=A View Through the Window=

from chichi's point of view

Hiya peeples ... just me Cheeeeecheeee! Peeking in on momma to see what's she's doin' in that there inside place. She sits at summthin' called a drafting table. My house is just outside the big window next to it where I can see her. She snuck a picture of me hangin out on my treehouse ramp to shows yooz guys.

I'm always up here watching her she says. Says everytime she looks up, there I am! Hey ... She's always inside she is ::sighhhh:: and not out here with MEeeeee. CheeeeeCheeee! I is out here in my treeeeeees!

::Ahem:: I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND here in my tree! I do! Her name is Cathy ... Human momma person named her that ... I think it's short for summthin', I forget ... Hard to think around here sometimes lately. Just a sec ... Shhhh! Cathy, be quiet! I'm talkin' to the peeples here ... Sorry 'bout that. She's talkin' at me about needing twigs or grass or ... Oh, yeah. That's why momma named her Cathy. That's it! My girls name is CHATTY Cathy! And ... ummm ... she is ... Ya know. Chatty. Talk talk talk. Sheeeesh. Gurrrrrlz.

I love my Cathy, I do. (Dang ... don't tell her I said that, K? She'll get all kissy-face on me and well ... She might let me catch her. I haven't figured out what to do yet ... You know, if I ever actually catched her. I justs likes ta chase her. Dunno why. When I asks human mommy person, she just winks and tells me to keep chasing. That I'll figure it out. Dunno.)

Gotta go peeples. Cathy wants me to find more twigs and leaves for the house she's building. Now whataya suppose we need a nesthouse for in this beautiful weather? Its beaUimous outside under the stars. I tell ya ... Gurlz are soooo weird!

-^..^- who loves ya? Chichi does!
(hi auntie carol ... lookie me auntie margarita!)

clap if you believe in faeries

Browsing through blogs I love yesterday ... Allowing myself to be free for a moment ... I made the most delightful discovery. I found the blog and art of, Debbie Schramer.

Do any of you remember the original Victoria Magazine when it was in it's glory? Debbie and her husband, Mike were featured in 1991. Rather, their enchanted little world of fae furnishings were featured, delighting us all.
I have never forgotten those pages. I cannot even keep count how many friends wrote to me, called and pointed out this article in Victoria.

"Someone else is out there" they would say ..."...another like you. Have you seen...?"
And indeed I had. I had worn the pages thin from handling them. Another was building for the fae ... There was someone else out there that believed. Perhaps my hours spent playing in nature, collecting tiny seeds and shells, making minute teasets and stacking rocks, recording little stories of what only I had seen ... was not so strange if there were others ...
Or perhaps it was. But alas, I know I am not alone in following the faeries now.

I have for a long time known others. They write and tell of tiny trinkets they have found. Of little faery ponds, acorn slippers and beds of moss where only a fae could rest.

And so, many years later I stumble across (shown by the fae?) one of the most delightful artists ever. And best of all ... She and her husband are still making their faerie furnishings. They still have the eyes and hearts of children.
This is rare indeed.

Pop on by Debbie's and say hello.
Bring a tiny shell or scrap of velvet for the host. A button or a bead.
I promise, you will never believe what the faeries will do with your offerings!

=^..^= love, zU

MAY EVE the night of the faeries

. . :: print and cutout to peek through :: . .

It is the night of the faeries. Beltane.
Walpurgis Night ...
(although I do not think of it as nightmarish at all.)

The festival of May Eve takes place midway between the Spring Equinox and the Summer Solstice ... And tonight is the night. It is said to be the night the faery queen arrives to review the gardens to choose one within which she will reside.

I for one have been getting ready.
I want the queen to stay here amongst the wonder.

The roses are pruned, the trees abloom in green & white and the pond will be lit with moonlight. Hundreds of petals have been set out along the pathways to glisten and sparkle like a rainbow under the stars. Along the garden edge tables have been set with the dolls finest china, acorn dishes holding tiny pink cakes that have been baked for tonight's guests have scented the air while cooling on the windowsills of the playhouse. The little bears have been out collecting nectar from the jasmine vines to serve tonight.

The cottage has been alive with excitement for days.

In Ireland, this is the time of year when the invisible faeries are in a celebratory mood, and they dance to the music of faery pipes all through the night. According to folklore, the only way to see the faeries is to carry a primrose and peek at them over its petals. If you don't want the faeries in your house on this magical night (they're known to be mischievous), scatter primroses in front of your door. The faeries won't come in, for fear of being seen.*

It is reputed that wherever the foot of a faery touches, in that very spot a flower will grow. If the faeries dance in circles within your meadow, faery rings will appear. A circle of flowers will grow in the garden too ... Sometimes big & sometimes small, sometimes the rings will overlap and create ever changing patterns.

And if the faeries enjoyed your garden ... They will return each year bringing friends to dance and flowers will return ten fold.

So bake cakes in acorn tops & pour nectar into your best silver sewing thimbles to set out in the garden. Place your smallest tables & twig chairs onto soft carpets of pussywillows and open tiny paper parasols. An offering guaranteed to delight. Tonight is the festival fae wait for all year.

Tonight ... The faeries dance.
=^..^=

a studio in the woods

I have been in the garden.

My idea of paradise is not sitting in front of the TV with remote in hand (although I do love to rent a good movie now and again) ... Going downtown and searching through antique shops or a bookstore filled to overflowing might tempt. Closer to my perfect is a good book and a warm fire on a rainy day. But if I was given the choice of how to spend a perfect hour ... For me it would be in a garden. Most any garden. But mine is the one I love most. This one came with a cottage (a place to go in case of rain or nightfall) and I added a studio because I always dreamed of having a window-filled studio in the woods in which to paint ... and I knew my imagination needed a place to play.

It is nearly dark outside now and I am sitting drinking a cup of tea on the back porch reflecting on what has been done over the past several days and if I think the storm that is brewing will hit tonight. Will it wait until I tidy one more thing or two in the east side corner of the garden tomorrow morning? I did not quite reach that far end yet and am worried that I did not uncover the strawberries nor clip the holly bush away from where I know the soon to awake, rhubarb crowns sit waiting. They no longer require the protection given for winter and will wake with the sun to warm them. They call to me now. I need to be in the garden more than I need sleep.

I could spend another three days out there and still wish for more. I am never happier than on days like this one. Long and filled with things I love. I took pictures tonight ... but am not sure if they are right. The cottage seems asleep now wrapped in a slummering garden. Only a hint of what it will be like later in the year appears visible now.

Perhaps it is just that I wonder how much I should reveal to the public. Anyone that has ever wandered about the little roads in the avenues of this town, will know my cottage on sight. It hides in the trees, yet stands out like something that was once built for children to play make-believe inside it's walls. It is a ticket into the past ... Of when tiny homes dotted the landscapes with white picket fences and Victory gardens were something everyone had. It sits in a time warp. Do I dare expose it?

Here at the bottom of the garden where the world of human meets faeries ... Spring has been peeking in the windows, giving a glimpse forward in time and pulling me by force outside and into the surrounding world beyond the cottage & studio walls. It has been in the 60s and 70s for several days. I have been intoxicated with the spring-like weather. I neglect nearly everything else.

Every year this happens. We will have a sudden warm spell and as if by magic, everything seemingly changes overnight. This year has brought several days of such warmth that every bulb and plant at once began to think of poking it's head out from under winter's lavender branch mulches. Trees and roses began to stretch their leaves just a bit from the constraints of bare twigs to test the air ... Something like a dove looking for a branch ... Each plant seems to be looking for a sign of spring. Is it safe to wake they seem to wonder? And every gardener knows what this means. If the weather warrants ... Drop everything and go outside! Spring is just around the corner & you won't get a second chance to beat the rush. Hurry. Go now.

I have been outside. Cat at my side watching. Hands in the soil. Digging, and pulling, raking and smoothing. Trimming and clipping, inhaling the dampness and being scratched as I haul armloads of prunings away to the green waste bins and compost piles ... And smiling the entire time as wide as you can imagine.
This is my idea of heaven. Pure bliss.

I am more than fine. I am exhausted and in need of a long soak in a hot bath when I finally come inside at night. This is proof that life is good. And I want nothing more every time than to do it all over again tomorrow.

I dreamt for years of a tiny white cottage in the woods. With flowers surrounding it, and a clearing to fill with a big vegetable patch. I knew that somewhere near there would be a little greenhouse (made of old windows) where I could putter in winter, ponds for frogs & birds to share and the cherry on top of this dream would be my art studio sitting in the middle of the woods overlooking the gardens.

Some day I will tell you how it all came to be.
For now I will leave you with this: Dream Big.

=^..^=zU