Wandering through Windham, May 2012

I miss the opportunities to just get a car and wander, so when I had some daylight hours left one night during the quicky Connecticut roadtrip, I wandered the roads around Windham.

Here's the "frog bridge" at dusk, aka Thread City Crossing, named in honor of Willimantic's agricultural and manufacturing past.

Why with the frogs on the spools? Why not? Weirder things have been used to symbolize things..

Related to the Frog Bridge, the historical Monument on Windham Center green, and the former cotton and American Thread mills, now studios, businesses, etc.

Some of my favorite features from some of my favorite Victorians up in the hills of town. Check out the house on the right. It is one of the two houses in town that had curved windows. When I was growing up, it used painted a forest green with white trim. At night, when the lights were lit, you could see into the house, and see the woodwork and the stairs up to the upper stories. There's also a turret on that house. At Christmas time, the curved bay window used to be filled with Christmas trees and lights. So magical. But SO MUCH HOUSE.

Headed out of town, on the historical Windham Center green, listed on the National Register of Historic Places:

Love the lttle library, and the views of the Windham Inn, and the neighboring pink mansion and "white house."

Don't you just love this little sliver of a building? It's a room of its own.

On the back roads through North Windham:

This is the weirdest farm fields I've ever seen. Goats, sheep, donkeys, and colored CANNONBALLS? Missed the name of it, but it was something religious.

Forget a two-car garage. What about two-tractor parking?

Happenings at the Homestead, May 2012

Dear 'rents and/or potential buyers of ye olde homestead,

I checked in on the homeplace recently. Everything looks good on the outside. Nature is blooming away.

The curbside hedge roses are growing like crazy

as are most of the bushes. Look at the azaleas*.

We are really hedging our bets on the backyard shrubs though.
It looks like natural windows are forming.

The impact from Irene is still evident. The tree (on the lot next door) overlooking the compost area/garden has a 7 - 10 split going on. From the upstairs windows, you can the right into the neighbors' lots on the other side of the block.

Max's homage to Monet's gardens are still growing off the kitchen corner.

While we may not be occupying the house full-time,
we did have some temporary tenants on the back porch.

So lovely but, sadly, I don't think that the parent birdies will like where I relocated the nest ... Though I think they had abandoned it as soon as visitors started coming through the back door again.

Again, everything looks great. The lawn's mowed, but you may need to ask the landscapers to watch the bees under the garage eaves by the doors. There may be carpenter bees or other bee species building honeycombs under there.

That's it for now.

Love,

The Roaming Nettie

6/10/12 *Yes, mother. I know those aren't azaleas, but rhododendrons. This was a test to see if anyone is still reading this. Apparently you are. So I should be more careful.

Dam it: Wandering through Windham, May 2012

And after a little longer Blogging Break than I anticipated, prepare for the posting floodgates to open again .....

I unexpectedly needed to spend some time back in CT with a friend and her family at the end of last month. It was a sad visit, and one evening, after an afternoon of rituals, family, friends, and food, I found a few hours of sunlight left to burn. Loathe to return to an empty house quite yet, I turned myself and the car loose on the back roads of CT.

Like a homing beacon, I felt drawn to a place where my father and I had spent quality time together. (Of course, it wasn't until I just typed that did I realize why I felt the need to revisit this particular setting from my childhood. Our sub-consciousnesses are strange.)

My brother has blogged about how our father has passed down the love of being on the water. He used to take us canoeing out at the local dam, and later used to spend hours out there kayaking--solo, or with a family member. The dam and park were also areas where we spent time parked with dad trying to hash out adolescent angst, or out on foot, walking around the high dam walls over by the airport -- processing many an issue, or in one notable case, ending a long-term relationship.

Of course, it'd been decades since I'd been out at the actual dam, and I got lost the first time. Not so much lost, as misdirected/overshot/needing to reattempt the entry. I circled around the back roads, through misty afternoon showers, summer sunsets, and then found the correct route to where I wanted to go.

I must have looked pretty strange, climbing up the steep stairs in a somber funeral dress, but I had to go, exchange the air in my lungs, breathe in the mist, and look over the horizon for some perspective.

The pounding of the waters through the sluice gates, the rush of the rapids down the river, the birds singing in the aftermath of a summer shower, and a light breeze up on the dike? As soothing to my soul as the sight of the rolling green hills of "home."

Since it was a quiet evening, and barely anyone was around, I also took a moment to explore the grounds of a converted mill building. When I was growing up, it was abandoned and not nearly in as good shape as this. Can't you picture what a reading nook/work studio would be up there in the clock tower? (I picture big comfy couches, wooden library desks, baskets of yarn ...) I think the windows open/bevel, so you could get a cross breeze and feel the mist off the river.

Back in the car, I headed back up the road to the boat launch area. A storm had gone through earlier and sunset was drawing close, but that hadn't stopped some intrepid kayakers, local fishermen, or others drawn to the water. With all the years that have passed, it's hard to remember how intimidated we were paddling through that culvert to the other side of the lake. Of course, we were smaller, and not as comfortable on the water as we are now. Sitting lower in a kayak helps too.

So dam it all ... Thanks Pop. Thanks for the time, patience, love of water, driving lessons, water lessons, life lessons, and so so so much more than I can say. Please take care of yourself and keep wearing that safety equipment when you are out on Sand Hollow. I'm not ready to cross the breakwater and deal with the rapids that my friend and her family just had to. K? Thanks.

National Poetry Month: Old Ironsides

What kind of New Englander would I be, if I didn't preserve this one for my little Red Sox nieces and nephews? I've been on this warship, and a majestic reminder of our nautical past she is indeed.

The "Constitution" was a small warship (technically a frigate) that had fought so well and so often in the War of 1812 that it had been nicknamed "Old Ironsides." In 1830 the Secretary of the Navy considered she had outlived her usefulness, and recommended that the vessel be disposed of or demolished. When he heard of this, Oliver Wendell Homes, the New England poet, editor, and essayist, wrote a sad and ironic poem about the old "eagle of the sea." The poem was reprinted everywhere, and there was so much public resentment that "Old Ironsides" was saved from "the harpies of the shore," those who would have profited from its destruction. Instead of being sold or broken up, "Old Ironsides" was rebuilt and remained afloat, a symbol of glorious achievement.

Old Ironsides
September 14, 1830

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long hast it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it run the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar--
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee--
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

pgs. 219-221
Story Poems: An Anthology of Narrative Verse selected and edited by Louis Untermeyer, Washington Square Press, New York 1961

Photos of the Day: "It's a Brick ... House"

Bet you have the Lionel Ritchie "Brick House" in your head right now, don't you? No? Let me help you with that!

It's just so typically New England that I had to go and take a picture of the little Brick School House in Coventry, Connecticut. Sadly, I didn't get there early enough to have an official tour. One of these days, though, Jenn and I will have to pop up there. Maybe the next time I'm up in that neck of the woods.

Photos of the Day: Big Red Barns

Painting at Wendy's House

A Real One, Coventry/Tolland, Connecticut
Early June 2011

At times, I miss the country.

Photo of the Day - New England Pastorale

Coventry, CT November 2010

presented without comment

No Place Like Home

Auntie Nettie will be away for a few days.

She's "leafing" town and heading "home" to visit the folks, friends, and some of the old stomping grounds.

It's going to be a "berry" bittersweet weekend in ye quaint Connecticut as Auntie Nettie passes down Memory Lane.

She anticipates that more than these kinds of teardrops will fall.

Thanks for visiting. We'll* be back after the moon travels through the nightsky a phase or two.

* Auntie Nettie and The Shushing Librarian

Crafting in the Quiet Corner

Kelli was kind enough to let me take a side trip on our Saturday together, so we could pop into The First Church of Christ, Congregational's 14th Annual Quilt and Needle Arts Show in East Haddam. As a very amateur crafter, an afficiando of the needle arts, and the grand daughter of an accomplished quilter, it was awe-inspiring to behold all the work that went into the show, and all of the pieces. Since we didn't want to incur the wrath of the 'white-gloved ladies,' and my little camera can only zoom so much, these just give you an overall view of the packed sanctuary and some of the more interesting pieces.

Could this been more New Englandy?Quilts, quilts, and art EVERYWHERE! Left side of the sanctuary Some of the smaller pieces were displayed underneath the pulpit: altar runners, Christmas tree skirts, hand-made hooked rugs, handbags, and other many fine pieces. Center block of a red & white quilt. Embroidery on quilting.
One square of a prize-winning quilt called "The Circus is Coming to Town."

You can't really tell from here, but some of this is 3D

due to fabric and batting. This piece was stunning.

Miniature Quilts by Reta Rehm of Hebron, CT.
Pieced by hand and shown up close.
My hands and eyes ache just thinking about these tiny masterpieces.

Down the right side of the sanctuary According to the program, this cross-stitch quilt was made in 1971. Now it's a family heirloom.

This was one of the oldest quilts there.

Made by Sarah Lane for her wedding in 1768 to Jonathan Sikes in Suffield, CT.

Another family heirloom, and no wonder.

Hand-stitching, embroidery, and crewl-work

BY CANDLELIGHT!

This "Wildflower Alphabet" sampler was embroidered in the 1960s.
Look at the detail

Beyond the chapel, there were quilts in the foyer, knit and crochet pieces in the Rec Hall, samplers on the walls, and many, many, many fabrics for sale. Aside from doing our bit to bring down the average age of the attendees by oh, 20-30 years, I managed to escape with only minimal damage to the wallet. How we resisted buying any homemade chili or pie, I'm still not sure. If we had known what we were going to deal with when we did stop for lunch, we may have stuck around a bit longer.

Why, oh why, did I forget how to sew? Why, oh, why, do I not know how to use a sewing machine. My fabric collection is starting to be as large as my yarn collection ... and that's saying something.