Rugs Bloom In This Heat

When it is hotter than can be believed outside, I hide. While hiding I: read extra, drink inordinate amounts of seltzer with ice and re-discover all the little projects I wanted to accomplish in our house. I have been painting trim like mad and spackling little dings and holes and nail pokes in all the walls. I established a secure relationship with our drill (I can now drill in and reverse out all screws with straight confidence...no fear). I made and hung tissue flowers from the dining room ceiling and then got all inspired and re-organized the pantry. But sometimes the best projects come on you in a fit of random inspiration....

One very lazy day I began to doodle on a plain green carpet I'd picked up at a local tag sale and the paint and doodling just kept on creeping along. Pretty soon there was a long trailing bloom explosion expanding pinkly from one corner of the plain, faded green. I passed through several stages of terrified and exhilerated while painting...worrying by turns that I was destroying the rug or exulting over having really *made* the rug work. I love it. Sometimes you just have to take leaps and do crazy random things because the spirit moved you, urges can be genius.

Gettin' Saucy In My Kitchen

We have the very first applesauce, from our very own apple tree. I have been waiting for this day for a really long time. All these sunlit apples came off that one overgrown, neglected tree that leans over the hedge between our house and the neighbors. In fact, this was only one round of the windfalls from our tree, I have another bucket-full downstairs that I need to start processing this afternoon. I am glad we happened to have this five gallon bucket around, I'm not sure what we would have put the apples in otherwise, laundry baskets?

I need to do more reading on rehabilitating old, forgotten apple trees and learn more about how to bring the tree into it's full glory again, full of great fruiting possibility. Even though it is only August, all the apples are done on our tree. I am not sure if it is because we just have an early fruiting variety or if the tree was stressed and dropped its fruit too soon. We didn't end up "picking" anything...as every single fruit fell off the tree. I hope to do some research this winter to learn what that means, maybe identify our apples (they are a nice yellow variety and obviously on the earlier side), and figure out what the next pruning steps will be in shaping the tree. I think this year we'll make some bigger cuts.

I was encouraged to hear the neighbors tell me, as I picked up apples on their lawn that they have never seen apples this large from the tree. I could also clearly tell, both when the tree blossomed and when the fruit developed where I had pruned. The pruned areas were flush with healthy growth and produced more and larger fruit than the other parts of the tree. It's really encouraging to know that an old heritage tree like this can be encouraged and tended and begin a new life.

And all winter while I collect books on old apple trees and draw pruning diagrams, and sharpen my tools I can eat apple sauce, small bowls, with tiny spoons...sipping the cinnamon tinted happiness that can only come from raising your own fruit. Ah, the good life!

Related articles

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• July is for transparent applesauce. (tuckercravings.wordpress.com)
• Pruning Apple Trees (homeandgardenideas.com)
• Can this apple tree be saved? (ask.metafilter.com)

New CSA

We're a good bit of the way through the harvesting season with our new CSA and I have to say that I like it. It is just as handy as I imagined to have our pick-up location down the street, instead of 45 minutes away, and kind of fun to meet neighbors there who also happen to have a share. I didn't count on the community interaction bit, kind of a fun bonus.

I do miss going up to an actual farm. It was a great built-in break that we had going and I feel like we've removed ourselves a little bit from the food-land connection. There was one scheduled members day when our new CSA invited everyone to come up for a picnic and help pull garlic and then go for a dip in the creek. Have to make sure to plan on going next year. I am an organization klutz and through a lot of fumbling we managed to miss it this time around. Am still kicking myself  although this morning I found out there is a special autumn farm festival scheduled for September when we can maybe make up the difference! Hooray!

Since there's such a small actual farm connection to speak of via our CSA this year, I find that I'm seeking out chances to go to drive out to the country for other things: caterpillar hunting, listening to the frogs sing, rural estate sales, buying farm milk, picking up local meat...etc. Kind of fun to mix it up anyhow.

So, the time savings is great, the produce is great, the community connection is fun and over-all I think we made a fine trade. You never quite know when you make this kind of a gamble and switch everything up, but this time it worked out.

Poetry Friday: An Estate Sale Poem

Happy Poetry Friday to all!
I am off to romp in the yard this afternoon, since it is finally warm enough to be pleasant outdoors with no jacket. Today is little Nib's first birthday so there is lot of celebratory romping to do! We will do full festivities tomorrow when A is off work and we're having a cupcake facial massage show in the morning with full paparazzi documentation. I can't wait to see it! Highlight of the first birthday party for sure.

Image by japi14 via Flickr

This morning I'm sharing a poem I wrote about one of my favorite warm weather pursuits, estate saling. I love yard sales and clearance sales and church rummage forays but my favorite are estate liquidations. I love the age and the warmth all the items seem to have and I love wandering through the home and seeing them in situ. Something very lovely about it all. Am pleased to have the season starting again. Even though there are such sales all year round, somehow it doesn't seem appealing to go unless it is lemonade weather when you can go rolling from one sale to the next with the windows down, feeling smug in front of everyone about the amazing things you have rattling around in the back seat.

Image by Chiot's Run via Flickr

Things Found At An Estate Sale

We step step step up the front stoop and over the threshold

Wanderers on the hunt at a Saturday morning sale

In this old house that smells of honey, salt and years of sunshine.

Before the sink, I  fondle  a sturdy enamel-speckled colander,

The handles worn dull and smooth by years of touch,

And carry it along, tucked confidentially against my hip.

In the faded garage there is a tower of wee, metal berry pails,

The insides filmed with ancient, summer dust.

My son swings two by their handles,

Bopping them pleasantly against his legs as we walk.

In a soft upper bedroom, I find a tiger’s eye ring,

Etched with faded swirls, not real silver, but no matter, it has a quiet glow.

The baby has discovered a black doctor’s bag at my feet,

All cracking at the sides, which wheezes pleasantly when opened.

And here on the dresser, a handful of slim-tipped sable brushes,

Waiting in a pert cluster, for more partnership with paint.

We wind back to the kitchen, because

You never know what you’ve missed in that room.

See what I mean?

There in bent cardboard is a teal-embroidered Pyrex in the old style,

Sturdy and casserole-seasoned just waiting for a rescue.

In the hall closet there is a fishing pole with a warm cork grip,

Complete with brightly painted bobber like an engaging circus toy

That dangles happily over my shoulder as we walk.

There are whole shoe boxes of crisp, lady’s notecards,  

And I take the five inscribed with bright, raised ladybugs,
Their paper gracefully aged from crisp white to golden pearl.

I tuck a fawn copy of Shakespeare under my arm and draw the line

At the little wooden doggy who follows us down the sidewalk on a string,                       His coiled, spring tail bobbing cheerfully as he goes.

Have a little gander at the other Poetry Friday participants over at The Drift Record and feel free to add a link to your own if you've a mind.

Related articles

• Sophie & Isaac's Eclectic Minimal Home House Tour (apartmenttherapy.com)
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Make New Friends but Keep the Old

Sometimes a little insanity is in order. This weekend we made a manic, somewhat last minute, ridiculous visit back to my alma mater. We didn't have any extra vacation days so we did the 14 hr drive in just a weekend which was really a lot of driving but was also really (sometimes life is incomprehensible!) exactly what needed to happen. The theatre club that my close chums and I helped found was celebrating 10 years and that was enough excuse for me to step up and insist on going.

I have recently decided to make a pretty directly clear life choice about friendship and important events. Somehow I became the girl who is too far away and too busy to come to anything her old friends are doing together and I hate it. I am determined to stay connected to old chums, attend those key events (weddings, baptisms, dedications, reunions, anniversaries...etc.) and whenever I am in town, I'm going to make lunch dates.

My beloved college theatre director and instructor.

When I moved away from my home state I was elated about the idea of a clean slate. I love the idea of creating yourself and the yawning possibility that exists in new friendships. And who doesn't like the hope of undoing old reputations and forging a newer, brighter image? While all of that is delicious and inspiring and wonderful, I accidentally lost touch with lots of old friends, missed a lot of wonderful opportunities and didn't have the nerve to try to meld the old me with the new one. I'm over it.

Not that I am saying I'm fearless, I'm just saying that I have come to understand that old friends and new friends both matter for different reasons, that old me and new me are still both me and both important, that relationships and connections are the feeders and safety net for essential, healthy human life and that I want my life to be one wild, spinning, knotted, weave with threads of all colors and strengths....and that meant that I needed to go to Michigan, come hell or high water.

I came home surer than ever that I'd done the right thing. There were screeching greetings with old friends, hilarious recollections, abundant warm words, more hugs than I can count, lots of long-waited-for introductions (hello husbands!), dress-up fun with my sister Foxy, sweet niece and nephew portraits, verbose and longed-for conversation (hello immensely long drive!) and a lot of coffee... It was one of the rightest things I've done in a while and so inspiring that I can hardly wait for the next chance!

My sister is a wizard with eye make-up. Isn't that beautiful?

Glimpses of History

Am thinking all the time about the history and story of our 1920's colonial. Who lived here through World War II? Who was born here? What did the gardens look like? How was it decorated? All those sorts of curious thoughts. I am inspired in my wistful wonderings by spending too much time looking through the pictures at the Flikr group "Looking Into The Past." 

Sure wish I had some authentic, black and white, pulled from the pages of history photos of our old place from its heyday. I wonder if somebody does, out there someplace.

This photo in particular strikes wishful chords for me. What a gem, to have that kind of a shot of the front of your place! Gotta get myself down to the historical society and look up our home's history and also call the previous owner's granddaughter for the interview she promised me about the house. So much journalism, so little time.

House Quirks

As far as I am concerned, an old house isn't worth diddly unless it has quirks. The more mysterious, humorous or confusing the better. Nothing enhances the idea of a place having a story more than a few unexplained bits and bobs.

Here's a tour of some of the things that make me scratch my head and wish the walls could talk around our "new" abode. If you can solve any of the mysteries, please speak out! I'd love to know whatever I can.

Whaddya think this doohickey is on the outside wall of the kitchen|? It's maybe a foot square or so.

Here's a little peek under a window sill where people re-paint less carefully. You can see at least the last two layers of paint the house wore before the current, white trim color. There used to be a lot of that mint green color all over, inside and out...all the trim.

There are two of these big "there once was tape on the wall" gummy residue x's in the master bedroom. Wonder why.

I am also curious about these little burn marks in the upstairs wood floor. They look the same size and shape as the radiator feet except they are in the middle of the room which doesn't make a lot of sense.

I have deciphered that this nubbin in the top of the kitchen door-frame means that there used to be a swinging door there.

What do you think this is? It has a little lever on the side there that can move up and down. The whole box is maybe four inches by three inches or so.

I'd guess smoke detector except it is older than one ought to be and has been painted over several times...now quite melded to the wall.

And that concludes our tour of the first round of "House Quirks." Thank you for joining us, please tune in next time to see a strange hole in the floor, a little button on the wall and an antique bottle from the basement.

Poetry Friday: A Pruning Poem

Image via Wikipedia

Happy Poetry Friday to you! A pruning poem for you all today. It is pruning season, or at least the tale end thereof. (We must celebrate something in the bleak end of winter after all)  Time for all overgrown trees to get haircuts and all shrubs to get trim jobs that will have them prancing around in high-style once the warm weather has them leafing and blossoming all over the place.

I have been working, little by little on pruning our very large and very neglected apple tree and hoping on one hand that spring comes soon to rescue me but on the other hand that it holds off long enough to let me finish all the snipping and clipping this old tree needs. If a tree is clipped once the sap has really begun to flow hard it can "bleed out" and pour sap from all its wounds and end up dying in the warming, early spring. As I work, racing spring I have been thinking out a poem about the whole thing. This morning I took a little stab at putting down the bits that have been rattling around in my mind as I traded clippers for saw and then saw again for clippers in the chill wind.

Pruning The Apple Tree
I am pruning the dear, ancient apple tree
That leans, reclining over the back hedge
Behind our new home: a tall, old colonial.
It might turn out to bear nothing at all but
Small, hard crab apples like bitter marbles
(For some reason the neighbor can't remember)
Then, I know, my husband will see no point
And archly suggest a chainsaw at the trunk.
I finger all the thickly twisted branchings
And tilt my head as I envision each of the
Diagnostic choices: this branch or that gone.
My glittering saw makes fragrant, smooth
Work of the chosen amputation and the wound
Yawns open, fresh and yellow in the cold.
I am glad the ice-wind is blowing stiffly,
From the north, the better to anesthetize
The patient who sits numbly through my surgery.   
I see signs of other years here on the boughs:
Roughly hacked, black stubs of once-limbs,
Places where the tree has grown a living mace
And one limb that has gone thickly into
The very flesh of its widely forked neighbor
I drop branch bits on the snow and wonder as I
Climb a broad trunk, my palms splayed open,
Against the icy bark if the tree will
Shake its head pinkly, rouse as fragrant cloud
And bear me saving fruit for pies or if it
Sleeps deeply, sunk into a peaceful reverie
Tiny, unborn marble-fruit held tight in every bud,
Knowing this is the last cold, drowsy winter
It will arch sagely over my back hedge.

Image via Wikipedia

I really do hope it turns out to be a grand, old standard apple of some kind, don't you? Even if it is a crab, I have half a mind to try to convince A to save it just so I can make glittering apple jelly every year. I do hate to lose a wise old tree like this. I wonder who planted it and when. Guessing the age of trees is a very tricky game although even I can tell ours is quite old. I'd have taken a picture for you but it's doing a cold drizzle outside and there's no real love for a camera in that kind of weather.

You can find more Poetry Friday entries at our host Sara's blog, Read Write Believe.

This Is Why....

This is why I bought a house with old wood floors. I knew there was a reason. 

How great is that?