Home Pronunciation: hōm; 110
|n.||1.||(Zool.) See Homelyn.|
|1.||One's own dwelling place; the house in which one lives; esp., the house in which one lives with hisfamily;|
the habitual abode of one's family; also, one's birthplace.
Definition from Webster's-Dictionary.net
Hubby and I have been doing a lot of work, a lot of improvements to ours here out in the countryside. Memorial Day weekend we worked on the yard and added $160 worth of flowers and plants. This past weekend, we insulated the basement walls, scrubbed, and painted the back hallway a color by name on the card of Magnolia (my absolute favorite flower) to open the small space light wise. Now I want to shoot back there- too bad there isn't any room.
I take pride in my gardens, as they have looked their best in the almost ten years I have lived here. Hubby, on the other hand, takes pride in the lawn- as I type he is mowing everything to perfection (hoping the vibrations of the mower will ease the pain in his lower back). So today, I wandered around outside, then inside- snapping photos of the little things that make this home to us and our fur babies. Small things mostly- but things I look at every day and know there is a story behind.
Marigolds on the picnic table. Hubby loves them. I am indifferent, however they do make him happy and are his favorite shades of sunshine gold and orange.
One of only two surviving peony plants that- in spite of where they are planted (and their whole dying when you move them thing), have survived years in the harsh climates in which Gram planted them. How? I have no idea- but they are happy!
Our new flag hanging in the warm sunshine and little to no breeze this morning.
The Russian Olive tree, being very brittle, again a mystery as to why it has survived and gotten as big as it has on the most wind beaten side of the house- but it is a lovely thing to look up into and I am sure, smells lovely with it's perfume drifting thru the window in the guest room.
The red Columbine flowers the hummingbirds adore drinking nectar from.
One of two flats worth of Begonias we planted Memorial Day weekend. In my artsy fartsy brain- this one reminds me of a watermelon... I really want to snip off a few leaves and use them as a photo prop later this summer.
The other two colors of Columbine flowers- these in the shady driftwood garden outside the back door. I love their folds and fragile feminine colors.
These are the odd, alien looking blossoms on the grapevine over the arbor along our back sidewalk. We have yet to get any actually grapes from the critter... Gram dumped Roundup on the darn things for close to six years and never managed to kill it- so Hubby and I built it an arbor to climb from storm broken cedar branches and orchard posts and it couldn't be happier. Today I had to trim it for the second time this week to be able to open the trash bin.
Catnip growing up between the box and wheels of the little red wagon we use to collect stones in the plowed field behind our house.
Random wildflower that is growing out behind the garage where the garlic patch used to be.
My doodles newly painted around the door handle on the back door.
The antique door knob on the door leading to the attic/cookware pantry. I remember being in love with it as a kid visiting Gram and Grampa
Our jungle of a window in the kitchen, filled with three basil plants, and mixed cooking herb planter and a huge wax leaf plant my mom gave us for our wedding anniversary last year.
Gram's hummingbird tea light holder; and candle I bought for her years ago for Christmas from a candle shop in Wilmington, NC; a jar of her old Avon soaps that are pretty but stink like old lady; old medicine bottles dug up in the gardens around the house over the years; and a mirror found under a pile of junk while I was cleaning the basement out before I moved into the house.
One of my melting crayon experiments, being too impatient to use a regular hair dryer- I used my dad's industrial- melts plastic in 10 seconds heat gun.
On the left, the view from my side of the bed. On the right, the view directly above my pillows.
Rosaries I have collected, but never where or use (I am not Catholic, obviously) and a sun catcher my mom bought for me from a shop in Wilmington, NC the day I left the state to move back to Michigan.
Herb planters looking out the front windows in the red living room and board games we never actually play (unless the power goes out).
Books, some read- some not. Some serious, some fiction (Death- A Life is hilarious!!) and a seashell my Gram brought home from one of many trips with Grampa.
The face of my Grandfather's grandfather clock, endlessly ticking in the green living room. And is an absolute bitch to change the time on at Daylight Savings Time!
The seashells we poured sand into a vase with during our wedding ceremony and the piece of broken windshield from the first ambulance I drove for my Dad's shop, and happened to take a rock in moments before backing it into the garage and meeting Hubby the first time.
To say the green living room is a jungle- minor understatement- this is the vine I have to duck around each time I go into my office.
Iris' from the gardens the wind had blown down in the bathroom.
Cute kitchen collections Hubby is ever so proud of.
The hole in the wall behind the back door. We will never repair it. It has been there since I was old enough to walk through the back door on my own. Maybe Grampa did it. Maybe Gram's. Don't know, don't care. Just another piece of them still here that I love. Hubby says it adds character.
Looking out the back door.
A note Hubby put in my lunch cooler my last shift and the shit hole Dollar Store last year.
What the kitchen table usually looks like. A collection of creative items, pencils, magazines, watercolors, sketch books, my homemade cardboard portfolio, doodle idea scrape books, my laptop where I have been doing my photo editing rather then in my office (easier to cuddles Sienna), and pieces of paper I played with last night- making them with shaving cream and food coloring. (DAMN YOU PINTEREST!!) My office floor is covered in varying sizes still drying.
This is our home. Our dwelling. Our sancutary. And the safe haven for friends and family to come hang out in, hide in, and relax in. All these tiny things, these small segments, tell the stories of these for walls we love and call our home.