Orange you glad

I'm only saying this cause we're friends, but I've been avoiding you. Straight up seeing you coming and crossing the street. Truth is, two weeks ago my cat died and I didn't want to talk about it. Still don't. But it felt awful to talk about anything else, so I pulled out my proverbial cellphone to make a pretend phone call whenever I saw you coming round the corner.

Let's instead think back to July, back to when summer was never gonna end. I bought these two buckets of flowers at the flower market in New York and brought them up to New Hampshire, my one big birthday present to myself. I went flower crazy and as I made this bouquet, Frankie held the camera reins.

Orange doesn't come easily for me. It's work. I mean, I love a peach or an apricot, a rust or a pumpkin pie- but straight orange has always proven the red headed stepchild of the spectrum. Not until the New England daylilies bloomed this year did I even start to warm to it. But now we're making peace, one lily and rose and calla at a time.

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Thank you

Thank you all so much for your warm reception to my new website! I'm really deeply touched by your emails and comments, I wish I could launch a new site every week just to read them. It makes my heart swell thinking about it, I'm so beyond grateful to have found a circle of inspiration in all of you.

While I'm home in Brooklyn, I still have a whole summer's worth of New Hampshire photos for you. The little arrangement in the windowsill was made from mostly from flowers from the small town farmer's market. The grower was selling them in bunches for less then a latte and I dug deep in the bottom of my bag to make sure I spent every penny I could. The zinnas are beyond special, an old fashioned variety called Raggedy Anne with long fringey, folded petals. Let's all remember this variety when it comes time to plant next spring? Starting zinnias from seed is nearly 100% foolproof, the easiest of easy for beginners, and they last ages in a vase. They are summer wrapped up in a single stem, I think.

Do you remember my parent's kittens Ella and Calla? They are full grown ladies now, but it doesn't diminish their calico cuteness. My mom drove the kitties the 10 hour trip to Elmwood in a cat carrier and only a single mew was heard the whole time. The cats had as good a time on vacation as we all did. This little lady caught a bat and deposited him on the bedroom floor. I can only laugh over how excited she must have been- the great huntress thinking she caught the only mouse ever born with wings.

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Home for good

I'm very sorry to say that Elmwood season is over for the summer. Brooklyn is home again and I must admit I've shed a few tears over it. The upside is now I get to relive it all by going through my photos (in the comfort of my local coffee shop's air conditioning). This bouquet is from a project that's been in the works for almost 10 months, it's going to be done next week and I'm bursting with excitement to show you. Playing with flowers at the house, surrounded by my dearest friends and family, really overwhelms me with gratitude. My honest-to-god happy place.

Getting to live out a New Hampshire daydream for a month makes city streets a bitter pill to swallow, but for now I'm trying to look at New York with fresh eyes. Those streets- along with the sounds of ice cream trucks and honking horns, rainy mornings that make the pavement steam, my thirsty houseplants and timid kitties- those are all home to me and it's nice to see them again.

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Elmwood in July

After three weeks away from Brooklyn and reliable internet, I'm home again if only for a hot minute. The city is scorching and I'm rethinking my stance on AC, helped along by the fact that I can't sleep and am sticking to everything I touch. 

I had a birthday early in the month, but by now the statute of limitations has passed to get too excited over it. I ate an extra large blueberry pancake the day of, poked around some antique stores and quietly grew into an old lady, grey hairs and all. There were flowers, photos and family, too.

This has been a sleepy summer so far. I've watched the garden go from foxgloves, mock orange, roses and japanese dogwood to crabapples, poppies, zinnias and hydrangea, a very rare treat for a city girl. There was a day last week when I gathered blueberries, raspberries and black raspberries in one bowl and had telltale stained fingers. Yesterday I could do nothing but lay in bed with the fan on high. I wilt in the heat, but this wilting is what I want all winter long.

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View from the middle

I went up to my roof to get to thinking a few nights ago and I discovered my favorite places have more in common than I thought. A relief, really, to bend the laws of time and space to go somewhere your heart wants to be.

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City mouse

New York is pretty much perfect right now. The weather is cool and the roses are still kicking. The museums were all free last night and Shakespeare in the Park has already started. I took a windows-down cab ride along 5th avenue and the boy I was with let me sit parkside so I could enjoy the view. I truly and honestly love my city, the city to end all cities, but I just can't for the life of me figure out if I'm a city girl masquerading as a country mouse or vise versa. Or worse, both.

This conundrum has been rattling around in my brain for 9 years now and it's painfully obvious. I can't remember that last time I shared anything remotely city (maybe my trip to the Met?), a pretty funny omission since I live in the citiest of all cities around. One of my looming summer goals is to really try to love New York not just in a theoretical way. Love it through experiencing it, of course, and also love it by getting the hell out of it as much as possible.

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Times like now

Sometimes I have a little story I'm dying to tell you but don't have quite the right photos to go along with it. Other times I have some pretty little photos I want you to see but nothing quite right to say along side them. Most of the time, even if I have both a nice story and some photos for you, the only way I can even write anything is to pretend like you're not reading this at all. Times like this, times like now, I tuck my head down and soldier on.

I was walking to the old train tracks along the border of Elmwood's property when I saw this truck parked. A glorious green little 70s baby, historic plates and a collection of turkey feathers gathered along the dash. Unlocked, windows down. Pretty much perfect.

I walked along the tracks until I reached the trestle and saw a pair of boys fishing down off the path. I blindly took some photos of the pond, just to have purpose for being there. One boy saw me and made his way up to say hello. We chatted for just a moment, something about the number of bugs and how the day's forecast had been wrong, no rain but just humid haze. He was a baby, but baby handsome, too, and in a way that was completely unaware of how many boys in Brooklyn romanticize a life like that. I turned and walked back along the tracks, happy to know that other people put turkey feathers along their dash, too.

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The pink room

When I was a little girl, I would sleep in the pink room at Elmwood. It's not actually pink, but white with 1940s wallpaper that has trailing pink and white morning glories. There are two matching twin beds, a truly unfortunate pink carpet and some lace curtains that would melt into a pile of plastic if ignited. 

That's one of my favorite things about Elmwood. It's a beautiful place, so gorgeous you could and will weep when I finally invite you there in real life, but it isn't painfully art directed. There are some ugly curtains. Moldy wallpaper. The world's most miserable mattresses. A FUTON FROM THE 1990s. It's a real place, not perfect. And everyone who knows what's what knows that makes it all the more charming.

When I was up last weekend, the flowers in the garden made my knees buckle. There has been a lot of talk about lilac season being a letdown this year but our trees were basically rioting. Apple blossoms, too. Plus some bleeding heart from the front yard, the tiniest snipping I could take.

Going into the garden and making a little bouquet from what's fresh and free will lots of times beat overworked, over-thought, overly pricey flowers in my book. A humble bouquet, one that still has beetles and bees, cuts right to the heart of why people love flowers.

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