Pansies. A pansy print: "A String of Pansies" by Paul de Longpre.
This is pretty much the print that started it all with pansies. It’s a half-yard-long that my sister bought at an auction several years ago. I wrote about it once, and how it came to be mine, here.
P could also be for pansies on pitchers and pansies on pots, pansies on cups and saucers.
P could be for pictures in a pot with pansies. For this post, P is for pansies… on postcards, a calendar, a tile, another special print.
I have lived most of my life in America’s Dairyland. I can get you to a farm in almost any direction from my house in about five minutes. Last week, from our back yard and with the wind "just right," we could detect "fertilizer" being spread on a farm somewhere — it smelled like it was right next door! There’s even a small, working farm right across the road from where I work — a hold-out from encroaching development — and I often see cows in a little pasture there.
I’ve never lived on a farm. My Grandma B grew up on a farm — her dad gave up the railroad business when she was three and moved his young family from Iowa to a farm in central Wisconsin. Grandpa B never lived on a farm, either, but his dad sure did. Grandma K was also raised on a central Wisconsin farm; she and Grandpa even tried their hand at farming for a very short time after they were married.
The only "close" relation I knew who actually lived on a farm was Grandma K’s youngest sister and her husband — Great Uncle Al & Aunt Loretta. Loretta was much younger than Grandma — young enough to be the flower girl at Grandma’s wedding — so some of her kids are not much older than me, and some are even younger. It was always a special treat when we’d stop by Al & Loretta’s farm on our way home from visiting my mom’s sisters. As a little girl, I wasn’t interested in outbuildings, but I did learn all about electric fences, bulls, barn kitties, and cow pies. Once you step in a fresh cow pie, you’ll never do it again.
It’s a weird word, too — outbuildings. I was introduced to "outbuildings" (the noun) years ago when I set type (that’s lingo — it was actually done by computer, at a keyboard) for real estate and farm auction ads for the paper. It was only after learning what they were called that I actually began to notice outbuildings, even though I’d seen them almost every day of my life. They’re everywhere! Some farms have only a few, some have a half-dozen or more. Sometimes they’re all spread out or neatly arranged, other times they’re willy-nilly or little tacked-in additions to each other. Some are big, some are small, some are well cared for, others quite neglected or downright dilapidated. They are machine sheds, pump houses, summer kitchens, outhouses, chicken coops and pig pens and stables. I suppose it’s a fascination with romantic country living, an appreciation for history and architecture — and curiosity about function — that keeps me looking.
Holly-HOOEY! Dang, we’ve already done H! My hydrangeas are doing so nicely this year, too!
I think I was ripped off in the hollyhock department last year, but am very pleased with this year’s display. I know they’re biennial… I need to synchronize so I have a good year every year, you know?
So far, I’ve got a pale pink and a white blooming, and this one (coming up right in the middle of some other plant) looks promising, a darker pink. Mom complained that she’s got nothing but the very, very dark ones blooming this year and she doesn’t like it. I just bought a packet of seeds in that color because I do! Go figure.
Who’d have guessed that nighties would get such a reaction?! It’s not like I was airin’ my dirty laundry!!
Have I mentioned lately how much I love the ABC-Along? The minute Anne suggested it, I was in. I might be tardy with a post on occasion, and I might put up a little complaint about how the difficulty of a particular letter, but I have taken the ABCs to heart this year and, truly, try to make each post/letter a reflection of me. Hence, nightgowns — on the clothesline, no less. When it finally occurred to me that nightgown was going to be my N, I was giddy with excitement — how to shoot, when, where… It was a labor of love to gather them all together from drawers, baskets and hooks, haul them all downstairs, pin each one on the line… I renewed acquaintance with some old forgotten ones, some that need mending, some that I just can’t part with (even if they might not fit at the moment). I think I overlooked only one altogether. My delight in the project even allowed me to momentarily overcome my fear of heights as I crawled out of the sleeping porch window onto the back porch roof in order to take the “aerial” shots. And then, because I was already there — and I could (it might have been the rarefied air) — I walked around to the other end of the porch and took a couple of pictures of the garden from there — it’s a walk-out basement on that side, so another story up (or down, depending on whether you’re a cup half-full or -empty type of person), but I did it! Believe me, I never got too close to the edge and was even down on hands and knees at times. I get so lightheaded and woozy even at the thought of being up high sometimes that I feel like I’ll just lose all function and control and just collapse. Thankfully, not the case that day — way back in May! I’ve been so excited, waiting patiently for N’s time to come. I’m so pleased. The comments (Ann, yours is going to tickle my funny bone for a long time to come!) are priceless. Thanks for taking the time to share them with me.
Above, a preview of what’s on tap tomorrow… KNITTING!
Almost all of them are cotton. Some are new and some are very, very old. I was wearing the one pictured at left while pregnant with Katie. That’s 21 years ago — I don’t know what that translates to in nightgown years. It’s a soft, old faithful, and I still wear it.
Apparently, I favor long and white, buttons and ruffles. There are a few florals, some blue, a shocking pink! Most of them are missing the tags because I have an annoyance with those irritating things that seems to only get worse. Many of the sleeves are whacked off because I can’t stand anything too tight around my wrists. If it was easily accomplished, I simply removed the elastic, but most of the time, it required a whack job to make the thing wearable.
I often spend a good deal of my day off or a Sunday morning in my nightgown. Having no neighbors on the east side, none in back, and mostly hidden from view in the front, I can have coffee on the patio in my nightie or hang out the wash or pull weeds or water my tomatoes.
I suffer comparison to pioneer prairie girls gladly. ; )
The youngest of my three girls and the last one alphabetically. Her great grandpa was one of the first to coax a smile from her — he always had a way with the babies! I always joke that the Pan statue in the back garden is my only son — he always played nice with Maddy, though didn’t want to share the pipes so much. Once, Maddy and one of the neighbor boys pulled off those plastic "pipes" and tossed them in the ravine, never to be found. DH fashioned some gorgeous copper pipes to replace them and they’re prettier than the originals — sometimes the kids’ shenanigans results in good. ; ) She’s getting measured at the door frame, just before it was removed for a kitchen expansion; and outfitted in Lion King gear for her first day of preschool. I swear, we kept the Disney store in business for years — she’s wearing a Belle shirt (possibly an Ali hand-me-down) in BOTH of the bottom left photos — it was right after my kids’ fashion sensibilities changed with adolescence that the store at our mall closed. I swear. The final photo is one she recently took of herself.
You’ll notice that my first two girls have undeniably red hair and that Maddy’s is decidedly different. It’s exactly as mine was, actually… nearly pure white as a toddler after starting out quite dark (though Mom really can’t remember whether mine was dark at first), getting a little darker each winter as she got older, but lightening up again in the sun every summer. Mom used to squeeze lemon juice into my hair to keep it light; I remember an egg treatment, mayonnaise, and beer over the years, too, all for different reasons, I’m sure. Anyway, Maddy has been experimenting with color in her hair for the past year or two and she’s currently brunette. I’ve always been okay with that… I’d rather they experiment with hair dye — and they often show some originality, doing more than just applying it whole-head — than drugs or other stuff. Dye on, darlin’.
