Goodbye summer

I'm pretty sure I can feel summer leaving, not temperature wise (lord no) but the long days seem to be ebbing away nonetheless. It's bittersweet, because things have shifted a lot in the past few weeks and this summer marks the end of a big phase of life for me. Should I even go as far as to say the end of the kid phase?

No. I refuse to ever leave the kid phase.

My pops found an old metal tripod (that he said once belonged to my high school boyfriend?? Eric Nowels- if you ever google yourself and see this, please confirm??) in the attic and brought it to me in New Hampshire. This shot was it's inaugural photo- the Merrick clan before leaving Elmwood for the summer. I still hadn't found the screw that kept the camera from tilting down, so the top of my head is artfully and unpurposefully cropped.

Whenever I look back on this summer, or whenever I start to feel unsure about the coming months, it's nice to remember how it feels to be just plain and simple happy.

I love you both

One of my top most favorite humans, bloggers and all around wonderful girls (the highly respected and adored *GINNY BRANCH STELLING*) opened a little vintage etsy shop called I love you both yesterday. I died of happiness. And then that happiness turned to sadness.

Because people, at the start of yesterday morning, I had -38 cents in my checking account. NEGATIVE 38 CENTS. Do you know how annoying it is to pay an overdraft fee for 38 cents? Thought so.

Ginny is perhaps the only person alive who can give me a run for my money in the collecting department. She buys with her whole heart and soul and her taste is a perfect blend of sweetness, simplicity and utility.

Anyway, the short end of the story is I found a check I had squirreled away (1st check from Hearst for freelancing!) and deposited that sucker quicker than you can say ginnyiwanteverythinginyourshop. I, however, refrained and snuck away with the hand thrown terra cotta pot above.

If you know what is good for you, you will go to her shop and find something to love. And after that you will go and look at this photo of us at her wedding, if for no other reason than we look cute.

Thank you.

The good name of the Emersons

In 1922 1920, this photo was taken of my grandfather William surrounded by his father, grandfather and great grandfather. Today would have been his 90th birthday.

I hate to get all broken record on you, but this man was something else. Someone incandescent with wisdom and compassion. I miss him more and more each year.

My great grandfather used to tell my Grandpa Bill to Remember the good name of the Emersons as he found his way in the world. I hope he'd be pleased to know that almost a 100 years later, his great granddaughter is doing her best to remember the good name as she stumbles and soars, too.

Blueberry baking

Within the course of a week or two after blueberry picking I made a pie, scones, pancakes, a tart and cobbler. I rarely have time to bake at home, so I think I over saturated my family when we were at Elmwood. (Admittedly I saved the tart and cobbler baking for Brooklyn, sometimes one does not want to share these things, even with those you love.)

Wild blueberry pie with homemade whipped cream (not too sweet). I think I could sustain myself on this and nothing more. Starting tomorrow, I will try.

Berry picking

Elmwood has some wonderful old growth wild blueberry bushes along the water's edge. We discovered a whole new hidden section of them this year that we had never picked from before. Hours were spent at sunset picking with my sister and we stayed out until our bowls and baskets were too heavy to carry.

Micha and I debated about the technique bears must use to eat blueberries and we laughed at the absolute perfection of evening. The sun was filtering through the trees and the lake was still and we were picking blueberries together. It was really nice to spend time with her again.

Flower gathering

This summer at Elmwood, I almost lost interest in cutting flowers from the garden. I normally march, clippers in hand, through the fields within my first hour of arriving. This year I abstained from clippers for almost a week. I think I needed a vacation from flowers, if you can imagine.

The rigors florist-ing for a living are surprisingly intense. It's physically demanding, emotionally exhausting, stressful and sweaty. Before I started working at Saipua, I assumed flower shop life meant wearing vintage dresses and thoughtfully placing flowers in vases. No ma'am.

It's more like schlepping huge bales of tree branches, hernia inducing glass vases filled with water and covered in condensation, rose thorns and sharp clippers, long days and early, early mornings. Weekend after weekend, from April till October. That is to say, it isn't for the faint of heart.

(Plus gorgeous flowers, an awesome and funny boss, darling assistants, free coffee whenever I want, lots of romantic dudes poking around and hello, the opportunity to create something with my own two hands that brings people undiluted happiness, day after day after day....)

So basically, the sore feet are easily outweighed a million to one. *see, ahem, footnote.

A few days before I had to go back to the city I got my flower mojo back. I just walked around in a trance of New Hampshire happiness, arms full of weeds and flowers, for hours. I filled a house's worth of mason jars and jugs and pitchers, gathered blousy bouquets and whipped up flower crowns with wild clematis vines and garden roses. I went flower crazy and it felt so good.

*That being said, do not attempt to break in clogs during a 13 hour day of arranging. You will not be able to walk without pain for the rest of your natural life.