Ice cream bowls: Part II

Two more photos of the bowls for good measure. I just can't stop, I apologize.

And by the way, I am SO freakin excited for New Hampshire blueberries next month. Pies galore!

Flapper Photos

The pictures are here! The pictures are here! Yay!

Check them out both here and here, Ginny's wedding photos by the genius Josh Goleman. I am, once again, jumping for joy!

How I wore it...

Roberta Jane asked me to participate in a neat experiment this week, taking a pair of shorts and asking several bloggers across the country what they'd wear with them.

Most of the fashionably sensible girls made adorable hiking outfits or biking outfits or picnic outfits. I went straight to the granny hermes, because I'm a little old lady like that. See all of the lovely girls looks here.

Have a mentioned how much I love vintage hermes scarves? I don't normally get mired in the trappings of luxury brand obsession, but have you seen them? Amazing.

Homemade quilts

I've been wanting to make a quilt for about 14 years now, ever since my dad bought me my first antique quilt for Christmas when I was 11.

It's not that I'm a horrible procrastinator or am worried about the sewing, I just love quilts so much that I freeze when trying to decide what to make. A dear jane or a gee's bend? Ack! I want both.

I think I have finally, FINALLY decided on my first quilt. A patchwork of feed sacks that I've collected over the years. It should be quick and painless to put together and I won't have to agonize about picking out colors, which is half the battle.

Funnily enough, most 1930's quilts are made with recycled feed sacks, but with the sweet, floral version of these muslin ones.

If, no, when I finish this quilt, hopefully I'll be emboldened to move to to bigger and better ones. Crazies, yo-yos, postage stamps, oh lord, I'm turning into an old lady with alarming speed.

My dear papa

Happy Fathers Day! I wish I could be home to bring you a cup of tea and sit out on porch and talk plants. I love you Thomas, TJ, Tommy boy, pappy woodchuck.

And in the grand tradition of An Apple a Day, here are 10 reasons why my dad is amazing....

1. He worked as a hippie bread baker in Rochester, NY. We never went without homemade bread as kids. And I'm talking real homemade bread, no bread machine stuff.

2. In the morning he wakes up early, does yoga and meditates, then writes in a journal. Every single day!

3. Born and bred in New York City, he still managed to grow up a Daniel Boone of sorts. Trapping squirrels and reading Walden by age 8.

4. A true civil servant, he writes and reviews grants advocating for the mentally ill for a living. He is one of those people that go to work everyday and changes peoples lives for the better.

5. He makes homemade pickles and beer.

6. He plays the flute and the harmonica. Both with equal aplomb.

7. He crochets amazing berets. And wears them with those old school crocheted ties, with plaid shirts and tweedy jackets.

8. He is master gardener. One year he grew enough tomatoes to feed all of Maryland and he let Micha and I have our own farm stand.

9. He is an avid radio listener. We drove 2+ hours together to and from school and on the way there we'd listen to NPR and on the way home, we'd belt out oldies. Build Me Up Buttercup was a favorite. His only rule in the car? No sleeping!

10. He learned to french braid just so he could do my hair. Our favorite style was crisscrossing Heidi braids with flowers.

This man has taught me how to fish, hike a mountain, canoe alone, cook a turkey, re pot a plant, make a homemade pie crust, train a puppy, build a campfire with no paper (or lighter fluid!), drive a stick shift, tell a good story, tell a funny joke and turn strangers into friends.

Some days I can barely believe my good luck at having such a great papa. And today is one of those days.

Pie baker

This past month I've fallen off the cooking bandwagon. It's hard to adjust from cooking for two people to cooking just for yourself. Cooking for one is so lonely.

Not to mention it creates a big old mess and there's no one to help with the dishes after. This weekend I tried to get back into the swing of things by making my beloved boss Christine a very, very homemade looking birthday pie, with varying degrees of success.

I managed not to burn it, which was nice. But I don't think it was quite the masterpiece Alice Waters had in mind when she wrote "The Art of Simple Food". Hmm.... oh well. At least sweet Kristi took a few a nice pictures of it.

Despite all that, I am still hopelessly devoted to The Art of Simple Food. I know this is hardly a revelation to anyone who follows cookbooks or Alice Waters or farmers markets in the least, but this is the first book to ever steal my heart away and get me really excited about cooking.

I'd be lying if I didn't say that some of the charm of her book comes from the sweet engraved illustrations but the recipes are all gems, too.

The baking section has been hitting home these days, I think it has something to do with this whole thing. I seriously dream in pies and tarts these days, just can't get enough.

I'm dying to make a fruit galette like this one, but next week I'm 99.9% sure strawberry shortcake is going to be on the menu instead. That is if I can prep it without eating all of the strawberries first.

Ice cream bowls

Mrs. Ginny Branch, the mother of our Mrs. Ginny Branch Stelling, is amazing. This woman stole my heart and has me begging to move to the south, so I can learn to be so hospitable and thoughtful when I grow up..

During the wedding, when most mother's of the brides are panicking about this and that, Mamma Branch spent the weekend smiling and prodding us to eat more treats. She also had packed the girls in our hen house vintage picnic baskets full of oatmeal cookies and other assorted goodies (like toothpaste, which we had, of course, all forgotten)!

Knowing that I'm a sucker for white and blue, she found me 3 little vintage these ice cream bowls as a thank you for helping Ginny do some of the planning. They are so perfect and sweet I could cry. In fact, I think I did. Not surprising, given my past history at weddings.

Fountain pens

Some people are crazy about pens. They write with one specific brand of pen or they are on the constant hunt for their next big thing pen.

I am not one of those people.

That being said, it's not totally true. In college I got to using the pilot varsity, the best of the best disposable fountain pens. It is truly a gateway pen that got me hooked on fountain pens for life. Anything to help transform my lowly chicken scratch to slightly less scratchy chicken scratch.

This past month I was gifted one of the best surprises in a long time, a green celluloid fountain pen.... from the 50's? 60's? Who knows, who cares. I've got a new book of (amazing!!) stamps and with my pretty refilled pen I can finally write some thank-you's I've been neglecting. First up? A note to the giver of the pen, of course.


I think I must have been a very good girl in a past life.

I'm officially assisting Sarah from Saipua! Cue screaming and squealing and jumping up and down like a fool.

As if playing with the worlds most beautiful flowers in sleepy Red Hook wasn't enough, she actually ALLOWED me to tag along with her to a Martha Stewart Weddings photo shoot where she was doing the flowers.

Martha freaking Stewart, people.

I feel like I've cheated somehow. I have virtually no experience with flowers and there I was, next to a flower god, on a Martha Stewart set, making boutonnieres for the magazine.

And the offices? Like a beautiful, spotless, crafty hospital.

I spend all day picking up rose petals I'd dropped in the hallway, fearing at any moment Miss Martha herself was going to turn the corner and demand to know who had made such a mess.

Lemonade stand

Who wants to join me in having a lemonade stand this summer?

For inspiration, check out these adorable Williamsburg girls. They seemed to make a killing yesterday, judging by the fact they had already run out of lemonade by the time I got there.

The hand painted portraits of each of the sellers are just so perfect.

This is Matilda, the painter of the sign. She was so funny and sweet, it made me wish I could be 10 years old again just so I could scoop her up as a best friend.

Plus, she is amazingly creative and a precocious business woman. Not a bad combination to have on your side in middle school.

My alter ego

Have you ever wondered what your cartoon alter ego would look like?

The person you'd hope to be if you could just finally grow up and stop eating cereal for dinner for weeks on end? You, but just slighter better, like if you always flossed and finished the books you started reading?

Ladies and Gents, here I am, or here I would be, in my dream world where I never kill plants and always am wearing cute Victorian boots.

This darling drawing was done by the unbelievably talented kindred spirit, Caesareo Ruiz! My dress, my terrariums, too bad I don't actually have that hat!

Oh, how I love this boy and I haven't even met him.

Georgia on my mind

Maybe it was all of the sweet teas (okay, okay they were actually mint juleps) I sipped this weekend, but I was shocked at how slow and easy everything was down south.

In Georgia people are all.... "Want another drink? Yes, ma'am. Help yourself....No one's rushing you..."
This whole sweet, simple, southern thing reminds me of one of my all time favorite reads, The Foxfire Book.

In 1974, a group of Rabun County, Georgia high school students interviewed the elders of their rural Appalachian community and complied an encyclopedia of local lore. Basket weaving, hog dressing, quilting, faith healing, just to name a few....

Not only is the text to DIE for, as the interviews are written phonetically so you can get a grasp of the accents, there's also a ton of practical knowledge and amazing pictures.

This sweet little lady kept on saying how she liked to weave with willar tree branches. Willar tree? Never heard of it....

Oh wait, that's how you'd say willow tree if you were from Appalachia. Got it.

Oh, and the men, they break my heart. Like a real live Loretta Lynn song.

Now I need to find a suitable willar tree in brooklyn so I can practice my basket making. I've got some good local sources for quilting and as for the hog dressing, I think I'll have to wait that one out for the time being.

A big, little moment

I don't even know what to say about Ginny's wedding this weekend. Words are not enough.

Pictures might be able to tell the tale, except that I cried my way through the important parts and forgot to take any. All I can say is, Ginny and Ed, you pulled it off. The best wedding ever.

And not because the ceremony was sob inducing (which is was) or the bride was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen (and she was). It wasn't the invitations, the food, the 1920's flapper accessories. Or even the dolled up guests. It wasn't the baby farm animals or the mint juleps or the old-timey photo Polaroid station. Although all of these things were, in fact, absolutely, divinely perfect.

It had more to do with the fact that when they said "I do" the whole state of Georgia crackled with electricity. It was a moment bigger than the Grand Finale on the Fourth of July. Bigger than New Years in Times Square. Bigger than Halley's Comet.

It a big, big moment in a little field, on a little farm, in Georgia.