Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Mockingbird Hill Cottage

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It’s Those Decade Markers

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I have never seen so much fleabane on the property as I have this year. This photo was taken in the secret garden. The flowers cover the both sides of the stepping stones and the entire area bordering the back of the house that faces the garden. It’s amazing. I have to do some hop-scotch type moves to navigate the stepping stones. (That’s the rain barrel in the distance.) The petals are a combination of lavender and white. If I observed them more, I might notice if they start out as lavender and then change to white. I’ll try to figure that out.

It’s time to mow again. I’m not sure when we’ll do it, but it looks like we haven’t mowed in weeks when, in fact, we mowed less than a week ago. That’s the way of the world in the spring.

I’m starting to work on the finishing touches on Dove Cottage. I’ve been playing with the same mini pea gravel that I used in the rooftop garden on Hummingbird Cottage. I like it, but as much as I try to glue it down, it’s sort of impossible. And now I’m thinking that I need some stepping stones leading up to the door, with pea gravel around them. This pot of mums arrived yesterday. I have a few other things ordered as well. I need to finish this up and move it elsewhere so I can start in on the Beacon Hill while I’m still “young” enough to do all the work.

A glimpse into my mind right now: I’m headed toward my 70th birthday in November, and like all decade markers for me, it’s a time full of introspection. My posts about being an introvert come from that. I wake up some mornings panicked about how little time I might have left. Or panicked about how much stuff I have and realizing I need to make lists, provide information about all the things I collect (prices, provenance, etc.) in some big notebook. At the same time, I want to keep growing and learning and playing and creating – I don’t want to fall into the trap of thinking that possibilities are disappearing or fading. And all of that is up to me.

Thanks. I needed to share that so I could get some perspective.

Livvy: all set for summer.

Stay safe.

Happy Tuesday.

Wildflowers and Storms

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These tiny little wildflowers (fleabane) are popping up all over the place. I usually let wildflowers live wherever they decide to show themselves. I don’t yank them until they’ve gone to seed. Of course, going to seed means that even more of them will pop up next year. I have SO many forget-me-nots, more than ever. They are in the memorial garden bed, in between the cracks of the funky patio pavers, by the birdbath, next to and in all the flower beds. They sort of drive me buggy and all  of them are the result of a few seeds that were sent to me several years ago, which I planted in the corner of one bed. If I’d only known!

So on one hand, the messiness of them popping up everywhere drives me crazy. But on the other hand, this will never be a neat and pristine property. We’re too close to the woods and to the wildness of nature. We do not have a suburban lawn. And we do not have neat little garden beds. It’s impossible. It doesn’t suit where we live. I also love a slightly overgrown garden, so there’s that, too.

Right now the funky patio is covered with wildflowers. Same for the birdbath area and the memorial garden. If some wildflower is going to get in the way of something I purposely planted, then I’ll pull it. But only then.

Oh, we had some insane storms over the past two days. One on Sunday and two yesterday. The craziest was late in the day yesterday and I was alone here at the time. Don had run into the neighboring town to get his hair trimmed. While he was gone, the storm rolled- ‘roared’ would be a better word – in. The rain was coming in EVERY window in the house. When the storm hit, I heard a big bang and I wondered if a transformer had been hit. The winds were frighteningly strong, and the thunder and lightning was nonstop. We briefly lost power again, but it came back on almost immediately. The sump pump was on overdrive. I could hear the sirens of emergency vehicles.

Needless to say I was nervous, but all is well. Our trees are intact. The house is safe. I don’t think we had any hail, but I know neighboring communities did. It’s much cooler today and the oppressive humidity has left. The front lawn needs mowing but it’s still too wet, so we’ll wait until tomorrow.

I made a shelf for the interior of the mini fridge. As I said on IG, the egg nog is past its expiration date, and the leftovers in that container are probably funky. Time for a shopping trip.

Stay safe.

Happy Tuesday.

 

A Miniaturist’s Daughter

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I sowed seeds yesterday, so that’s done. But then – in typical Claudia fashion – I walked over to the overgrown Annabelle hydrangea/spirea area on the far side of the porch. I stood there, trying to figure out how I could get in there and cut back some of the hydrangea as well as the dead parts of the spirea. Unless I tackled some of the spirea I wouldn’t be able to get to the hydrangea. A note about the hydrangea – there are some new shoots coming out of the ground. Not a whole lot, but there are some signs of life. A few of the stalks have some leaves, but the rest aren’t showing any signs of buds. Some are obviously dead. So I’m trying to cut back the obvious problem areas, while waiting to see what happens with the rest.

It’s a mess. Anyway, long story short, I ended up being very sore and tired, plus my congestion/allergy levels are off the charts. So today is a day of rest, except for going to the storage unit to get our window a/c unit for the bedroom. It’s very warm here and last night was uncomfortable to say the least.

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Okay. On to my thoughts for today.

If you didn’t already know me and you had somehow just discovered this blog, you would immediately come to the conclusion that I love miniatures and dollhouses and tiny things. Right?

I have seven dollhouses in various stages of progression.

Sometimes I even dare to call myself a miniaturist.

This morning I had a smack-myself-on-the-forehead moment: my dad was also a miniaturist. Way before I showed any fascination for the tiny, my dad was making miniature worlds. But his were even more tiny than mine. He constructed elaborate towns and miles of tracks and tiny buildings. He was a model railroader.

He made this car. Thankfully, and I don’t even remember when or how, I somehow came into possession of it. I assume my dad gave it to me.

I grew up with sounds of model trains running on the tracks in our basement. The earliest were Lionel trains, which were much larger than the HO scale shown above. I’m pretty sure one of the setups was on our old ping pong table. Eventually he moved to the smaller scale and constructed winding tracks, signal lights, streetlights, little houses, train stations. He landscaped everything. I remember going to the Hobby shop with him. I can still hear the sound of the train whistles.

It was an escape for him – a world he could construct where there were none of the pressures that made real life challenging and stressful and painful. It was a world he could control. (Exactly how I feel about my miniature world, as well.)

He was quite talented, as you know – a true artist. And I often forget that his artistic talents extended to his model trains. Maybe because they were just there, a part of our everyday life.

When my parents moved up to northern Michigan, my dad went down to their much larger basement and built his most elaborate setup, one that meandered through more than a few rooms. It was amazing. I’m so grateful that Don got to see it. Just a couple of years after we met, we flew to Michigan to celebrate my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. As with all guests, Don was escorted to the basement and he got to see that amazing and magical little world.

It’s all gone now, except for this train car. Dad sold everything when my parents moved to Florida. I know that was very hard for him. Hard to let go of the world he had created. But he had tremors in his hands and working with things that were that tiny became frustrating and there was no room in their condo for model trains.

You know, I must have mentioned dollhouses to him because I started working on Hummingbird Cottage several years before he passed away. But to be honest with you, I’m not sure if I did. I wish I could talk about it all with him now. I appreciated my dad’s hard work on his model trains, but I don’t think I really understood it in the way I do now. I don’t think I really got the level of detail and commitment that went into it. He could do anything; he could light buildings, he could figure out how to wire something, he just knew. As I stand in front of the Beacon Hill, which is already partially wired, and try to figure out this whole electrifying thing, my eyes glaze over. And it stops me from starting in on the house. But if my dad was here, he could figure it all out. Dad was always the guy who could figure things out.

I miss him. I’m sure proud to be a miniaturist’s daughter. I hope that he somehow knows that I’m carrying on that tradition.

Stay safe.

Happy Friday.

Lambs Like to Party

Lambs Like to Party

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