After years of living in some great Seattle neighborhoods, I left my teeny-tiny house in Seattle (a real-life version of the cottage I drew as a kid, complete with pointy-tip tulips of unnatural colors and spiral smoke escaping the chimney). I moved to the country, to a schedule of tides and ferries, to five acres of possibilities and a community of kind people.
I found a gem of a house, just needing someone to provide the polish. (photo circa 1900)
Locally, the farmhouse is known as the Peach Palace, a moniker not so much based on the fruit in the orchard or the size of the house, as much as on the paint hue that covers its frame. (One pays a price for the savings found in another person’s paint mixing mistake.) Actually the color has grown on me, and no matter what the hue, I am smitten with my home, its history and welcoming presence.
In the orchard, my newly planted trees bend with the promise of future bounty. For now, they’re just getting settled. I grow apples, peaches, pears, persimmons, quince, berries, figs and cherries, mainly because I love to eat apples, peaches, pears, persimmons, quince, berries, figs and cherries.
On a personal note, I’m someone who embraces the beauty of the bulldog…
Succumbs to the power of pie…
Contends that summer is never long enough…
Shares his hammock…
And sofa with bossy (and weighty) interlopers,
Plays with his food (reprising my role as Cyrano de Raspbergerac)
And finds that any time his feet are walking in tall clover, it’s a good day.
If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me here. [contact_form]
