Playing House

THE PLAYHOUSE KEY

by Rachel Field

This is the key to the playhouse

In the woods by the pebbly shore,

It's winter now: I wonder if

There's snow about the door?

I wonder if the flower-sprigged cups

And plates sit on their shelf

And if my little painted chair

Is rocking by itself

  

It doesn’t matter  how small or how big it is – I love to play house .  When I got my first playhouse I was over 50 -becoming a grandmother was the perfect excuse to make my dream finally come true!  But I couldn't have had more fun,  and with the help of some man-power from the men in my life – the dream became a reality.

Summer is nearly over and it is time to wash the teacups , tuck in the dolls and bunnies, and close the windows against the changing chilly winds.. .

Small houses have been a delightful part of childhood for generations. There is magic in having a space that

"just fits", and there is no better place to take tea with cookies.

Tiny tea parties call for very small treats

Tea parties are for everyone – boys and girls, tiny tots and big shots.

 Tea with the Twins

Cousins get cozy

Its never too soon to practice proper manners

Small houses are fun for the small boys also

This little guy liked sweeping the porch better than anything

Who invited the kittens? They must have heard about the cream!

Some of life is ever-changing, but thankfully some things never change – little ones grow up but the playhouse stands at the ready for the next curious child – always  ready for tea in the afternoon after a morning of planting seeds in the little garden that surrounds the house. 

The little garden offers a place to experiment, pick miniature bouquets, and snip fresh herbs for tea.

But oh! We loved the Little House

A thousand -ten times moré!

We loved the tiny window-panes

The funny swinging door.

The Little House by Abbie F Brown  1908

A Change Of Heart

Listen! The wind is rising and the air is wild with leaves. We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

-humbert wolfe

I'm not sure how or why it happened, but somewhere, somehow,  I lost the connection to my garden this summer.  It wasn't just the physical connection, more so the emotional connection. Nature threw some tough curves with the drought and the heat, so I could blame it on unforseen and  uncontrollable forces at work against me, but that seems like a bit of a cop out. I just couldn't care any more.  

The gardening year went by, and I mostly cowered in the house on those 100 plus days. I often gazed out the windows, hoping to fell an urge to go outside and DO something.  I tried  at first to  keep up with watering by hand, but soon gave that up.  I felt guilty at first, then overwhelmed , and  finally just resigned to the situation.

But Autumn brings with it another chance, a newly formed hope fueled by the refreshing cooler temperatures and welcome soaking rains.  The color green returned, and a walkabout on a cool September morning revealed some astonishing discoveries, some good, some not so much.

BEFORE PICTURE  - The front of the perennial bed has been invaded and mostly taken over by a crop of invasive sea oats that has infiltrated the roses and peonies. The situation struck me as hopeless at first as I considered the prospect of digging all the peonies up, removing the grass and then replanting the peonies. And all this has to be accomplished in one short week as peonies can only be transplanted in the fall. 

AFTER PICTURE - Then I began the job of cutting everything down so I could see the situation more clearly, and decided I might just be able to leave the peonies and rid the soil of the invading grass all around them, its worth a try after all. Things are looking up  . . . .

Filled with a new energy, I began to see even more positive places, and in the short space of one day I actually began to feel the old enthusiasm return. The basil, marjoram and parsley in the little garden were still thriving.

 The Nasturtiums never looked happier

 The Anemones were luxurious

 The Hydrangea were handsome in all their fall finery

The Asters were rosy and glowing

The Perennial Ageratum were resplendent in blue

Good news and good feelings returned as mysteriously as they had disappeared, and the changing season brought with it a new optimism. It felt good.  One of the best lessons of the garden returned to me,  the promise of another year is always present.

What's Your palette?

Messes are the artist's true friend - we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here -

While browsing in a vintage shop

recently, my friend and fellow shopper commented  "That's perfect for you, its your palette". That led to an interesting discussion of how each of us has our own unique set of color preferences, and we are indeed drawn to those colors or combinations of colors over and over again, almost unconsciously. An awareness of this has remained with me ever since, and sure enough - just look around you , in your closet, in your bedroom, in your garden.  You might discover a layer of your own personality that is uniquely you, your palette

From an artist's point of view, what ends up on the canvas or the paper starts here - on the palette.  Its the place where the painter has the most fun and faces the most challenges .  Here are the mixes, the choices, the happy accidents and the struggles to achieve just the right shade.  The loaded and well-used palette itself  is art of a unique kind, to be appreciated by anyone with a love of color and an understanding of just how sensitive and magic color can be.

A palette can be an  expensive ceramic piece

Or a simple plastic model

A metal folding model is perfect for the Plein Air painter

The glorious mess that happens on a palette has a story to tell

Inspiration for fashion and photography

Vintage palettes are a rare and special find 

This little vintage metal watercolor palette has found new life as a display /magnet board for miniature watercolors. I like to imagine that it must have been someone's traveling companion years ago. Clean now of paint, except for a few stains, I wonder what lovely washes were mixed long ago, and what paintings might have resulted.

  You don't have to be an artist to relish colors , they are all around us every day, just waiting to be noticed and marveled at .  What's your palette?

shabby but not chic

How quickly the natural world returns to its own order after we have passed through it, shouting our names -

Joe Comer, Pocketful of Names

Shabby seems to be the word that describes it best, most of my garden needs a haircut and so do I.


Viewer discretion advised . . . these are not pretty pictures

The foxglove is still struggling to stand tall, but the stalks are covered with browning blossoms, and the seed heads are forming.  Since this patch of elegant flowers seems to enjoy staking out its own territory in my garden, I'm going to ignore the untidiness of it all and let it happen , secure in the knowledge that they will reappear again next year in all their pink and crimson glory..

The roses are flushing out in a meager burst of bloom, nothing to compare with their first glorious show a month ago, and while I'm not impressed, the Japanese beetles seem to be less discriminating.  So its "off with their heads" by me, in an effort to win that crazy game.

Geraniums have gone from compact globes of brilliant blue to tall, scraggly, tangled masses. Its as if they  know that as long as they are blooming in some fashion I cant bear to cut them back. But I will gather my courage and my scissors and show them who is boss tomorrow!

The chamomile flops, refusing to perform as a lawn or ground cover for me, and the trumpet vine threatens to take over the world. It definitely has taken over the stone well - 

The hollyhocks are smallish , their bases riddled with rust and insect holes, and I fear I may not even get one  hollyhock doll out of them.


I could go on and on, but nobody can stand a gardener who whines all the time.




This year my garden has survived a very hot and dry spring, as well as a large helping of neglect from the gardener, that's me. So in all fairness, I really need to be both forgiving and tolerant.  With eyes that look at the big picture, I must say that for every shabby spot there is also a spot of  beauty,  Its always an  adventure to see what happens when I DONT  take control and nature does. I know, I never really had control anyway.

Notes on a French Market

Joie de vivre - a feeling of healthy enjoyment of life, exhuberance

It was a gathering of Creme de la creme

 One whole day, lots of vendors with beautiful wares, and some really tasty treats to keep everyone well fed! Let's relive it one more time!

This is our signature scene for the Market with a French feeling,  so if you haven't been to Paris yet, just come to Moss Ave. on September 22, no air travel required!

Setting up is half the fun, Stone Well Garden offered vintage garden antiques and herbs. 

Happy Customers and Happy Vendors - who can tell the difference?

French women cant have too many beautiful scarves. They were going fast. The artist here must be calling her silk broker in the Orient to order more precious fabric. 

Exquisite jewelry , letterpress and sweet creations of linen and lace, a winning mix.

Baguettes and Croissants - yummy and double yummy . . . . .

As if the French bakery wasnt enough, more breads, beeswax candles and books from our favorite Monastery, St. Bede's.

The line at the Creperie never stopped!

Pastries must be washed down with French Roast!

Every Atelier requires a smiling staff

There were fabulous finds at every turn, and we cant wait to do it again in September, au revoir!

French macarons