spring scenes in the city

I'm a country girl of sorts. But I find beauty in cities. There's something about a metropolitan skyline, juxtaposed with earthly elements, that just heightens your awareness of the natural beauty around us. A pink sunset reflecting off a glass building. An apple blossom canopy over a dingy old fire hydrant. Yes, there is beauty in these things.

Here are some images that I took recently (on my phone no less), one in Burlington, a couple in New York. Perhaps it's the dirty, man-made city stuff framing Mother Nature in such an unexpected way that makes her look even more charming and awe-inspiring.

pretty peas please

When the wind blows before a storm, it's hot and heavy. Basking in heat wind, you want to close your eyes and listen: because the trees are talking back. They moan at the force—they feel tired from the hot July sun, too tired and loose to stand strong—they bend to and fro. They say, "Leave me alooooone, I want to rest... grooooan." And if, with eyes closed, you listen, the leaves sound like a rushing stream, breaking and falling.

Really the best thing to do when everything about you is stirring and rushing—and you're feeling quite unsettled—is to sit and be as still as you possibly can.

Oh what a way to spend the afternoon: to sit out on the porch during such a rushing wind with a glass of white Bordeaux and a basket of peas in your lap. I sat there just now and shelled my peas as quietly as I could. Sometimes I closed my eyes. Soon the sun came out, but I know it won't last for long. Not with such a hot and heavy and foreboding wind...

The peas, we'll have for dinner. They'll go quite nicely with Hannah's roast chicken and corn on the cob. The plump peas are from my parents' garden, where we've been for the last couple of days. As are these beautiful flowers that I plucked just as we headed back home. They're quite pretty, aren't they?

i must get it from my mother

During the last couple of days, I've been having this major urge to do something drastic to my hair. It's getting long and drab and plain and it's all I can do to keep myself from going into the bathroom and chopping it all off into the sink.

Mummy, remember when Shelby used to yell at you for butchering your hair between cuttings? I must get these urges from you...

I'm looking at photos from a couple of years ago and the shortness was so cute and fresh. But sister Hannah, my maid of honor, has forbidden me to cut it until after the wedding. (She's in charge of the hairdo.) That's so far away! Can I at least do some bangs? I think I might, I think I might...

Poopy, please don't be mad.

around the house, it's spring

Here's some more proof—not that we need it—that spring is here:

A beautiful spring sunset


Dinner al fresco on the porch (with Col!)



Apple blossoms

photo of the day: dusk

Last night from our porch:

in the details, nature

I found much inspiration in the English country side. The endless combinations of textures and colors drew my attention as much to close surfaces as it did to the broad landscapes. Once I got all my photos off my camera, I noticed that I had taken many close-up pictures of interesting compositions. I did it somewhat without realizing it, but looking at them now, I find myself drawn to them again and again.

I keep discovering new things about them. Like, for one, a recurring church theme. Also, most of them seem to portray something human or manmade deteriorating—over-run by nature. By age or weather. I love the vibrant green algae on the wooden fences and clapboard siding. It's from, I imagine, the damp weather there. We don't get that kind of wear and tear in Vermont. It's too cold. Or too dry. So for me, it's beautiful. For others, it might be a nuisance.

Here are some of my favorite detail images. I like to think of them as "vignettes." They're evocative. They tell a story. I'll give a little clue. You can make up the rest...


Wheels, in a church yard in Dorchester, Dorset.


Exposed brick from what's left of a building in the deserted village of Tyneham, which was evacuated during World War II.


Lichen on a gravestone in the Tyneham church cemetery, Dorset.


Slate walk-way in a Dorchester church yard.


A window railing in Dorchester.


Beautiful poisonous berries in a hedgerow.


On a public foot path in Whitecombe, Dorset.


Garden shed behind Uncle Richard and Aunt Carrie's house.


A tiled floor at the Sherborne Abbey in Sherborne, Dorset.


Wooden doors at the church in Marston Magna, Somerset, where Mummy was born and where Gaffa and Granny now rest in peace together.

orange roses

Here's what's sitting on my kitchen counter right now. How pretty...

sugar & ice

The irony of yesterday's trip to the sugar house wasn't lost on me. As we were sipping the hot life blood of our maple tree friends—and letting its warm tonic trickle down our throats—the trees were left to withstand an unbearable test of nature in the cold whipping winds of the ice storm. Their sap froze—hard, cold, unmoving. Some of the trees did not make it through the storm. As we drove back to Burlington today, we saw the destruction of what just a little ice can do. For some trees the weight of ice was too much to bear and they broke.

Luckily, though, the damage was not at bad as it could be. I remember the ice storm of 1998, when many of the trees in the north country were completely destroyed—reduced to messy piles of timber under the weight of a week-long icy tirade. Driving from the Northeast Kingdom up to Montreal, Quebec was like venturing through a gray wasteland, with sharply snapped tree stumps the only evidence of life that once was. Many new trees have since grown to replace them.

Thankfully, the two ice storms of the last week were not as bad as that. And the glimmering, ice crusted landscape is actually quite beautiful. Here are some pictures from the drive. And I've also posted pictures from the sugar house.

hot house of inspiration

I just happened upon this lovely little print in my bedroom. It's a handkerchief that Col brought back for me on one of his trips to Asia. I've been meaning to do something with it, so I put it in a pile of things I wanted to do something with, and there it's been gathering dust for months and months. Here, I'm passing it on to you...

What's her story—that porcelain lady—swathed in a riot of colorful silk color and wispy wisteria? She's a mother, perhaps. She is Nature. She is Imagination—awakened from her winter lull—leading us to to the garden of Inspiration. Hot house, more like. It is Vermont in March, after all. Yes, we awake slowly to spring around here. So here. Here's a seedling to add to your hot house—a beautiful image to inspire you today.

a whole pound of chocolate—or just one rich, sumptuous bite?

I couldn't help but be inspired when I read my sister Emma's contribution for Eat Peas this week. She's been thinking about this idea of extreme dieting and extreme obsessions all weekend. It's all very American she says—we do everything in extremes. We work hard, we play hard. We fixate on ideas to the point of being unyielding. That's the American way; that's how we get things done.

With the help of a little book and a big epiphany, Emma found her way back to moderation—and personal enjoyment. I was definitely inspired by her essay. I laughed out loud at parts; I felt a pang of recognition. Her situation resonates with many of us.

So how to stop with the obsessing? I think you'll find her solution both alluring—and doable. Oh, and you must read the book.

owl shadows

I saw the owl today.
He was facing the other way—his back to me.
Silently he peered beyond where my eyes couldn't see.
Higher and higher,
I beckoned him this way, quietly.
I gave up too quickly, perhaps.
He wasn't looking at me,
But I knew he sensed my stare.
For as soon as I circled round
Just a few moments later,
He was gone from his high-in-the-sky perch—
That old gnarly tree in the swamp.
And I immediately felt—
Too little too late—
That I had wasted a perfectly good acquaintance.
My one chance to speak with the owl one on one,
Gone.

now, get your l'Occitane right here in burlngton

Local product junkies will be pleased to know that our favorite make-up Mecca, Mirror Mirror, now carries a comprehensive line of l'Occitane en Provence lotions and potions. Till now I was forced to stock up in New York City or some other far destination. Now we Vermonters can get our fill any day we want. I especially recommend the verbena soap and body lotion. It's divine.

this day

Another inspiring message from my Mum today, sent to my two sisters and me:

Good Morning to my darling girls! What a beautiful day we've been given... blue skies, not completely cloudless, but we can handle a few clouds. So, what are you going to do with today? I was thinking, wouldn't it be great if we girls decided, just for today, to make a commitment to make this day the very best day of our lives. What if, instead of finding fault, (so easy to do!), just for today, we lent a helping hand? What if, just for today, we'd go out and look for beauty, and forgive the ugly? What if, just for today, we decided not to take to heart the unkind word, and try to understand the reason for it, instead, and give an encouraging one back? What if, again, just for the day, we gave, instead of took? What if our thoughts were filled with praise, love, and kindness, even if faced with criticism and hatred? What if, in the midst of anger, we felt in our hearts a peace that beggars description? What if...? I love you guys, and want to thank all of you for bringing such joy into my life. Have a great day!
Lots of love, Mummy xxx

peeping leaves

"So, what do leaf peepers do when they come up here?" Colin asked me this morning.

"They drive really slowly and take pictures. And they usually have white hair," I replied.

"So, do they go to Stowe and look at leaves and then to Warren and look at leaves and then Saint Albans and look at the leaves?"

"Yup, they definitely go to Stowe and the Valley. But they probably don't go to Saint Albans," I said.

"But they also come to Church Street and have lunch and buy knick-knacks," he observed as we headed towards the farmers' market. "Are they leaf peepers or tourists?"

I thought about it for a minute. "Leaf peepers are tourists. They are a specific kind of tourists, because they come here especially to look at the leaves, but they also like to do touristy things like drink apple cider and buy maple syrup." Then I thought, I feel badly for them this year. It's been so dry, the leaves are just turning brown and yellow. It's not the best year for leaf peeping. Kind of drab actually.

But then we turned the corner to City Hall Park and saw the most beautiful tree in mid-change--half green, half brilliant crimson-orange--as though its branches had just got up in flames. I just had to take a picture. And then paint one. Does that make me a leaf peeper?

it's fall, suddenly

If you've never experienced autumn in Vermont, then I can't really tell you in mere words what I felt today. You won't know the apple cider smell, the bright air that seems to dance on tip-toes e'er it sways, the piercing bits of color that sting your gaze. If you do know, then, well, I need not say a word. You just know.

Today was still warm. The sun shone bright and wide upon the fields. But you could feel it ever-so-slightly—the subtle shift in atmosphere. It's fall. And suddenly, tomatoes have lost their glamour. I'm craving apple pie. There—I said it! I felt fall today and it made me glad.

caught in a storm

Yesterday, we got caught in a huge downpour on our drive home from Newport. So bad even that we had to stop on the side of the road three times over the course of an hour, because the rain was so thick we couldn't see a thing. Lightning was flashing, thunder was crashing everywhere.

While we were waiting for the worst of it to pass, I looked out to the clearing sky ahead and saw the bright sun appear through black stormy clouds. It was still pouring.

"There's going to be a rainbow!" I exclaimed and immediately saw it--so close to us, we could almost reach out and grab the pot of gold--right across the street. "There it is!"

We thought that meant the worst was over. But really it was just the beginning. Luckily we made it home in one piece and now have a pretty memory as a result.

posture perfect

I'm practicing my posture. That means that every time I walk from here to there, I try to pretend that I'm Pollyana playing the glad game. I walk as though a hundred winds float at my nape. Well, I try to. That's when I'm upright. Even I concede: sitting straight is a different challenge altogether.

Good posture is a very difficult thing. It takes lots of energy and a good attitude. But isn't it oh-so-important?

Imagine if the whole world of people walked with an ever-upward altitude and an effortless smile like Fred Astaire with his jovial gait. Imagine how we'd look at each other then.

and then the sky emerged

so much in a year

In a couple of days, P.Post will be a year old. Only a year? It's hard to believe that so many thoughts and ramblings could squeeze into such a short period of time. That so much could change. In fact, when I started P.Post just a mere twelve months ago, the original intent was to write a fashion blog. Can you believe it? Looking back, I've barely touched upon the subject. But I won't say fashion is irrelevant to my ultimate cause, which is to see beauty in the world, or to find it if it's missing. To pay homage to this wonderful life by making the effort to live it fully and richly. Beauty manifests itself in many ways, I've found. Friendship, food, community, culture, art, literature, questions, optimism, and yes, even fashion sometimes.

Today, beauty is on my windowsill.

hello girls

I haven't talked about the girls yet, have I? The cows, that is. The lovely ladies grazing alongside Route 7 on the expansive, honey-hued fields of Shelburne and Charlotte. I have a new pleasure on my morning commute and it looks just like a Sabra Field print. I watch these mellow gals as they stroll along enjoying life. It's an inspiration to behold. Some days, when I'm feeling especially exuberant, I'll roll down my windows and yell out to them, "Hello girls!" just as my sister used to do to the Jerseys back at Town Farm Dairy in Simsbury, Connecticut. "Come on, Girls!" she would yell in sing-song intonation. And they would come--the perfect sorority. Dependable. Loving. Sisterly. Motherly. And Giving.