Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Rain, rain and more rain! It’s dreadfully dreary here today, but I must note that it’s getting greener and greener out here. And when it’s darkish and rainy, the green is more intense. More and more trees are leafing out.

And I just saw one of the wrens going inside the birdhouse.

A little porch update: more green in the background, some pots filled with flowers, and you can see the stone doves on the bench. I haven’t been able to sit out there very much. Soon.

We did some work outside yesterday, putting up the new chicken wire for the chicken wire fence garden. I also did a lot of pruning around the property (there’s so much more to do) and I’m starting to cut back the big spirea bush that borders the Annabelle hydrangea on the far side of the porch – right next to the glider. Both bushes look as if they had some damage over the winter, especially the spirea. It was almost flat on the ground in some places, which makes me think that it was flattened by snow for too long a time. That’s the first time that’s ever happened. So I’m cutting large portions of it back. It was overgrown anyway. And then I’ll try to find a way to make it look more attractive there. Mulch will be added to the bare ground. Maybe another small bush? I’ll have to see what seems indicated.

Today is too wet and rainy to do anything outside. Tomorrow will be better. The grass is really long – it grows so quickly at this time of year – and it’s too wet to mow. So that will have to wait until tomorrow or Friday.

I have to say it’s so nice to finally see green everywhere!

I’ve been gathering some supplies to start in on something I’ve been thinking about for a long time: oil painting. When an idea keeps haunting me, I know it’s time to act. Now, I have always thought of myself as the one family member that didn’t get that kind of artistic talent. (I know, I have many other talents, and I’m grateful.) My dad was an oil painter and a strong memory of my childhood is my dad standing at his easel in the middle of the living room. We lived in a very small house, so there was not room for a den or a studio space, so Dad’s studio was the living room. He was quite talented. I don’t remember what inspired him to paint, though he always sketched a bit. He had a natural talent. The smell of oil paints is a big part of my childhood sense memory. It’s comforting. I’ve been following along with several people on IG who paint in oils and many of them started painting during lockdown. I now realize there’s no right or wrong way to do it, so I’ve purchased a few tubes of paint and some canvas panels and some brushes. A great help: the tutorials posted by Miss Mustard Seed on her blog. Now, I just have to throw caution to the wind and start.

When my father died, Meredith and I cleaned out my parents’ condo. I know my father’s wooden paint box was there, but I have no idea what happened to it. I think we threw it out and now, of course, I could just kick myself for doing that. It would be so lovely to have it.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let’s see if this new thing sticks.

Stay safe.

Happy Wednesday.