It’s been a diary of memories and mental notes, of my grandmother’s gardens, and my mother’s gardens, the gardens of family friends

I’m still layering on the wool, still walking through knee-deep snow, but my mind is on this summer’s garden

Something about the simplicity of the wood in its natural state. As if there was no stain, no varnish, no layers. Naked and beautiful.

This is how it begins. Brainstorming the mood, of a space. Imagining the feeling of it.

It was the idea of texture that started it all

The shed was nearly buried by overgrown grasses, fallen branches, a rusting horse trailer, and a slapped-together, bent-wire dog run.

Dreaming and scheming from here, lately (and if I’m being honest, from the bed and the sofa, too, as I’ve work/rested my way through a recent late winter illness). Working one thing out, then another, steadily, and what feels slowly at times, making my way through projects big and small.

When the work, words, home, style, or talents of someone else makes your breath catch, stirs a longing, or causes you to lean in with curiosity, this is simply part of them reflecting part of you.