Untitled

 

Dear Diary;

Remember when we first moved here, and how hard it was to find my feet in this new place?

And then after that first, horrible year, things began to fall into place? I found new friends, another community, and I made our home eclectically ours.

I began to love our new life.

There was only one thing that I couldn't quite find. And that was the art piece- the place where I could go and be challenged and wowed by someone else's interpretation of beauty, someone else's re-use of found objects, someone else's "out of the box" creativity.

So imagine my joy in spending a practically perfect spring evening in a place like this.

With its rambling, endlessly creative farmhouse.

Its perfectly imperfect gardens.

The most perfectly rusted wrought iron, green fences.

The clothesline.

The outhouse.

The sheds.

The barn.

 

 

 

 

 

The trees.

And did I mention the fence?!

 

Then there were the peaks,

The windows, the decks, the bricks.

The log cabin. The beams, the shingles, the colored glass.

The people.

Musicians.

Artists.

The cause: raising money for sand dams in Kenya.

 

How lovely it was to find my seat in this place.

To rest my feet on old brick and smell the bonfire, beneath a canopy of trees.

To feast my eyes on some non-Chatelaine inspired clothing, nibble on some peppered cheese, sip some wine, and celebrate all this lovely arty-ness.

Yes, Dearest Diary, I held that piece tonight.

And how inspired it all was.