt what this little man needed, he needed her, her mother, her milk, warmth and care. Yoni felt unaccountable boundless tenderness and love for this child. She would give her life for him, for his peace and happiness.
“A girl,” the midwife said softly.
Girl? Yoni cried. All these months, in the wild cold and hard work, she carried her little fragile daughter under her heart, and it seems as if this girl took her heart for herself. And now Yoni will not be able to live without her, because without her means without her heart.
“Come on… give it to me.” Yoni held out her shaking wet hands to the baby.
At the same moment the door swung open and Klaus entered, red with cold or shame. Yoni, however, did not feel even a shadow of embarrassment for her position, she only thought that he brought the cold with him, and no matter how her baby would freeze, she was very small and naked.
“Here she is, Randolph,” the woman demonstrated the obvious: a crying baby in her arms. And Klaus himself did not take his eyes off the baby.
Then the midwife turned back, fussed, and when she turned around, the baby was already wrapped up. Wrapped up soundly, skillfully and tightly, only, according to Yoni, too warm for the delivery room.
Klaus glanced briefly at the bloody, dumbfounded girl on the bed, then at the midwife, grunted in embarrassment and held out his hands:
– Well, give her here.
— What? No! — Yoni could not even stand up, but she was not able to give up her child. She raised herself on her elbows, and then fell back exhausted. “This is my child, my daughter, don’t you dare take her away. No!
The midwife hesitated, unconsciously clutching the newborn to her chest: you can’t accept so many children in the city without a good heart. Klaus shook his head:
— We all know why. If you leave the child to the mother, we will all slowly die here. All. And so we have a chance. We’ve already decided everything. One baby is the price of the life of all subsequent ones. I think it’s a little.
The midwife flushed at these words, and Randolph, taking advantage of the hitch, snatched the child out of her hands.
— No, no, Klaus, you also have children. Would you give them away too?
Randolph didn’t say anything as he stepped confidently across the threshold of this house, but shuddered unconsciously.
Helpless and exhausted after childbirth, Yoni screamed in a frenzy, clutching the bloodied sheet in her fists, and then fainted.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying in the same bed, and the midwife was moving against the wall. While she slept, the bed was made and she was carefully changed into dry and clean clothes. Yoni asked for water, the midwife fussily complied with her request, avoiding direct eye contact. Outside the window, the last rays of the sun burned down. It is not known whether the luminary was returned to this city or the mysterious ritual had not yet taken place, but Yoni could no longer remain in ignorance. Suddenly she can still change something, suddenly she can still save her girl.
“No, no, lie down, lie down, you need to rest,” the midwife began to put her back into bed, as soon as Yoni sat up awkwardly on the bed.
– How can I lie quietly when I was carrying a child under my heart for nine months, and they didn’t even give her into my hands.
She silently got up, ignoring the pain and weakness, dressed as best she could and staggered out into the cold, not noticing it, being only with her girl in her thoughts.
Haruki Murakami «South of the border, west of the sun» / Articles / Newslab.Ru
Murakami’s meditative prose deeply appeals to me. She calms me down. Humbles my choleric temper. I open it and read, read, read… By and large, I suspect it doesn’t even matter to me what is written there. Well, you know, according to the principle: talk to me, no matter what. The content is not the essence, the main thing is the tone. So, Murakami’s tone is just right. Written more than ten years ago, the novel «South of the Border, West of the Sun» was first published in Russian this year, it has already been dubbed «the most poignant» brainchild of Murakami. I haven’t read everything, and I can’t judge, but with what I’ve read, the new book easily ranks in the same row. The volume is smaller and the pages are thicker, but the feeling is the same. I didn’t notice any particular piercing, less food and mysticism — yes.
For a long time it seemed that this was just prose rich in thought, calm reflective memoirs. (In general, these are “reflexive memoirs”, but sometimes all of a sudden, and goosebumps). I stopped and asked myself, “What’s so exciting about it, what?” — but the question remained unanswered, and I returned to the novel. What string is touched in me by this methodical retelling of someone else’s life — I do not know, but I did not let go of the book until I had read it. Toward the end, I caught myself on an interesting feeling: the pages are so dense that, turning over, it is impossible to determine where the last one is, and knowing Murakami, who loves psychologically tense and logically discharged endings, each turning turned into a game. Any page could be the last. And I was ready for it. But imagine — the ending was still unexpected. Incomprehensible. polysemantic. Sharp. room for interpretation. Oh, that Murakami…
The main character is a man. We get to know him at school age and follow in his footsteps until thirty-seven. Murakami easily and accurately conveys growing up, awareness of one’s feelings, first contacts with beings of the opposite sex. You just see this young man. This lightness carries with it no less than a detective intrigue, children’s fears and resentments flash before my eyes, first love, first kiss, first intimacy, first passion, study, work, wife, children, business formation (even so, and in great detail) … and first love again. Or has she always been here? Never disappeared? Can a feeling that arose at the age of twelve towards a peer, innocent, not transfused into anything, not even love, but its premonition, be preserved for a long time? Preserve, and, moreover, autonomously develop, grow, and overtake a person decades later? To Hajime (this name reminded me of some old karate classes: I remember the teacher shouted this “hajime”, only he pronounced it not through “z”, but through “g”; such cross-life references always touch me) his first love will return after a quarter of a century, making him a successful businessman, almost a happy family man. Drop by drop, and now the seemingly very realistic Hajime will be ready to give up everything (wife, children, good business) for her. Men, are you really capable of such depth? Just kidding… And to be honest? Do men actually read Murakami? It seems to be written by a man, and the main character is always a man, but, in my opinion, this is too emotional for the stronger sex.
The writer can again be reproached for his “non-Japaneseness”, in his homeland Murakami is always scolded for the fact that there is so much European in his books. “South of the border….” — is no exception, and moreover: replace the names and geographical names, and the picture will be international. The heroes listen to Liszt and Rossini, and the singer of love, the talisman, is the classic American pop singer Nat King Cole. Actually, “south of the border” is from his song. The nationalists of the Land of the Rising Sun are probably gnashing their teeth, because according to Murakami, it turns out that the Japanese are the same people as everyone else.