Antiques are like sponges that have absorbed the history and ‘everyday living’ that occurred during the objects’ existence.
People sensitive to these accumulated vibrations, like myself, can’t resist collecting the treasures.
Precious memories reside in the pine chest of drawers Dad made when I was born as well as the four-poster maple bedstead my aunt refinished in 1950 and subsequently passed down to me. The picture attached shows a portable Morse sewing machine Mom and Dad purchased in 1971 at a local swap mart as a gift to me. Even at age eleven or twelve, I understood the value of the gift and the love behind it. Continue reading Antique/Vintage Morse Sewing Machine
Bonnie Wright scared me to death when I first met her.
I was employed for fifteen years with a local non-profit. Most of that time, Bonnie was the CEO of that organization. She never gave me any reason to be frightened. In fact, this lady was an awesome, intelligent, and caring CEO; I have fond memories of my employment. But I was just a little country girl employed at a lowly position, and she was—well, CEO. At the time, the gap between our social stations seemed overwhelming—to me, anyway. Over time, Bonnie’s warm personality melted my unwarranted fear, and we developed a lasting friendship.
So Bonnie and her friend, Mary, visited my homestead earlier this month. She brought along a professional-level camera (a nice change from my plastic point-and-shoot). Before they left, Bonnie said she would send me the pictures; I gave them an endangered Tohono O’odham I’itoi onion to take home.
Bonnie is now a professional photographer. Her work reflects the quality and excellence that she devotes to everything she does.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing some of the photos she took at my little farm. Here is the first installment, entitled, “Our Home.”
The following excerpt from my book, Baskets for Butterflies, describes our house and property. Continue reading My Friend Bonnie