52 Steps To Yesteryear - Week 5, Grow Hydrangeas

Hydrangea Bowl - Pinterest

I need a little blue. In every room and around every bend in the garden.  

After almost twenty years, my grandmother's pride and joy garden became mine, when she went to a far better paradise, and I took up where she left off. During the ten years I was blessed to tend it, it became the learning ground for a hobby I still love. Much of what I've planted in the small garden around Crabapple House, originally started off as slips from my granny's garden. 

My favourites lined the driveway. Blowsy hydrangeas almost reached the top of the fence in true hydrangea blue. And I've never loved a flower more. The first photo of my Beloved and I as a couple was taken along that row of show-offy blues. Cuttings made it to my mother's garden and spilled from there to my own. Some less blue than I'd hoped, as our soil tends to tint hydrangea petals pink and purple. 

Hydrangea Hedge - Pinterest

But blue will always be my favourite. I'm a firm believer a hint here and there with perhaps one long splash, brings calm and harmony. 

Victorian gardeners liked to think hydrangeas meant harmony too. Others thought them a symbol of friendship, devotion and undersatnding. (Those a little sour in the mouth tried to say they meant puffy with pride.) 

I like hydrangeas for what they bring. As the summer fades to winter, so does each hydrangea ball. They wither with splendid hues of violet, musk, sage and lilac, and sing a softer tune until it's time to deadhead them for winter. 

And then again in spring, they'll reappear as the stars of my garden with the promise to blend and fill the beds alongside many of my other favourites. 

As you'll notice... also blue. 

My Summer Hydrangeas, trying really hard to be 'blue' - Crabapple House

Plubago - Crabapple House

Agapanthus - Crabapple House

More  Agapanthus - Crabapple House

Do you have a favourite blue plant? Are you a lover of hydrangeas? Does a flower remind you of a loved one? 

Blessings for a wonderful weekend,
May you spy a little blue wherever you spend it.

Feathers For My Nest

The week's been dreary and the days have been short. There's no denying we have sunk into the halfway mark of our year. If I had any doubt, the number of Google hits I've received at this blog for a post I wrote a few years ago on the longest night in Australia, has surely convinced me. Not that I needed much. Sunless days, icy temperatures and a garden drained of its colour... are proof enough.

This winter my children have all upgraded to goose feather quilts. With a resounding thumbs up by all, I wish I had made the switch years ago. (Thanks to my honey-girl for convincing me.)

Now, Crabapple House offers the same comforts once considered by the French aristocracy as their home's most prized possession. Well-to-do families often willed their feather beds to heirs and passed them from generation to generation.

By the 19th century, members of the middle class could afford to make feather bedding if they plucked from their own geese. Mothers often furnished their daughter's dowry with a feather bed and held themselves with pride at the accomplishment. Anyone remember the wedding scene from Fiddler on the Roof?

Servant girls were allowed to collect from poultry they prepared for the table. They would save the down and feathers, and gradually accumulate enough to make a set of pillows before they married.

The treasured stuffing would be aired and dried before being sewn into ticks, linen or cotton bags. These would be rubbed with wax or soap to prevent the quills from poking out. Most had to be fluffed every morning to redistribute the feathers and release moisture. The English had their own method of propping them up, while the Germans hung them from balconies.

Here in Australia we call then doonas. And this week, I'm glad to leave the goose plucking to the scullery maid and buy my own ready-made. It's warmed my heart to feather the nest and keep my children happy. To see them nestled, safe and protected from the cold night.

Goose Feather Quilts at Crabapple House

More than a soft wrapping, is the assurance we are held like this by a God who lavishes himself on us. Like wings spread over bald chicks, He provides a cover no one can mess with. As well tucked as a mother's blanket, and as fierce as well forged armour.

He shall cover you with his feathers 

and under his wings shall you trust. 

His truth shall be your shield and buckler. Psalm 91:4

How do you feather your nest for those long winter nights? Do you have a favourite blanket you could never be without?

 ***

Whether you're rugged up against the wind or wriggling your toes in the sand, I wish you hours of happy reading. 

And many congratulations to Linda, the winner of this week's Ink Dots book give-away. You've won a copy of Cowgirl Trail by Susan Page Davis. 

Enjoy the weekend 

Still Pretending?

When our sons were young, they loved to play Robin Hood. They'd swipe coat hangers, grip them like bows and shoot pretend arrows at pretend baddies.

Our daughter would have none of that. She fashioned a school room out of her bedroom floor and lined it with a row of diligent stuffed animals. When she wasn't busy teaching, she was walking down the aisle in a tangle of bridal frills and frou-frou from the dress up box.

Childhood games of pretend are so much fun. Even better when swords and pink tulle turn us into something amazing. Something out of the ordinary and closer to the characters we love to read about.

Not to be left out, I've relished the odd dress up party. Our little costume box has grown to 6 boxes now, and friends know to come to Crabapple House when they need something crazy for a party.

My favourite is a red cape I wore as part of an 1850s costume, when I went on a school camp with my son Tom. There was no way my posse of ten year olds would lose sight of me. I looked and felt the part, and knew I'd nailed my costume when a Japanese tourist asked if I worked in the historical park, during our bathroom break.

' Oh no.' I retied the ribbon at my chin and found my best gold rush smile. 'I just love to wear olden day costumes.'

Because you're never too old to play with aprons and bonnets. Never too old to walk the plank with a crooked eyeliner moustache. And you're never, ever, too old to dress your Beloved as the Big Bad Wolf.

Yes, if you have one, there's always a good reason to don a red hooded cape. Always.

Are you a fan of fancy dress? What was your favourite pretend game when you were young?

When The Gravestone Tells The Story

Have you ever searched for something... only to find more than you bargained for?

My guest author for the week, Stephanie Grace Whitson, found inspiration, as well as names for her characters in lonely graveyards. Not surprising, as cemeteries offer wonderful story threads at every turn. I've toured my share of graveyards with my Beloved, and squirrelled away juicy details for future projects.

Most of what we learn from tombstones has a few holes in it, so filling the gaps is every writer's idea of a fun game. Unless of course you Google your name and find yourself in a digital cemetery!

Really... I mean look at this!

Did you get a shiver when you worked out the creepiness of this graveyard find?

While my husband John, and I, are very much alive and in no way associated (that we know of) with the dear already or soon-to-be departed in this picture, I can't help wonder freak out there's a grave somewhere, with my name on it.

With OUR names on it!

And the lesson in all this.... Writer or no writer, sometimes, it's not cool to poke around the resting place of dead people. You never know what you might find... waiting for you.

Have you ever Googled your name?

You might be like my friend Amanda Deed. If she Googled Amanda Deed-Ink Dots, she would be one happy blog follower this week. She's the winner of The Key in the Quilt, by Stephanie Grace Whitson. Now that's a whole lot better than your name on a tombstone!

What about you? What do you find when you Google your name? Creepy stories allowed.

Crabapple House

Do you have a favourite souvenir?

On Monday, Stephanie Grace Whitson shared her love of all things history, in particular her love of quilts. Now I've dabbled in a little quilt making, but what I love more is seeing a finished piece by those who really know what they're doing.

That's why my Beloved was happy to drive us around every bend in the road when we visited Nappanee in Indiana, in my search for a real Amish quilt to call my own. Our trip to the US marked our 40th birthdays, and we decided one and only one souvenir would be enough for us both.

And what better treasure to bring home than something we can both see and use each day. Our gorgeous quilt claims pride of place on our bed, and if it's not cool enough for another layer, we say, 'We don't need Indiana.'

Thankfully, the seasons are turning in Melbourne now, and my favourite Autumn is finally nudging her way in. While April is meant to bring a fall of leaves and temperatures, we've not really had much need for Indiana...  yet.  But I'm looking forward to colder nights, where the fire fills our room with a honey glow, the peppermint tea steams on the bedside table and we have every excuse to drag Indiana to our chins, once more.

What's your favourite souvenir?