The Remembrancer: Strawberries

One of the most vivid memories I have of my childhood is rooted in the soil between my home and my Nana's. I was lucky enough to grow up around my family, in very close proximity to everyone in my mother's family and not much farther from my father's family. From my house I could see everything in my 'holler'. From the head, the farthest point at the end, to the mouth, where my short gravel road met the larger gravel road to Dorton where I went to school.

Those days were the simplest days of my life, the days before US23 made extinct those well traveled gravel roads of my youth. I am reminded of those days every time I drive down a gravel road. I can remember chasing cars down the paths of my Papaw's garden, not caring that the low greens of the vegetable patches were smacking my legs viciously. The smells of those gardens are always around me. I can remember the musk of tomato plants and the sweet smell of berries ripening on the vines. It was simple childhood bliss growing up in that garden.

The strong summer sun beamed down on the field day-in and day-out and the ripening vegetables and fruits made me more aware of my upcoming birthday. The most exciting part of this garden lay in the row nearest to my porch. Stretching from my porch to the gravel road laid a long row of sweet red berries that fueled my youthful energy during those warm days of summer. The strawberries that grew there were not like the overgrown grocer variety, they were a special entity that I have never found anywhere else. The small rubies clung to their vines delicately and all of the neighborhood kids were allowed to pick what they could carry. The sweet taste of those berries are so unlike any other. The rich flavor and smooth soft berries melted in your mouth and down your face leaving crimson evidence that you were, in fact, in Papaw's strawberries again.

Those strawberries were an important part of my childhood. Every year I got older, a different birthday theme was picked,  and I had a different grade and teacher to look forward to in the fall. The only thing that remained the same each year was the aroma and taste of those berries. The garden has disappeared in the waning years of my youth, but the sight and memory of that garden are revived each time I see the space between my house and my Nana's.

— Heath 2012

Southern Cornbread: A Story by @bethkirby

Our lives are like layers of soil, histories heaped upon histories, stratified by the major events in our lives. We can rediscover all manner of fossils and artifacts, and in turn fertile topsoil can cover the volcanic ash of the past. We have an infinite capacity for growth, rediscovery, and change, and as I’ve gotten older I’ve rediscovered many things: my feet on the earth, the kitchen, and Tennessee.

— Elizabeth Kirby

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My grandmother’s cornbread was a crisp golden brown. It was cast iron. It was a mason jar of bacon grease kept in the cupboard and a jug of buttermilk in the door of the Frigidaire. It was “home again home again jiggity jog”. It was Lincoln logs. It was sitting at her dining room table looking out the sliding glass door onto the back porch where we cracked walnuts and my brother and I smeared lighting bugs onto the pavement in senseless acts of childhood iridescence. It was torn into pieces into a glass of milk and eaten with a spoon. It was badminton and the smell of birdseed. It was childhood, and it was her.

Until a month or so ago when I finally decided to make it myself, I hadn’t tasted cornbread like hers in fifteen years, really didn’t eat cornbread at all. Didn’t bake it either. It might as well of died along with her when I was fourteen. At least it seemed that way for far too long. I didn’t expect her to die when she did. I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t taken notes. I didn’t know what they would do with all her preserves, and I wept. There just didn’t seem to be anything to be done about any of it. It was hard, losing her, and for a few weeks I tried to pretend it simply hadn’t happened. She was like a second mother, and it appeared to me like some impossible necromancy to attempt to make that cornbread, so I just never did. Grandmother was dead, and cornbread was over. That was just how it was or so it seemed. Around the time she passed away I was beginning to develop that girlish sort of madness common at that age, and over the course of my adolescence I drifted farther and farther into the self-obsession that is being a teenager, and by the end I’d forgotten about cornbread, fireflies, badminton, and all that.

But. That was not that. Our lives are like layers of soil, histories heaped upon histories, stratified by the major events in our lives. We can rediscover all manner of fossils and artifacts, and in turn fertile topsoil can cover the volcanic ash of the past. We have an infinite capacity for growth, rediscovery, and change, and as I’ve gotten older I’ve rediscovered many things: my feet on the earth, the kitchen, and Tennessee. In this past year I’ve also put many things behind me, and as I form a new layer in the geological history of my life there is again cornbread and cast iron and therein lie fragments of the intricate, complicated histories of both myself and the south.

Cornbread in milk (or buttermilk) is an older southern midnight snack: when the day’s cornbread had become dry it was torn into pieces and soaked in milk and eaten with a spoon. Last month I sat at my dining room table and eagerly crumbled a piece of cornbread into a glass of raw milk for the first time in fifteen years. The taste possessed the same immediacy of memory as a familiar scent. I almost cried. I was effervescent, prattling on in excitement about how “it’s just like...just like”. None of it was gone at all, not her, not cornbread.

As for the ingredients, I use freshly milled corn from both Simple Gifts Farm (a beautiful roughly hewn mix of blue, red, and yellow corn from the Signal Mountain market on Thursdays) and River Ridge Mills (a finer textured yellow corn from the Main Street market on Wednesdays). I prefer to use the former for the coconut cornbread and the latter for the buttermilk as it gives it the most traditional taste and texture, the one I remember. I use Cruze Farms Buttermilk and bacon grease from Link 41 bacon that I save in a dedicated mason jar. I often use canola oil or coconut oil in place of the bacon grease in the buttermilk cornbread, content to merely smear the bacon drippings on my pan.

CAST IRON CORNBREAD

Whether you like it slathered in butter or drizzled with honey, plain or with milk like I take mine, each of these two variations has it’s own virtues. So I give you cast iron cornbread, two ways: the classic buttermilk and bacon grease cornbread of my youth and my own nouveau southern interpretation using coconut oil and cultured coconut milk. Southern food is an ever evolving, living organism with new innovations constantly being born of traditional recipes, and I think making the food your own is important. It keeps our cuisine vital. So feel free to play with fats, the cornmeal, the liquid, and various flavorings. I’m a purist so I don’t tend to put cheese and the like in my cornbread, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. These recipes are blank slates for endless sweet and savory variations if you like.

BUTTERMILK BACON GREASE CORNBREAD

Ingredients

1 1/4 cup (175 g) cornmeal

3 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon salt

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

3 tablespoon bacon grease, vegetable oil, or shortening

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 cup (240 g) buttermilk

1/4 teaspoon baking soda, dissolved in a bit of water

Bacon grease for greasing the pan

Heat oven to 425°. Grease a cast iron skillet with bacon grease and place in the oven while it heats. Mix the first four ingredients in a medium mixing bowl. Cut in the fat with your fingers or two knives, mixing well until you have a sandy texture. Combine the eggs and the buttermilk, add to the dry ingredients, and mix to combine well. Add the baking soda and stir to combine. Pour the mixture into the hot skillet and bake for 20 minutes. Invert onto a plate. I like to serve it upside down with the nice crispy side up like she did.

CULTURED COCONUT MILK CORNBREAD

Variation

Substitute 3 tablespoons refined coconut oil (you need refined coconut oil as opposed to unrefined to withstand the heat of baking) for the vegetable oil, and 1 cup of cultured coconut milk (can be found in the dairy aisle usually next the kefir) for the buttermilk. Grease the skillet with the coconut oil as opposed to bacon grease.

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Repurposed Traditions: Christmas with @earthangelsstudios & @skippydoodledesigns

Traditions are kept by the certain magic of sharing them—whatever “they” might be—among family and friends. By imbuing a holiday with them, a collective memory of the annual event is passed along the generations in taste, color, song and story. Traditions evolve as they’re enjoyed in familiarity; the best nod to all that’s fresh among those that share in them, with something new added each year.

Story by Jen O’Connor | Folk Art by Sue Parker

MORE THAN ANY OTHER AMERICAN HOLIDAY, CHRISTMAS IS TETHERED TO CHILDHOOD through a web of memories. Many of our fondest recollections are fragranced with yuletide’s annual treats, those fancy cookies and lovely cakes that beg us still to indulge each season. Along with those home-baked confections, carols, and of course, gift-giving form the cornerstones of so many of our holiday traditions.

So, while the season simply wouldn’t be as fond in memory without the scents and tastes we know and adore, there’s another truly handmade tradition to note. Each year, amongst the platters of sugar cookies, eggnog and rum drenched tortes, chances are there’s something handmade that’s serving to set a mood as holiday décor, and has been used as such for some time!

It’s often these decorations that are touchstones in memory; they’re the handmade something that comes out of its box in basement or attic year after year to stand sentinel to the season, again and again. The object—whatever it is—becomes dearer as the years accumulate along with the patina of age.

You must know something like that… something you recall from Christmases past and still might see on your mother’s hutch, mantel or Christmas dinner table?

For me it was a small hand-carved wooden Santa I played with each Christmas as a little girl. He slid down a thin spring only for me to pull him up and drop him time and again with his sack of toys into a flocked paper chimney. He was special to me because I played with him year after year while he was out of his storage box and displayed on the coffee table. I adored that this tiny handmade decoration waited for me, much like I waited for Christmas each year, a child truly smitten with the season.

Most of us – even if it was a decade or two ago – have made some kind of holiday decoration and kept it out of sentiment. Or maybe what we treasured most was something handmade and given to us as a gift …something for the home or tree that reflects the season and its sparkle.

Indeed, crafting for the season was de rigueur in the earliest of modern Christmas celebrations. The idea of gifts or decorations being mass-produced and widely available is something that has come late to this largely handmade holiday, and seems to miss the festivity’s spirit.

As gift-giving emerged as a tradition in Germany, Austria, and soon after in England, the dark evenings of fall and early winter were spent making special treats by hand to gift loved ones. Early American celebrations followed these Western European ways, and small wooden trinkets, knitted things and hand-cut paper whimsies were all common gifts to present as tokens of love and friendship at the holidays. How perfectly wonderful to still share something handmade; a simple gift from the hands is a gift from the heart.

As folks reach to preserve and refresh the tradition of handmade and add to our own Christmas memories, nothing could be more fitting for the holiday than the freshly repurposed crafts from Skippy Doodle Designs of Columbia, Connecticut. Crafting maven and designer Sue Parker concocts the sweetest of holiday décor from castoffs and vintage loot. In her merry and able hands everything from recycled cigar boxes, forgotten tree-trimming paraphernalia and even tinsel fragments find new life on her one of a kind assemblages.

Indeed, her studio reflects the North Pole as she merrily combines textures and objects creating a crop of new holiday décor that simply suits the season’s folly and joy. Among her favorite techniques are marrying disparate castoffs in color to tell a new story. In her able hands and with a dose of festive imagination, an oddball 1950s paper house might meet up with a lonely reindeer and become something more fitting in a frenzy of mica-drenched snow. Likewise, a wayward elf finds a new home among vintage bottle-brush trees and wee tarnished bells. Her pieces each tell a story of Christmas past with a nod to the freshness of recycling and renewed crafting traditions.

Handmade things hold all the joy and sentiment with which they were created. Season after season they can be visually relished, and then tucked away to keep the good memories in store for the next holiday. So, if you don’t have something handmade around the house to help celebrate the holiday, consider the handmade spirit of the season and reach for something – or gift something -- that can become dearer as it holds the memories of each annual celebration.

A New Heritage: Christmas with @mustloveherbs

Deep in the eastern Kentucky mountains Lauren of @mustloveherbs is creating a new style of heritage.

LAUREN, A TEACHER BY TRAINING, IS AN AVID BAKER, GARDENER AND FORAGER. Her New Heritage style of cooking embraces using ingredients at hand, while paying homage to tradition and old-fashioned simplicity. She loves spending her time reinventing traditional family recipes to fit today’s tastes and ingredients. Lauren’s kitchen garden not only feeds her household in the warm months, but also throughout the winter by utilizing many ancestral food preservation techniques.

Where do you live? Where did you grow up? I live in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky, in the same small town I’ve lived in all my life. My family’s roots in this area run over 200 years deep. The road I grew up on was actually named after my great-great-great-grandmother. 

Tell me a little about yourself. I grew up in an a very artistic family. My mother is a teacher with a degree in developmental psychology, and has a gift for decorating and making things beautiful. My father is a talented musician who owns a recording studio/production company. I grew up in a home with a beautiful garden, next door to my grandparents. My grandfather, Big Daddy, had an acre garden and a greenhouse; this is where my love of gardening started. My family spent a lot of time together. We were known to share multiple pots of coffee and stacks of magazines in the evenings.  I met my now-husband when I was a junior in high school. We have traveled, remodeled, and raised 5 wonderful pups together in our 13 years of marriage! So much of who I am now, I can attribute to his love and support. 

What role have food and cooking played in your life? When did you start cooking? I come from a long line of very good “country cooks” as well as professional bakers. I was taught at a very young age how to string beans and peel potatoes. My grandmother would put a chair at the kitchen sink for me while she cooked, and let me make my “stews” with scraps from whatever meal she was cooking. I truly felt like I was making something delicious along with her. As I got older, she taught me how to correctly make gravy and cornbread, along with countless other meals. 

Who taught you to cook? Was your family culinary? My maternal grandmother, Meme, taught me how to cook. My mother and father are both excellent cooks, but were afraid I would burn the house down. My grandmother often nearly burnt the house down herself, so that didn’t faze her. 

When did you first realize you had a passion for cooking? Around the age of 5. I have always been drawn to the kitchen. If someone was cooking, that was exactly where I wanted to be. Seeing someone stir a pan of gravy is almost hypnotic to me. 

What is it about food and cooking culture, or dining, that you love? I adore that we can share so much of who we are through cooking. Heritage is often spoken through a dish or while enjoying one. Cooking bonds people by allowing us to try new things together or to enjoy comfort foods that bring back the fondest of childhood memories.

How would you describe your cooking style? New Heritage -- country cooking that has been updated only when it needs to be, in order to adapt to today’s ingredients. 

Where do you find ideas and inspiration for your recipes? My biggest inspiration is my garden. In the winter this often means I pull out things I’ve stored from summer harvests or use what is in season, such as apples, root vegetables and cold-weather greens.  I am also heavily inspired by family recipes. Lately I have been doing my best to make my grandmother’s Christmas cookie recipes! They are a family tradition that I am determined to get right.

What is your favorite thing to cook for others? Bread. Whether it is cornbread, biscuits, focaccia or even a Babka, everyone loves bread! 

What is your favorite item in your kitchen? My favorite kitchen item is my grandmother’s cast iron skillet. It was originally my great-great-grandmother’s. She received it as a wedding gift in 1919. It has been passed down through the generations of our family ever since. 

What has been your biggest challenge with your cooking? Your biggest accomplishment? My biggest challenge has to be my newly-developed red meat allergy. Being Appalachian means that pork goes into nearly any dish. Cornbread is often made using bacon grease. Soup beans aren’t complete without a ham hock. Making all of my favorite meals taste just as good without using pork has been my proudest moment. Even my pork-loving momma said, “they taste just like Granny’s” when referring to my fresh green beans.

CHOCOLATE & PEPPERMINT BARK

Ingredients:

12 ounces semi sweet chocolate (chips or bars)

Chopped old fashioned peppermint candy sticks and/or candy canes

Holiday themed sprinkles

Directions:

Prepare a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

Melt the chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl using 30-second increments. Stir after each increment. When the chocolate is nearly all melted remove it from the microwave and continue to stir until it becomes smooth and glossy.

Pour the melted chocolate onto your prepared baking sheet and smooth it out until desired thickness is achieved.

Sprinkle the peppermint candies and sprinkles evenly over the melted chocolate. You may need to lightly press in some of the ingredients.

Allow the chocolate to cool at room temperature for 3-4 hours before breaking. You can also place in the fridge for 30 minutes if you are in a pinch.

Once completely hardened, carefully break apart the chocolate using your hands. Store in an airtight container until ready to serve or gift!

CRANBERRY, ROSEMARY & ORANGE CAKE WITH ORANGE CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

Ingredients for Cake:

⁃3 cups of flour + more for dusting

⁃1/2 tsp of Baking Soda

⁃1/2 tsp of Baking Powder

⁃1/2 tsp of Salt

⁃Zest of 3 oranges

⁃Juice of 1 orange

⁃Zest and juice of 1 lemon

⁃3/4 cup of buttermilk

-2 cups of cranberries

-2 sticks of butter (1 cup) at room temperature

⁃2 cups of sugar

⁃2 tsp of vanilla

⁃5 eggs

⁃2 tbs of fresh rosemary

Ingredients for Icing:

⁃2 cups of confectioners sugar

⁃4 oz. cream cheese at room temperature

⁃1/2 tsp vanilla extract

⁃3 tsp freshly squeezed orange juice.

Directions for Cake:

Preheat the oven to 350°.

Grease and flour your Bundt pan.

In a medium bowl combine 3 cups of flour, baking powder, baking soda & salt. In a small bowl combine the zest and juice of the oranges and lemon with the buttermilk. Set aside.

In a separate bowl add the cranberries and 2 tbs all purpose flour. Stir until all the cranberries are completely covered in flour. Set aside.

In your stand mixer cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add in the vanilla. Add the eggs in one at a time. After all eggs are added turn the mixer off and scrape the bottom and sides of the bowl making sure there isn’t any unmixed butter and sugar.

With the mixer on low add the buttermilk and flour mixtures to your butter & sugar mixture by alternating between flour and buttermilk until both are gone. Add the rosemary in and mix until evenly distributed.

Take the cranberry and flour mixture and fold it gently into your batter. Make sure the cranberries are even throughout the batter but do not over mix.

Pour the batter into your greased bundt pan and bake for about 40-45 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean.

Allow the cake to cool in the pan for a minimum of 30 minutes. This is imperative to it coming out cleanly! After 30 minutes flip the cake out carefully onto a wire rack and allow to cool for another 30 minutes. While the cake cools you may prepare the icing.

Directions for Icing:

In a medium sized mixing bowl combine the confectioners sugar, cream cheese, vanilla and orange juice. Use an electric mixer on medium speed mixing thoroughly until icing is smooth and creamy. Add more juice 1/2 tsp at a time if the icing is too thick. Add powdered sugar in 1 tbs at a time if mixture is too runny. The consistency should be somewhere between a frosting and a glaze.

Spoon the icing evenly over the cake. It should spread nicely over the edges on its own.

FUDGE & ALMOND PINE CONES

Ingredients:

1 cup semi sweet chocolate chips

2 oz unsalted butter

Pinch of salt

7 oz sweetened condensed milk (1/2 a standard can)

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

2 cups sliced almonds

Directions: In a heat safe bowl combine the chocolate chips, butter, salt, condensed milk, and vanilla. Using the double boiler method, heat your ingredients. Be careful not to let the water touch the bottom of your bowl. Stir constantly until all the chocolate has melted and the mixture is smooth.

Take off heat immediately and place mixture in fridge to cool for 20-30 minutes.

The mixture should hold its form but still be moldable.

Form the chocolate mixture into a cone shape and place it on parchment paper. Begin sticking almonds into the bottom of the cone. Move your way up placing each row behind the next in an overlapping pattern until you reach the top. Place the finished pine cone in the fridge to set up for a minimum of 1 hour! Makes 15 pine cones! Recipe Can easily be doubled.

Around the Christmas Tree

An Essay by Ellen Tichenor

I suppose it all began a few years before my birth in 1952. My grandparents, Russell and Hilberta Pannett, were visiting a Christmas worship service where the altar table was adorned with a small tree branch wrapped in cotton and decorated. Russell leaned over to Hilberta and said, “If they could do that with a branch, we could probably do that with a whole tree.” I was told those were his words. Thus began the tradition of the “cotton” Christmas tree.

As long as I can remember, my family never had a normal evergreen like most families.But, the cotton tree was truly a family affair. I don’t remember how old I was when I first went with Daddy to cut down the sweet gum tree, for which we had been searching since early fall. Momma was always ready to get started immediately after Thanksgiving, after helping her mom, Hilberta, with her tree.

Each branch of the tree was carefully wrapped with a strip of quilting cotton. This was usually Momma’s job, but we all had our turn to help. Daddy’s job was to put on the lights-C7s, not the little mini lights used today. Next came the tinsel, or icicles, as you might call them. They were gently placed on each limb to cover the entire branch. Then the ornaments were carefully placed throughout the tree. Last of all we did “the bottom.”

My grandfather made a fence in which Momma placed a little village to the right of the trunk. A pebble path led across a bridge (placed over a mirror pond) to the manger scene on the left of the trunk. Newspapers were wadded, and a piece of quilting cotton laid over them for the snow on which the village and manger were placed.

For the entire month of December we had friends over every Sunday night after church to see the tree. Everyone would comment that it was even more beautiful and bigger than the year before. You see, nighttime was the best time to see it. The darkness from the picture window made the tinsel shimmer more brightly from the lights.Many pictures were taken of the tree, but none could capture the true beauty of it.

We didn’t know that the 1986 cotton tree would be the last one that Momma would ever do. She died just 2-3 weeks after Christmas. As far as I was concerned, this tradition died with her-too much trouble if you asked me!

As Christmas 1987 approached, my sister was planning a trip from her home in Indiana to wrap the tree. Over the past 18 years, she has used Mom’s decorations (even the same tinsel) to have a cotton tree in her home if it were big enough and time allowed. Four years ago, my brother’s children experienced this tree in his Utica home.

Despite my thoughts of a dying tradition, I too, will be proud to share a cotton tree with my friends and community this year. My new home will be featured on the Ohio County Hospital Auxiliary home tour December 4. However, the only place large enough for my tree is my bedroom! I am very excited about sharing this tradition, but this will be the last one for me!

Timeless & Classic: Christmas with KJP

No one does Christmas quite like Kiel James Patrick and Sarah Vickers.

I’M KIEL JAMES PATRICK, A BORN AND RAISED NEW ENGLANDER, FASHION DESIGNER, PHOTOGRAPHER, AND FAN OF ANYTHING OLD, TIMELESS AND CLASSIC. My wife Sarah and I formally launched our brand in 2007, but the dream that ultimately came to fruition as KJP began long before that. My high school, Bishop Hendricken, had a strict uniform policy that I just couldn’t abide by. Luckily for me, I was handed down my grandmother’s sewing machine. I started making fabric bracelets for my friends and me to wear under our uniforms. Man, I must have made at least a thousand of the first KJP bracelets on that machine.

Shortly after that, I met Sarah – we were two teenagers crazy in love, with big dreams. We’ve spent nearly every day together since then. We always had long conversations about where we saw ourselves in the future, and we kept returning to the idea of working for ourselves and creating something that was both unique and representative of our New England lifestyle. We are both avid collectors of vintage clothes, and our first foray into fashion was selling old clothing under the name Wicked Vintage. A lot of our original ideas for KJP were born out of that endeavor. Working with vintage fabrics and patterns, we were invigorated to try some new takes on classic fashion accessories.

We used any materials we could get our hands on at first: old ties, vintage pants, beat-up shirts, and of course rope, to design our accessories.

We’ve always had this untamed ambition and a steady sense that we’re living out our own version of the American Dream. Eventually, we hit our stride, and started our first KJP workshop in the space above my parents’ garage, hand-dyeing hundreds of ropes a day in old lobster pots we found in the attic. Thankfully for everyone’s sake and sanity, we’ve moved out of my parents’ garage, and now the lobster pots are reserved for Memorial Day Weekend.

In many ways, KJP has developed and matured alongside Sarah and me. When we first started out, we’d spend any free time we had at the beach, riding bikes in Nantucket, sailing in Newport, and having bonfires at Beavertail Park -- long summer days with the ocean as the backdrop to all our adventures.

That was reflected in the designs and products we were making at the time. Back in those days we were only an accessory company, focused on nautical “New Englandy” summer styles. Moving through life together, we grew, we changed, we became more well-rounded people and in turn a more well-rounded company. What you see from KJP now reflects where and who we are today. We have our own family with our own growing traditions. More than ever, we really highlight the four seasons that New England is famous for. Those breezy carefree days at the beach have blended into family beach adventures with sandcastles and lots of sunscreen.  And for every trip to Nantucket there are two trips to the mountains for a cozy cabin getaway. That’s why KJP nowadays reflects a total seasonal indulgence. The Cozy Cabin Collection is basically all the things we love to wear on leaf peeping trips, decorating the house for fall and winter, or spending the holidays with family and friends.

We still love our New England summers but it’s the cold weather months that spark that magic of our favorite seasons.

Our style has developed and really been influenced by my love and appreciation for art, particularly the art that’s inspired my photography, like that of Norman Rockwell and Thomas Kinkade. Their work embodies the ease with which you can get lost in a surreal scene. It’s probably why one of my favorite hobbies is going to antique stores, because there

I’m always finding little pieces of Americana that remind me of a painting, a Christmas card or a page from a book I grew up reading. I love that combination of familiar but fantastical. It’s a welcome escape from the craziness of today’s world, and definitely something I think of when we’re capturing and creating our own photos. When you look at one of our pictures, if it doesn’t take you away for a second and transport you that place and time with a warm feeling in your soul, then it’s not a picture worth remembering. I want to remember every photo I take these days.

My favorite Christmas tradition begins at Thanksgiving. Every year we go to my family’s cabin in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. After dinner we decorate the Christmas tree my parents planted in the yard when they bought the land. When Sarah and I started doing this, the tree came up to my waist. Now it’s about three times taller than I am.

We’ve had to keep buying bigger ladders as the tree grows. But my favorite part is that almost without exception, it snows there on Thanksgiving Day. It’s our oldest tradition as a couple and I really look forward to it. Then it’s a race back inside before my dad and brother eat all of the apple pie.

My favorite New England “staple” is, believe it or not, shoveling snow. I love layering up in the morning, throwing on our gloves and Bean boots and spending a couple hours in the cold tossing some snow around. The best part is leaving your wet clothes by the door while you warm up by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate.

My mom’s gingerbread cookies are easily my favorite Christmas food. My mom’s an amazing baker and she uses a gingerbread recipe from her mom. Every year she and I have a blind taste test to see who made the best gingerbread cookies. Some years she wins, some I win, and the loser always goes home a little bitter, but I guess they go home with gingerbread too, so it’s a pretty sweet consolation. As for my favorite Christmas song, that’s a very hard question! It has to be older than me to make the cut as a favorite, but if I had to pick one it would be “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” by Burl Ives.

That’s more than just a song for me, as it reminds me of being a kid in anticipation of Christmas and knowing this was the one time of year we could watch the Rudolph special on TV. My dad told us it was what he looked forward to most as a kid. No matter what was going on, we watched it as a family together, and to this day we still wait until we’re all together to watch it. Now when the song comes on the radio, I get a kick out Harry singing the same song his dad and grandfather sang joyfully as kids.

Sarah and I got married at Christmastime 2015 at Henry’s Christmas Tree Farm. Henry’s is a special place to us that we’ve been visiting since we were teenagers, and there was never any doubt that’s where we were going to get married. We got our Christmas wish and it snowed just enough on our wedding day to cover the whole farm in a light hue of green and white. It’s definitely my most precious Christmas memory.

Christmas has a way of freezing time. A certain song comes on the radio, or you’re looking out the window when it starts to snow and just for a second you think you might be ten years old again. It doesn’t matter how many years go by, I love watching the same movies, putting up the family’s old ornaments, and even eating the same pot roast I’ve pretended to like for the last 30 years. Tradition is what I look forward to most about Christmas; to me, it IS Christmas. Now, the best part is I get to see it all over again through Harry’s eyes.

Celebrating is going to be a little different this year, but the best parts of Christmas have always been the simple things and I’m really thankful we can still do those. I love driving around the neighborhood to see everyone’s decorations, setting up the projector for Christmas movie marathons, wearing all my classic Christmas sweaters, and drinking too much eggnog with my family. I’ve got everything I need to celebrate right at home.

It's Spectacular: Christmas in New York City with @ethanbarber.co

Christmas in New York City is unlike anywhere else in the world. Ethan Barber shares his memories and images from past years of merry moments.

GROWING UP AS A KID IN CENTRAL NEW JERSEY, DAY TRIPS TO NEW YORK CITY WERE A FAIRLY COMMON OCCURRENCE. My family’s annual Christmas trip to the City however, was by-far my favorite of them all. As far back as I can remember, December has always been synonymous with New York. I can still vividly recall a childhood moment of holding my mom’s hand while walking up 34th Street—the blistering, cold wind stung whatever small peeks of my face were still visible behind layers of my favorite scarf and Carhartt hat.

While the long days of walking around Midtown would quickly switch from fun to exhausting, the magic flowing through the City always made up for it. From the moment I emerged off the escalator at Penn Station on to 7th Avenue, I could physically feel a shift. Car horns were blaring, Christmas music was flowing in the background, and people were rushing in all directions. From the edge of Central Park and the tree at Rockefeller Center, to the Empire State Building and Macy’s on 34th, down Broadway into Soho and even further still; Manhattan was always full of people rushing to get their gifts and souvenirs. While the smell of candied nuts overpowered the city air, an inexplicable energy swirled around me—one that could only be best described as the magic of Christmas—just like in those cheesy Hallmark movies

Ultimately, I think it was these annual trips into the City at the holidays that inspired me to work towards being based in the City full-time. While I love the City and it continues to be the main source of my creative inspiration, I think I’ll always be a Jersey boy at heart. (It’s likely the root of why I refuse to move into New York City proper—I just can’t let go of my suburban roots on the west side of the Hudson!)

My current office is based in Soho, the neighborhood where I derive the most inspiration for my work. From historic cast irons to cobblestone streets, I’m drawn to the most minute details—they don’t make ‘em like they used to!

If you wander into the city on the right winter day, you just might be lucky enough to catch a passing flurry or the beginning of a strong, winter storm. Seeing whirlwinds of snow rush across the historic facades of Soho up to the towering skyscrapers of Midtown is without comparison—just mind your hands and face, or you might catch a touch of frostbite!

Homestead: Christmas with @underatinroof

Under a Tin Roof (@underatinroof) shares Christmas memories and traditions from the Iowa farm she and her family call home.

GROWING UP, CHRISTMAS WAS A MAGICAL EXPERIENCE MADE UP BY ALL OF ITS SHINY BAUBLES AND ORNAMENTS, the glitter and the flashy wrapping papers. I spent most of my Christmas holidays walking down Michigan Avenue in Chicago and staring with wonder at the decorated windows of Marshall Fields. It was mesmerizing and beautiful to me as a child, and for that, I will always be grateful. Now that I am an adult, I’ve turned to a more simplistic way of living. Christmas is not as shiny and high-strung as before; rather, it feels as if we’ve stepped back in time.

When we bought our Iowa farm several years ago, never having farmed or homesteaded before, we made the decision as a family to live a more sustainable and wholesome lifestyle by cutting out the unnecessary. We loved the idea of an old-fashioned Christmas. You’ll find our packages wrapped in brown paper we’ve saved all year long, our wreaths and garlands are fresh from local farms and our own yard, and we decorate with natural materials that we’ve foraged like pinecones and bittersweet.

We make time for family activities rather than spending all of our time hunting for the perfect gift. While we will still always spend a day or two holiday shopping for the thrill of the season, my hope as a parent is to spend our wintry days baking cookies and sweet breads, decorating the tree, and snuggled up with a warm cup of homemade chocolate listening to a favorite Christmas record. To us, family is everything, and we hope to pass that down to our children as well, when they move on to their own homes and families.

On the homestead, the winter months bring a period of rest. It is about keeping warm. We pile the bedding high in the chicken coop and hang a wreath of evergreens on the door for a touch of fun. The field is tucked in under a blanket of snow and compost to prepare the beds for the spring season. We spend our days by the fire inside, working with our hands yet again on projects we cannot seem to get to when the weather is warm: knitting hats and gloves, decorating our home, and sewing up clothing and quilts. The larder, where we keep the delicious food we grew and preserved over the summer, is slowly but surely emptied ready to be restocked in early summer. Our Christmas supper table is graced by the animals we raised and butchered in the fall, and we say many thanks over what was sacrificed and harvested. Gifts are made with our hands, tied in twine and scrap pieces of fabric. We make new traditions to pass down to our children from the old ones of generations past.

I am not sure that we will ever leave our home here on the farm. Because we live in the beautiful, hilly countryside of southeastern Iowa, we are graced each winter with the gorgeous cover of snow on the rolling fields. We are lucky to live in a place that honors the traditions of older generations, where food is still canned and preserved and cooked upon the stove at home. Christmas makes the place we live even more special, as we gather with friends and neighbors to celebrate the season and say a blessing for the year ahead. I do not know of anything more wondrous and magnificent!

Pass It On: Christmas Cards with Earth Angels Studios

Jen O'Connor educates us on the history of Christmas postcards.

TRADITIONS, ART, AND LITERATURE ARE LADEN WITH BIRDS who carry meaning in the use of their images or are said to bring a message with their appearance.

A favorite Celtic tale documents the annual feud of the Holly King – winter’s Wren, and the Oak King – summer’s Robin, and their exchange of season and power. Another tale tells of the Robin as the bird in the manger who fanned the flames to warm the Christ child, burning his breast red in the effort. And those are just two among a myriad of folkloric tales in which Robins appear. Suffice to say... Robins have earned their place in story and memory.

Antique postcards from the Christmas and winter season often showcase Robins. Indeed, Robins – like the darling red-breasted English Robins on these cards dating from 1901-1916 – are among the birds that have a huge number of symbolic meanings attached to them. Robins are said to mean everything from good luck and spiritual renewal, to representing an omen of change.

The sending of holiday cards was extremely popular in Victorian England where predominantly German-printed cards and postcards were used to send holiday greetings. Interestingly, the mail carriers wore bright red uniforms and were nicknamed “Robins”. In a nod to this and in the whimsy of adding yet another symbol to the Robins who appear at this time of year, artists and illustrators took to adorning holiday cards with Robins; a double-entendre of Robins as messengers of the season in folklore and in the common parlance of the daily mail delivery!

In the United States, printed postcards flourished in the marketplace following the Private Mailing Card Act of Congress, passed in 1898. This made the cost of sending a postcard just one penny—instead of the two-cent letter rate—and allowed private publishers to print cards. German companies made exquisitely printed cards for export and American printers expanded with more readily available lithographic-produced cards that could be purchased and then be stamped with a one-cent stamp sold by the US Postal Service and its agents. With the post delivered twice a day in cities and more populated areas, postcards were much like today’s quick text to confirm a meeting, ask a question or send a note of regard.

Seasonal themed cards proliferated for daily correspondence. They were not used to extend what we think of as traditional season’s greetings, or as formal Christmas cards.  Instead, holiday-themed cards were used for regular correspondence during the holiday season. So, even more than 100 years later, these cards were so common that they are still easy enough to find and remain an affordable seasonal treat and are lovely to collect. They are not only charming in appearance, but a quick read of the messages on them reveals a peek into the daily life of those long ago.

Robins – perhaps because they are so easily identifiable and so prevalent – carry more meaning for many of us than most of their winged counterparts. Setting tale and theory aside, they make a lovely statement of the season’s hues, and herald a vintage-style nod to the lovely tradition of sending a thoughtful greeting.

The Wise Men Smelled Like Smoke

THERE IS AN OLD JOKE THAT ASKS, “do you know why the wise men smelled like smoke?” Of course the answer is, “because they came from afar.” In my area of the country, the word “fire” often sounds more like “far”.

Another version of the joke tells of the traveler passing through a small town during the Christmas season. This particular town had the tradition of displaying a live nativity scene on the city square. The traveler stopped to admire the scene and reflect on the real meaning of Christmas but found this scene to be a bit different from normal. The “usual suspects” were on display: Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, an angel, shepherds and even a donkey and a sheep. What made this a most unique nativity scene was the presence of three firefighters, all decked out in their bunker gear. The visitor turned to a local and inquired as to the reason for having firefighters in the display of the Holy Birth. The local fellow answered, “Why, stranger, don’t you recognize them? They are the wise men.” To that, the traveler responded, “The wise men? Why are they in firefighting gear?” “Don’t you know your Bible? It plainly says ‘they came from afar.’”

This leads to my small town and church Christmas pageants. No, we didn’t exactly replay “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” with the Herdmans, but we did have a similar version one year.

My hometown boasted a population of 300 in the 1960s and that figure hasn’t changed much since. Although small in number of people, there have always been an abundance of small churches. My home is Centertown United Methodist Church. Much like our town, my congregation is relatively small in number. That never hindered the production of a Christmas pageant each year.

The year was about 1964 or ‘65, as I recall. I was about 10 years old and not quite old enough to be a member of what was then known as MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) so I landed a lesser role in the play. I think that was the year I had a non-speaking part as an angel in the nativity scene that unfolded as the program progressed. My older brother, Ronnie, played the innkeeper. He was 16 and probably thought he had outgrown church Christmas plays and was “too busy” to bother with rehearsals. The night of the production he did show up and gave the performance of a lifetime…all without rehearsals and therefore, ad lib. It was truly a great performance that nearly stole the show.

Remember, I said nearly. My sister, Janet, played the role of Mary. Her best friend, Vicky, was the angel who appeared to Mary. “Hell, Mary!” she exclaimed. As you can imagine, that had the entire cast in stitches every rehearsal. She, of course, was supposed to say “Hail, Mary!” but it always came out like “hell”. Rehearsals invariably had a friendly argument between Mary and the angel.

“Vicky! The word is hail, not hell.”

“That’s what I’m saying. ‘Hell’, Mary.”

That went on for a couple of rounds before an adult stepped in to move forward with rehearsal. All the while we younger kids were taking our places in the manger scene at the appropriate point in the story. As most 7-11 year olds, we found it difficult to keep from giggling all the time anyway. Our angel proclaiming hell and our ad lib proficient innkeeper only gave us fodder for laughter.

We made it through the acting portion of the program and then prepared for the grand finale…our youth choir concert. We prepared several traditional Christmas carols and had settled into a more serious mood. A couple of ladies had taken sheets of crepe paper and made choir robes for all the young people. We assembled in the pulpit area and arranged ourselves into the practiced formation of a Christmas tree. A few select “branches” carried small candles to serve as lights on the tree. All went well as we sang “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” in our best angelic voices. The candle-bearers had been well-coached and no candle came close to the paper robes. Since I was one of the younger and smaller singers, I didn’t carry a candle.

A fellow classmate of mine, Kathy, did, however. She stood behind me and followed directions carefully. She did not let her candle get near her robe nor mine. She held it high enough to be seen but by the time we sang “sleep in heavenly peace” the final time, her arm apparently got tired and she had lowered her candle to a point right behind my head…and a bit too close. My hair, in some recollections, caught fire. Mom played piano for us and as soon as the last note was played she saw what was happening. She quickly jumped up and “patted” my head to keep the fire from burning my scalp. I didn’t realize what had happened but did notice an odd smell. Although my head didn’t actually burst into flames, it did singe the hair on the back of my head enough that I had quite a bald spot for some time.

Needless to say, now we never use real candles in such a manner. Our Christmas pageants may not have as much flair (or maybe that should be flare) but the tradition of small town church Christmas plays continues. Strains of “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” often mix with more contemporary carols but the spirit stays the same. We all probably grumbled about having to be in those productions each year but I’m willing to bet every one of us will have to admit that some of our best childhood memories center on those rehearsals and presentations…complete with shepherds in bathrooms.

I may not have been a wise man/woman but I definitely smelled like smoke!

Eliza Meets Santa: Christmas with Christie Jones Ray

a Christmas story by Christie Jones Ray

THERE WAS A VISIT TO NEW YORK CITY FOR ELIZA THE MOUSE to attend a performance of the The Nutcracker Ballet. She had always dreamed of being a ballerina, but alas, her feet were too wide, her ears were too big, and as hard as she tried, she could not twirl. But oh how she had loved watching the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy...and would dream big dreams sleeping in the ballet slippers worn by a real ballerina.

The next day, we made our way to the Plaza Hotel to see Santa Claus. Little Eliza had quite a conversation with Santa, sitting in his gloved hand, whispering into his ear all her hopes and dreams...her pink whiskers mingling with his whiskers of white.

I enjoyed a conversation with that jolly elf, myself. We sat upon the chaise, there, talking for quite some time, and I found myself believing in him all over again. Upon our arrival back home to Tennessee, I relayed to my friends and family, “this Santa is the REAL one!” He had listened to me tell all about my toy mouse...for it really is all about her....and I had given him my card.

I didn’t need his, because we ALL know where to find HIM! Anyway, I shared that we lived in Franklin, Tennessee, and silly me, asked if he had ever been there, to which he replied “I’ve been everywhere...” Well goodness gracious, of course he has!

We had been fortunate to have such a long chat as it was mid-afternoon, and there was a lull in the stream of visitors. He was smitten with Eliza and told the photographer to make sure she could see her. To my delight, he had been the one to ask to hold her. As I reflect upon that visit, I wonder...do we all just turn into little girls and boys when we sit and talk with Santa? He was as wonderful as all of you have always hoped he’d be!

What a magical time we enjoyed there in the city that never sleeps...where little girl dreams do come true at Christmas.

This is the illustration I created based on the photo of that visit, and it is included in the pages of my book, Eliza Visits the Ballet. — christiejonesray.com

Sweet Christmas Traditions with @tifforelie

an essay by Tiffany Mitchell

CHRISTMAS IS A TIME FOR TRADITIONS.  I grew up in a two family home in the suburbs of northeastern New Jersey where Christmas was the event of the year.  Birthdays were fun, Thanksgiving was exciting, but Christmas was the big deal - the major deal.  Our traditions started on Christmas Eve.  The whole family would gather at my aunt’s house where we would play games, eat, do the “cousins grab bag”, eat some more, and sing Happy Birthday to my aunt (who was born on Christmas Eve).  At midnight, everyone would trek out to the front yard in the freezing cold where we would complete the nativity scene with a baby doll and sing Happy Birthday to Jesus.  We would then sing carols until us “kids” began sneaking off one by one either out of fatigue, or the desire to avoid scaring any more of the neighbors.

Getting home from the Christmas Eve party was a tradition in and of itself.  Whoever snuck away first would arrive at the house and ascend the stairs to our second story living room where they would be met with the warm glow of a fully decorated Christmas tree and the familiar scent of pine needles.  Christmas morning was only hours away and even though as adults we don’t experience it the same way we did when we were kids, it’s somehow just as magical.

I’ve always been the first to wake up on Christmas morning.  My mom had a rule not to wake her until 7:30, so my 3 siblings and I would tackle the stockings while we waited for her to join us.  Once we were all up, we would open one gift each (in age order) until we ran out of presents.  At that point we were both starving and exhausted, so lots of eating and napping followed.

We’ve done the same thing every year for as long as I can remember.  Without those traditions, I don’t think Christmas would have been the grand occasion my family made of it.  When my husband and I moved to Lexington a year ago, we had only been married 2 years and were looking to start holiday traditions of our own.  This will be our 4th Christmas together and it still feels like we’re starting from square one.  Maybe it takes a few years before a tradition actually starts to take root.

Each year we’ve added something new.  The first year it was visiting our families.  The second year it was making hot cocoa from scratch.  Last year we visited our families, made the cocoa and took funny Christmas card pictures of our cat.  This year we’ll be adding something to complement the cocoa - sugar cookies!  Our traditions seem so simple, but I guess that’s how all great traditions start out, right?

Bringing Back the Magic of Christmas

An essay by Melissa McArdle

WHEN SHE THINKS OF CHRISTMAS, I want shimmering stars, scents of evergreen, warm cups of hot chocolate, and rooms filled with jolly laughter to fill her mind. Cozy blankets wrapped around our shoulders as we read classic tales beside the roaring flames of a burning fire. The tingling trace of pure peppermint oil as she continuously licks the stick of chalky peppermint candy, the old-fashioned kind that my great-grandfather used to fill his shirt pocket with and hand out as if we won the jackpot of tasty bliss. Afternoons spent in the kitchen preparing baked goods with our own hands, chasing flour clouds in the air, decorating our noses with buttercream icing, and giggling non-stop from the sugar high. Choosing the tree we know needs the most tender loving care because no one else would have it…channeling A Charlie Brown Christmas. Creating gifts for those we love, cherish and hold dear to our hearts, gifts that mean something and have a story we want to share. Decorating our tree with offerings from nature, garland strung of cranberries, pinecones hand-painted with glitter, leaves gilded golden, and mistletoe hung in all the right places.

Christmas is meant to be magical. The very roots of Christmas are considered other-worldly. When did we lose touch with this magic? For me, it is vital to plant the seeds of wonderland in her mind, fill her thoughts and soul with the simple beauties of giving with love, receiving with pure gratitude, and absorbing the true essence of the season. A season meant to be filled with joy and peace. She is young, she is impressionable, and now is the time to engrave the pureness of Christmas onto her heart. Lists can be made, but let’s allow those lists to be filled with good tidings, wishes for others and special achievements, and prayers of hope for better tomorrows. She is my one and only, and I have vowed to bring back the magic of Christmas. So far, her enthusiasm for painting cut-out stars, singing “O Holy Night”, and running with wild abandon through a Christmas tree farm lead me to believe I’m on the right track.

Victory Garden of Tomorrow

IN A TIME WHEN PINEAPPLES, GUAVA, AND ASPARAGUS ARE AVAILABLE YEAR ROUND AND NEARLY ANY FOOD IS STOCKED ON THE SHELVES OF MOST GROCERIES, JOE WIRTHEIM OF VICTORY GARDEN OF TOMORROW WANTS TO FURTHER EXPAND YOUR SELECTION.

If you want fancy French lettuces that your local market does not carry or heirloom blue pumpkins from Australia, he wants you to have it. The one caveat Joe has is that you grow it — on an organic farm. He also wants you to make compost, and to have a few backyard chickens.

BY: DAVID GOBELI | 2012

The Victory Garden of Tomorrow has its roots in Portland, Oregon, a city that has long been seen as a center of political and cultural activism, so a poster campaign that wants us to re-identify our eating habits is fitting. He hasn’t always been in Portland though; he moved there in the mid 2000’s from Columbus, Ohio.

Remembering Columbus, he says, “I was...one of the small group of people getting around on bicycles — I had no car at the time. I was living in a neighborhood that was a little out there in terms of low rents, and eccentric

In an age when most everything is available year round, Joe sees it as more of a perceived choice. Processed foods come at a very high price to our health, the environment, and in petroleum dollars. “Our entire food system is built on oil and corn subsidies. Today there’s no reason to believe these will last. To top it off, the industrial foods we’ve been eating are terrible for our health. Childhood obesity makes my ears turn red. I realize that in many ways, it’s difficult for an average middle-class person living the urban or suburban lifestyle today to see a reason to supplement their diet with a backyard garden. But that’s why I make propaganda, to insert the message that gardens need to become a normal part of what Americans do again; and even if the amount they produce is small, there occurs an important education and rise in awareness.”

Joe calls his propaganda campaign The Victory Garden of Tomorrow. He designs and prints art posters that
are based on the iconic American propaganda posters of both World War I and II. Using their style, and sometimes actual posters as inspiration, he has begun to create a new type of propaganda; this time it is about what we eat and where we get it.

artist types. I suppose being on a bike and being around a sensibility that is acutely aware of waste, the greater city seemed strange to me. I wondered why it was the way it was, why it was segregated, why
the suburbs were so popular, [and] why shopping centers were a thing to be excited about. Parking lots everywhere. I just felt that this wasn’t normal.” So, Joe left Columbus and moved to Portland, where bikers rode in crowds and morning rush hour traffic jams involved not only cars but cycles. In awe of the city and the old main street aesthetic that housed small community businesses, he enrolled at Portland State, the local university, where he met and has since had the chance to work with a variety of talent that he can draw inspiration from.

Then came The Victory Garden of Tomorrow, his self- described poster campaign that is “designed to channel the bold energy of historical poster propaganda. It is committed to civic innovation and social progress — better food, better gardens, and better cities. It is design, politics, and whimsy for the modern home front.” Drawing inspiration from the Victory Gardens of WWI and II and the 1939 New York World’s Fair (“The World of Tomorrow”) he developed the name of his campaign. “... like a lot of nerdy kids of my generation, I was enthralled with the idea of space exploration, loved the images and stories of moon landings, and just loved the idea of heroic, capable explorers. I imagined our mid-century economic era as a kind of fork in the road where America sort of chose the industrial path. However, the world of tomorrow could have been, and still can be, the path illustrated by the Victory Garden and waste-reduction movements.” He began to imagine the “Victory Garden of Tomorrow” as an “exciting new 21st century place of discovery, innovation, and excitement. A place where young people are needed to urgently man the gardens and consider creative, imaginative ways to solve contemporary problems.”

Then Joe designed atomic lettuces, atoms spinning around the leaves in mid-century simplicity; pickles
in space; and heroic chickens standing guard like B5-2 bombers over the airstrip. Taken out of the posters are airplane hangars, rockets, and industrial powerhouses pumping out wartime munitions. Common everyday backyard heroes now take their place. In his design about compost, a father and son peek into a compost bin watching the micro-organisms doing all the dirty work. Another, emblazoned with the words “Break New Ground,” calls to mind a soldier’s boot on the edge of a shovel digging a trench, but instead urges “Plant an Urban Farm Garden.” Even the flying bee in the poster’s background is reminiscent of a warplane, whimsically crafted into the modern, backyard air force.

Each piece calls to mind the strong imagery and text of the old propaganda posters. Bold, normally few colors, heavy strokes, and implied detail make every design speak with the same intensity as the originals. Joe loves the idea of “... turning the hero into something that is common, that is understated, and right in the backyard. To me, chickens, compost, [and] lettuce all speak to the idea that there’s more power in small and ordinary places. Our society has been all about industrial sized power moves, and I’m just thinking that the future might be a place that’s smaller scale, more human, er, chicken powered.”

A whopping 1.5 million people contract either e. coli or salmonella per year. Many of these cases involve large- scale industrial farming and crops that should never be exposed to those bacteria. Type 2 diabetes (which was once an adult disease but now is found in 1 of every 400 children), obesity, hypertension, heart disease, and cancer are all on the rise. It is thought that the current generation is the first generation that will have a shorter lifespan than their parents—the first time in American history. Our food plays a direct role in all of these diseases as well as our mental states and, it has been said, our general state of happiness. Millions of Americans are sick and the food they eat has a lot to blame for it and Joe Wirtheim is trying to do something about it.

“I believe that ... America needs a culture change around food and eating. People need to set examples for each other, begin discussing these things in their community, demand better foods from their grocers, demand variances for [egg-laying] hens from their municipalities, and so on. We need critical mass of demand before government programs are successful. I’d like to see more support for local farms and gardens, while seeing a reduction of government support for the industrial corn and soy based products. But to get the ball rolling, folks have to demonstrate this is something they want, not something imposed. That’s why I make the art I make; I want to charm while accessing people’s imaginations as to what is possible.”

SHOP

All The White Horses - A Whimsical Christmas

Styling: Jana Roach, Vanessa Pleasants of The Vintage Whites Market,
www.vintagewhitesblog.com
Photography: Alicia Brown, www.aliciabrownphotography.com

Christmas is a magical time, especially in northwestern Montana when the snow is falling. Vanessa and I are both incredibly inspired by the colors and traditions surrounding the season, and we translated that into this bright and whimsical vintage Christmas shoot.

Carousel horses, painted white and glittered, adorned the table. Antique clocks ticked away in the tree, and sweet teddy bears kept us company as we ate. Candles flickered, and the smell of fresh juniper branches and spruce filled the air, rising from under our thick rope table runner. Our linens were wrapped with velvet bows to add warmth to the room. Vintage mismatched china in blue and gold create a warm Christmas tone for dinner. Blue is one of our favorite colors, especially for winter. We love a white winter wonderland, and blues add color without being too harsh or overpowering to a clean white palette. Nearly every Chirstmas, Vanessa decorates with some sort of blue in a house full of whites. This year, her Christmas is inspired by the vintage dishes she found, patterned with a very unique blue wheat print. While searching for vintage finds in a thrift store, Vanessa came across a carrousel horse and had a vision of one under a tree. That vision sparked the theme for the tablescape, and she later realized that the vision stemmed from the classic movie White Christmas, when the lead character opens a gift and inside is a beautiful white horse.

We used thick rope to create a runner that added great texture to the table. Simply trim a piece of cardboard to the length and width you want your runner to be, and hot glue rope strands to the cardboard until it is completely covered. You can vary your thickness if you want, but we love the look of thick rope in contrast with the soft, navy velvet bows.An old, painted dresser made a perfect buffet in the dining room. Since it is smaller than a buffet or hutch, it is the perfect match for a snug room. Store linens and silver in the drawers, and hang a wreath or garland on the mirror. Presents wrapped in craft paper, ruffled crepe paper, and velvet make for a beautiful landscape under the tree. Ribbon strung through an old watch adds a unique touch to the wrapping. Leaving bigger vintage toys unwrapped under the tree reminds us of the childlike joy and happiness of the season.

I’ve spent a majority of my winters in the northwest, which means plenty of cold weather and big winter coats. I remember the first year my family moved to Montana, we couldn’t see out of the windows because they were covered in snow. We had nine feet that year, and could sled off of our roof on to the thick piles of snow below. I can’t remember a Christmas where my parents didn’t do something special for us. They never start Christmas morning without a pot of coffee, thick pieces of bacon, or fluffy pancakes. For my brothers and I, this was torture because we had to wait until they were done eating before we could open presents. Everything was always wrapped in gorgeous coordinating colors, which inspired ideas for wrapping presents for this shoot. We always had a note from Santa hidden in the tree, and often one more surprise after all the gifts were unwrapped. I’m so thankful for the things my parents did to make Christmas special for my brother and I, and I am so excited to pass those things along to my kids one day.

Bringing the past to life with vintage touches made this shoot one of our favorites, and we were honored to use decorations that someone cherished years ago. Whether you’ve inherited or collected vintage over the years, recreate a Christmas from days gone by for a special holiday season! Wishing you and yours a merry Christmas from Vintage Whites!

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Be Kind // Stella Marina

Be Kind. 

Kindness in its essence is a trait sometimes undervalued and often forgotten.  
Yet a few words carefully selected, or simply left unspoken can mean the difference between a smile and a tear.  We speak of intention, of gratitude and karma, but a simple act of selfless kindness is all it can take to brighten or soften the days of at least two people. 
 

It is present in babies when they are born, no child comes into this world with a preconceived idea of malice or hatred, we arrive with the capacity to love unconditionally, yet slowly that capability becomes ground down and chipped away over the years. In some minds, the potential for love, charity or altruism becomes crystallised, growing in new forms, in others a sort of calcification takes place, a smooth, hardened shell presents itself to the world.
 I might like to add here, that I do not write this from some rose-tinted cloud of kindness and empathy. I write this from my kitchen table, where I am slumped. I dragged myself here across the carpet because today I had a panic attack and I had to leave work.  I have felt the rumblings of one for the past week or so, but some loose-lipped words this morning sent me over the edge, and as I lay on my bed in that hazy aftermath where you feel completely empty and a little bit numb. I decided that the best thing to do was something constructive with this feeling (I also had to stop the day from feeling wasted).  
 

To draw us back to my favourite analogy, life on a boat actually offers up a wonderful platform for kindness. 

To be at sea grants us a condensed version of the outside world, yes it is archaic and often patriarchal, but it relies on wanting to keep one another alive. We depend on one another, knowing that the task ahead would be so much harder if not impossible alone. That self-reliant entity that is your ship, allows you to shed the skin of daily life, removing all other roles and responsibilities aside from sailing, eating, sleeping and how you will progress from A to B. Each change of direction is predetermined by a greater force, you cannot fight the wind, you can only harness it in order to move forward. Maybe this applies to our emotions, to anger or frustration? Bottling them up inside will rarely relinquish them, you may only harness that energy in order to move forward. Then there are the consequences of careless harsh words in an environment fuelled by broken sleeping patterns and constant movement. Not only are those words magnified but there is no easy exit, you are with those people for better or for worse, so please let's be kind. These words are easy to write, the thoughts are easy to form. The hard part is in the heat of the moment when you are distracted or angry. I do not claim that it is possible to constantly check yourself for thoughts of anger. The freedom to express our thoughts, ideas and emotions in any way that we like is a human luxury, we must try only not to exploit it. If you are granted words, please use them kindly. If you are granted authority, please use it wisely.

Alex and the Boy with Flowers

Photographer Alex McDonald has shared dozens of photo essays with us over the years. This one was a few years ago and remains one of our favorites. 

Why Must We Protect Our Public Lands?

 

WHY MUST WE PROTECT OUR PUBLIC LANDS

ESSAY BY AMY HAYDEN || PHOTOGRAPHY BY PAIGE DENKIN

The question was asked...why must we protect our public lands and parks... Amy Hayden responded with a beautiful essay

Here is a simple history lesson for you. You do realize that's how these places became national parks. Someone wandered onto the land and saw the beauty and decided it needed to be known that it was a beautiful, majestic wonder the earth created, and it needed to be known that there were many people that came before us and they put their mark on it and called it home. And when decades later it was discovered people went to great lengths to protect it, and to teach others about it, to help preserve such a wonder, a rare beauty. Beauties that every state in our country once had tons of and now everyday we are losing more of them from natural disasters and political disasters. If no one stepped foot into these areas there would be no beauty to admire. No one would know or care about such places. We'd be suffocating with cities filled to the brim with people.

These places are our history, my history, Native American runs through my blood and I would love to know what my ancestors experienced before I die, so I too can find a way to leave my mark on this earth for future generations to see and experience when I'm long gone. To remember who came before them as we are now remembering who came before us. That's what national parks/monuments are all about. To teach us to be grateful, to show us that we were not just handed all this. It's to teach us that one day this world will no longer exist in the beauty we see it today. Stepping foot into such a place is not killing it, it's making it a beautiful memory. But drilling and mining miles down underneath it, Say goodbye resources this beautiful land survives on. Say hello to a wasteland caused by greedy, power hungry humans. Open your eyes and see the answers are in these places.

— @REBELLIOUSWALLFLOWER

Ashley Sullivan | In Her Own Words

ASHLEY SULLIVAN

IN HER OWN WORDS

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I grew up in Maryland, a sort of grounded daydreamer. I have always been creative, so I decided that I would study interior design. In school I learned a lot about the foundations of design, processes, and shaping space. I have always drawn inspiration from the seasons, natural light, textures—and their contrast. I love linens and silks, birch bark, flower petals, worn cobblestones...anything I can find pattern and texture in inspires me.

I started a blog five years ago as a creative outlet for my design and began experimenting more with photography. I spent time developing my technical and composition skills and finding my own style. Today I specialize in food, still life, and travel photography.

I've always been filled with a global curiosity, and I feel most alive when traveling and exploring the world. I'm fascinated by foreign cultures and traditions and how people live. The details and textures that can be found while traveling are amazingly intricate, if you take the time to notice. I use these details like puzzle pieces in my design, each one an important element in the final product.

My husband, our bulldog Kane, and I recently relocated to Minneapolis. We're thrilled about the adventure, and although the winters are a lot to bear, there is a vibrancy to the culture here. I've made some great friends in the creative community, and am energized by the maker spirit. I started a series on my blog about Minnesota makers with trades like glassblowing, leather-working, woodworking, and painting. There are many fantastic goods that are made right here in our community, and I love sharing their stories.

In addition to having a deep passion for travel, I have a great yearning for the calm life at home. Slow mornings with coffee and a good book or sunny afternoons with an open bottle of wine. I love throwing on Frank Sinatra and creating a meal with my husband...these are the moments that make up our lives, and I think being intentional about how we spend our moments is truly important.

— www.ashley-sullivan.com

Wales on Film

 

WALES ON FILM

A PHOTO ESSAY BY CHRIS BUXTON

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Wales is the mountainous western cousin of England, a Celtic link to the past with over 1,180 km or 730 mi for us using the imperial system of coastline, and 50 islands decorating it. Boasting three national parks and the Heritage Coast, Wales is an untapped land of adventure. Chris Buxton, a lifestyle photographer based in Wales in the United Kingdom, uses 35mm film for most of his practice. He relies on film to achieve a feeling that digital cameras can't capture naturally.

Living in Wales, he'd never really travelled around the Welsh landscape and finally decided to explore it with his second set of eyes, his camera. "I was very shocked by how beautiful this country truly is," says Chris, "it has shown me that everyone needs to explore their own homes to see where they're truly from." Chris tries to capture the natural and inner beauty of the landscape of his homeland and put it on the maps of like-minded soul-searchers and explorers hoping to find a new destination and a new adventure.