All Things Nice . . .

 

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I like old houses that are weather stained,

Whose doorstep sags beneath the weight of the years,

Old walls that echo back with softened tone,

The laughter that we knew, the sound of tears.

Old wooden beds that glow with luster dim,

Old rooms where birth and death have often trod,

Old stairways echoing back the tired feet,

Like rain that beats against the quiet sod.

Old treasured quilts with tiny stiches made,

Bits of gay dresses that our mothers had,

Old pictures in an album gray and dim

A little blue-eyed boy, that once was Dad.

Old roomy kitchens steeped in fragrant food,

The shining stove its welcome gracious cheer, 

Old cellars made of stone, with crib and bin,

Storing with pride the harvest of the year.

Old parlors hushed and clean, stiff chairs arrayed,

In stately rows beside the shining wall,

A feather wreath, a gaudy painted fan,

The stilted splendor of a Chinese Doll.

Old homes what breathe of peace and quiet hours,

That we in happy dreams may see again,

And taste the perfume of her glowing flowers,

Dim as forget-me-nots in summer rain.

~Edna Jacques, To An Old Farm House

Beside Still Waters, 1952

I, too, love old farm houses.  This poem reminded me of my first husband's family home.  It was a big old farmhouse, I would say 19th century. It lay at the foot of the North Mountain, along a winding back road. There was a tire swing and a hammock on the veranda. It was beautiful to me. I had grown up always living in Military housing which was very tiny and there were no porches or tire swings.

The front door of this house lay between two parlors.  The visitor's parlor and the everyday family parlor.  Nobody used the front door.  Everyone went to the side, which brought you into a mud room where you could take off your shoes and hang up your coat. The back stairs also came down into this room. 

 

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The door from the mud room led into a large eat-in kitchen with a woodburning/electric stove.  There was a large round maple table at the center of the room that did for most meals, and a rocking chair in the corner next to the window where you could sit and think, or talk on the telephone, keeping an eye on the farmyard while you did.  This room was the hub of the home . . .  as most kitchens are. It was large, much larger than what I was used to. The whole downstairs of my family home would have almost fit into this kitchen. So many delicious meals were prepared and eaten in this room. My mother-in-law was a fabulous cook, and I learned quite a bit from her.  She was not averse to getting her stove dirty like my own mother was.  Her food was simple and hearty and delicious. I loved to go there for supper. I loved going there any time . . . I always felt welcome.

My sister had a boyfriend who lived just down the road from this house, in another old farmhouse. He came from a Dutch family. 

We were both intrigued by the country way of life it seems . . .  and country boys with their country ways.

 

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I have been throwing my front door open mornings as of late. It lets in the fresh air and keeps things cool. It is quite cool this morning however, so I haven't been able to keep it open for long. It is closed now. I had it open just long enough to hear more wild geese fly overhead, and the sound of the guinea hens headed across the road, the chittering of the birds sitting on the power lines that run along the road as they were making their plans for the day ahead.

The sun is shining but the warmth of it hasn't quite hit the street yet. It is still in semi-shadow but the rooftops across the way are beginning to glow in an early morning light that warms the heart.

They have allowed people to go back to all of the evacuated areas now. Many are going home to nothing. They will need to rebuild.  Such a heartache. What a summer it has been, but people have rallied around and helped each other.  There is such a beautiful spirit in this valley when people fall upon hard times. Everyone digs in and does what they can to ease the loss of others and to help out.  That is the way of valley folk and has been for years and years. I hope that it never changes.

 

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Where we live and how we live and what we do there . . . how we embrace the space we are given, this makes the difference between having a "home" versus having a "Welcome Home".  Homer's Iliad might be about war, but the far greater Odessey is about men who want nothing more than to get back to their family, homes and vineyards. All that Dorothy wanted throughout her whole adventure in Oz was nothing more than to return home to Auntie Em and the farm. Even Mole, in the Wind and the Willows, enticed to set off on an adventure begins to long for "that little curtained world" left behind.

I wager it is the same for each of us. Buried deep within our hearts is the desire to be at "home." That welcoming space that we create for ourselves and for others. 

More than just a loaf of bread baking . . .  however enticing the smell of it baking may be, a home is that place where we feel most at peace, comfortable, embraced and loved. A place that is gracious and comforting to those within its walls. A place of harmony and safety.

I have spent the last almost five years working on my own home.  To make it a place where people can feel welcomed and at peace. I hope that all will feel a measure of safety within its walls . . . a place of refuge.

The "shelter" in the food, clothing and shelter equation means much more than mere protection from wind and rain, or a place to stow one's belongings. It also means shelter from the stresses of the world, a little oasis of peace and comfort where we can relax and pursue our own interests and share time with those that we love.

I hope that is how people feel when they come to visit me.

 

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Households that preserve the do-it-for-ourselves traditions seem to be happier, livelier and more interesting places to be. This doesn't mean that you need to spin your own wool or make your own furniture. I have noticed that the channels I enjoy watching most on YouTube are the ones which are based on the arts of making your own pizzas, growing simple vegetables such as radishes or salad leaves, or taking on do-it-yourself projects.  Simple things that make me think that they are things that I could also do. Their lives seem rich and varied. Not hoity toity.  Humble and full of simple pleasures such as making jam, or a simple supper for the ones they love.  Lives filled with self-reliance.

Cooking, crafting, cleaning . . .  humble household arts that bring joy to the soul. Reading good books also works and I love to hear recommendations, and what others think, what brings joy into other people's lives. I find it all very fascinating, but . . .  it is not enough to merely watch other people live their lives. We need to also live our own.  I get a great deal of joy and pleasure from cooking a simple meal for myself or to share, or crocheting a blanket, painting a picture or sewing something useful.

 

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A welcome home is not one which eradicates all signs of life. It is not clinical or cold. It is full of furniture which begs you to sit on it and reflects the personalities and interests of the people who live within its walls. It conveys a sense of life going on in all of its bustling, varied, and not necessarily predictable ways.  It is not a boring place to be. It is filled with pockets of interest and things which spark joy in all who are lucky enough to be within its rooms. Not cluttered, but not cold or antiseptic. Too perfect is just that . . .  too perfect. 

I have tried to create little pockets of interest in my home. Small vignettes of comfort. I am a Nick knacky person . . . who sits on the verge of clutter. Clutter is something which I am always working on eradicating. this can be hard to do in a smaller home.  To keep it from being cluttered. I wager it is something I will always be working on, and that's completely okay.  I have filled my home with things which bring me peace and joy. And I hope which bring peace and joy to those who come to visit as well.  Not that I get many visitors. Mostly just family, and that's completely okay as well.

 

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I want to try to get some sewing done today. We will see how that goes. I also want to vacuum, dust, wash the floors, and bake a cake of some sort. Just a simple cake. I was thinking as I got into bed last night that I would like some cake. Homemade is always better than shop bought. Baking is something which I have always loved doing, although I would have always considered my sister to be a much better baker than I am. 

In an over-scheduled world, baking is a great stress reliever. Or at least it is for me. It reminds me of what food is all about -- the care that goes into its preparation, the beautiful alchemy of the ingredients, the warming aroma of your efforts wafting from the oven, things which have comforted mankind for thousands of years. Nothing signals "home" as clearly as the scent of something baking or the sight of an apple pie cooling on the countertop. 

Baking is something that I do well and that I can share with others.  Baking things for yourself is also much healthier than buying readymade bakes. You control what goes into them. A slice of homemade bread takes longer to eat, tastes a lot better and is much more satisfying than its shop bought counterpart.

My only problem comes when trying to decide what it is that I want to bake.  Today I want cake. Weekends and cakes just go together like peas and carrots. So, a cake it shall be. Now all I have to do is to decide on which cake I want to bake.   Therein lies my dilemma. There are so many delicious ones to choose from!

And with that I will leave you with a thought for the day  . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*There is no failure

except in no longer trying.

~Elbert Hubbard  ° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛  

In The English Kitchen today . . . Spiced Plum Cake.  I have spent the last few days updating and rewriting some of my older posts. This was one of them.  I thought it to be quite seasonal, and it was a cake that I felt people needed to be reminded of.  It's delicious. Warm and comforting, nicely spiced and loaded with sweet/tart pockets of jammy fresh plums.

I hope that you have a lovely weekend. May it be filled with pockets of joy and the comfort of those you love most in this world. Whatever you get up to, don't forget!

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⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿

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And I do too!    

   

haha, I wrote this and then forgot to press publish. Duh!