Talk of the Toile – The Chicken Coop Tour

Posted on June 15, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Regular readers of this blog know I live in a 750 square foot condo 200 yards from the Atlantic Ocean; an added bonus is the See Mint pond outside my front door.  I am not complaining; I try to be thankful for every little thing I’ve been given in this life.  But 750 square feet is small so I generally refer to my current residence as my “chicken coop-sized condo.”  When I found out the Rye Conservation Commission was sponsoring a “Chicken Coop Tour” to raise money for their community farm, I was interested.  I was also surprised they had not asked me to participate, but maybe it’s because I don’t live in Rye.

I told my friend Steve and he suggested I look for a condo-sized chicken coop.  Steve, I’ve got some news for you.  In Rye, there are lots of condo-sized chicken coops and to be truthful, about midway through the tour, I wasn’t sure if I was on a garden tour, a kitchen tour, or at a decorator show house.  It was when we were asked to put on the “booties.”

According to the Chicken Coop Tour brochure, the owners of this particular chicken coop are involved in bird rescue and rehabilitation; the cloth booties prevent cross contamination.  I don’t care for cloth booties and when I’m asked to put them on, I inquire “may I go barefoot instead?  My feet are immaculate.”  I am proud to say that during my tenure in the Junior League of Boston, we have never asked our show house patrons to wear cloth booties.  Of course, we have never rescued or rehabilitated any birds either, unless you count the rooster lamp used by designer Liz Mitchell in our 2006 show house kitchen.

This property also won my own personal award for the most elaborate condo-sized chicken coop.

My favorite coop was the first one I toured, owned by a woman named Tracey.  I had met her at the Rye Farmer’s Market last summer; she was helping Herbie Drake with his farm stand.  Her simple and peaceful coop reminded me of my own humble coop and if I’m not mistaken, I think one of her chickens was sitting in the shade pecking out a blog post about a tall woman who asked a lot of questions about chicken coop decor.

Not everyone wants to have chickens in their backyard.  For those who might have less agrarian tastes, here’s a pretty little bird for you.

Step on it, Daddio.

Have you ever been on a chicken coop tour?

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Little Cash Stash

Posted on June 14, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I know a dollar isn’t what it used to be, but it’s a good idea to keep a few bills in your car for emergencies.  The little strawberry stand on the way home is an emergency.

They don’t take Visa, Mastercard, American Express, Diner’s Club, or debit cards.

Cash only, baybee!

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Challenges

Posted on June 13, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

It’s hip to talk about challenges.  Sometimes, economic decline is called an “economic challenge.”  A marriage ends and friends say it was a “relationship challenge.”  Thankfully, I’m not having an economic or relationship challenge right now, but I will admit to enjoying a good challenge every now and then.  Some challenges I’ve considered and declined are surfing, snowboarding, and bungee jumping.

Climbing Mount Washington is still on my list.

(Can you see Mount Washington in this picture?  On a clear day, I can see it from the top of Mosquito Hill.)

When I was worried about the potential of an imminent apocalyptic challenge, I decided to get a self-defense tool.  Unbelievably, at a yard sale in Kingston, I found a used bow and arrow.  I’ve never used a bow and arrow, but it looked easy and the yard sale host convinced me I would only need a little practice to be a modern-day female Robin Hood.

Sold.

I brought the bow and arrow home and stuck it in the back of my closet, behind the gown I wore to the 2007 Junior League “Centennial Ball.”  After a few days, I forgot about it and started squirreling away Tootsie Rolls for the apocalyptic Tootsie Roll shortage that was predicted in 2014.  I had done my research and Tootsie Rolls were the most likely candy to survive a nuclear disaster; I had no plans to “shelter in place” without a little something sweet.

Then I had my apocalyptic epiphany.  These days I’m putting most of my spare time and energy into growing food (self-sufficiency) and writing (developing more transferable skills).  I still have my bow and arrow, though, and a few weeks ago I called a friend who has a lot of land and a general “country boy” knowledge of self-defense tools, including the bow and arrow.  I asked if I could skip over sometime and practice.

It took him a while to respond.

“What is this, another one of your challenges?”

He didn’t say no, though, and I was able to figure out that a bow and arrow wasn’t going to save me from a roving gang of zombies nor was I going to start moonlighting as an Olympic archer.  The bow and arrow will end up in my own yard sale.

It was a fun little challenge that failed.  Don’t worry; I have a whole list of other challenges on a cocktail napkin in my purse and it’s quite probable I will write about them.

As Helen would say “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

Do you have a funny failed challenge?

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French Breakfast Radishes for Cedric Maxwell

Posted on June 12, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

After a remarkably novel NBA playoff run, Boston’s beloved Celtics were eliminated on Saturday night.  I jumped on the basketball bandwagon in March, mostly because I like talking basketball with my brother and my nephew.  I also enjoy listening to sports on the radio; I am convinced that prowlers and would-be home invaders, upon hearing Cedric Maxwell’s voice, turn their larcenous feet away from my chicken coop-sized condo.  I would like to meet Max someday and thank him for keeping me safe this spring.

The Celtics were writing an amazing story; it was like a serial novel.  Each game night, around midnight, they would ship their chapter of the story to the sports talk radio “editors” and the editing process would take place over the next 48 hours as the sports talkers would refine the story.  Every aspect of the chapter would be analyzed until several possible conclusions would be floated out.  “They’re going to win tonight and it’s done,” or “This thing is going to 7 games.”

If you live in New England, you lived it with me.  We couldn’t put the story down and we were waiting for the next installment.  Now, we’re tired and cranky, trying to catch up on lost sleep.

It has worn me out.

Yesterday, I dragged myself to my garden in an undisclosed location and picked a plate of French Breakfast radishes.

In some ways, these radishes have been the super stars of this garden.  I planted them at about the time I jumped on the Celtics bandwagon, when the soil (like the C’s) was just starting to warm up.  They were quick to spring up and they grew steadily.  They encouraged me with their ever-better performance; I wasn’t sure when their story was going to end, but I was reading it.

Yesterday, they were ready to tell their tale.  I picked them and I didn’t even wait for breakfast to eat them, as the French might do.  I just washed them and gobbled them down when I got home.  As Cedric Maxwell likes to say “somebody get me a napkin so I can wipe my mouth!”

Let’s get caught up on our sleep and our radishes this week!

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LOOK…

Posted on June 11, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

(The basic facts of this story are true.  Some of the names and details have been changed to protect the innocent.  The details that were changed are in italics.)

Friendship is hard to understand; it is equally hard to maintain and even though a person may have hundreds of “friends” on Facebook, it’s not the same thing as knowing a person over time, face to face.  I think one of the reasons Facebook “works” is because many of the people we interact with every day are people we know well from another place and time.  We are separated by distance.  In my case, a lot of my FB friends are people I grew up with.  If Bob Yodelle posts a picture of his old Ford F150 and writes “I’m a little bit country” I don’t roll my eyes and say “what a hick!” because I know Bob Yodelle really is a farmer and he is a little bit country.  I also know that Bob Yodelle reads Russian novels in the winter and drinks raw milk.

Bob Yodelle is the real deal, although he may not seem that way to someone who just met him on Facebook.

I have a friend; her name is Grace.  We come from different worlds.  In another time and place, we would likely never have met; cheap petroleum has made a lot of things possible in our lifetime.   I have learned many things from her and she has never judged me on the basis of the bills in my wallet, the books I read, my shoes, or the bumper stickers on my Jeep.  We met while doing volunteer work and I will never forget how passionately Grace explained her rationale for joining the volunteer work club.  She just wanted to “help poor people.”  When she explained this to me, it seemed like her heart would break with compassion for people who had less than she did and it caused me to question my own motivation for joining the volunteer work club.

A few years have passed since we first met at the volunteer work club and we’ve concluded that there might be better ways to help poor people; we are both approaching this problem from slightly different angles.  Nevertheless, she continues to work passionately and diligently in her own way to help others.

Grace is the real deal, although she may not seem that way to someone who just met her on Facebook.

Last year, Grace decided to start a small grass-fed hamburger business.  She has worked tirelessly and passionately to bring good food at a good price to the people of a particular town.  She has faced all the struggles of a small business owner; finding hard-working employees, dealing with town, state, and federal regulations, and figuring out the best ways to promote her business.

It has not been easy.

Recently, she’s faced a problem at her business that seems impossible to solve.  I made a road-trip to the hamburger joint and enjoyed a sizzling grass-fed hamburger while Grace outlined the current problem she was trying to solve.  In her methodical way, she verbally went over the pros and cons of each possible solution to the problem and the cost-benefit involved.  Her problem was certainly more complex than the ones I face each day.  I didn’t know if I could help her solve these problems, but I did the best I could to listen and encourage her.

Then she said “I feel really alone.”

Whenever someone uses the word “alone” a little bell goes off in my head and no matter how distracted I might be, I perk up and pay attention.  I do this because if there is ONE THING I know and understand, I understand being alone.  I have been alone here at the chicken coop-sized condo for over 10 years and although I have perfected the art and craft of it, whenever someone tells me they feel alone, my heart breaks with compassion for them.

I didn’t know exactly how to say what I was thinking, so I did my best imitation of a very well-spoken, brilliant, and inspiring person I know and said,

“LOOK, you’re not alone.”

I thought about this problem all day yesterday and I took action on several different angles.  Today, I am doing the ONE THING Grace has always encouraged me to do.

I am writing about it.

These poppies are growing in the place where I am not alone.  They’re beautiful and even though the grass needs mowing, the house needs painting, and the roof might be leaking, nothing stopped these poppies.  LOOK at them, coming up alongside one another encouragingly.

Grace, I am wishing you a better day today.  You’re the real deal.

Oh, and by the way, you are not alone.

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Do Not Disturb

Posted on June 10, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

When we are growing up, we see our parents as parents.  We may see them this way our entire lives and that is rightly so.  They will always be our parents.  Sometimes, I still see my parents as rigid disciplinarians.  When I was thirteen, I thought they were impossible ogres, although they were just concerned about my future.

A few years ago, my mother’s brother, Uncle Richard, gave me a shoe box full of old photos; there were pictures of my parents when they were young and first dating each other.  Looking at these pictures, I was struck by the notion that my parents had once been young dreamers, waiting for their lives to unfold.  I was not even part of their lives at the moment in time when the photo was taken.  My mother was slim and sophisticated, wearing high heels and fancy clothes.  My father was handsome and handy, busy building our house in his free time.

My parents still live in that same house (number four) on the pretty little tree-lined street we grew up on.  I stay there whenever I get the chance; I call it “Motel Four” or “the motel.”  I get the royal treatment when I am there; one might say I am a “preferred guest.” Of course, there is an off-season, beginning the day after the Super Bowl until my mother’s birthday in April.  During this time, the motel closes its doors for renovations and rejuvenation.  Sometimes even during the regular season, I will hear my mother’s ominous voice saying “the motel will be closed this weekend.”

The motel is closed this weekend for my parent’s anniversary.

Do not disturb.

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Talk Of The Toile

Posted on June 8, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Last night was my “coiffure night.”  I wanted my hair to look good for Game 6 of the NBA semi-finals.  The best part about having my hair done, though, is spending time with my friend and stylist, Tracey.  She’s wise beyond her years, smart as a whip, and highly skilled with the tools of beautification.  I only wish I could spend more time with her because she’s terrific.

We were getting caught up on every little thing in our lives and I casually asked her if she was reading my blog.

She was silent for minute and then turned on the blow dryer.  When she turned it off, I said

“It’s ok if you’re not reading it; I know you’re busy.”

“I’m reading ‘Fifty Shades of Grey,’” she said sheepishly.

I’m not reading the “Grey” book.  I’m not in the book burning business; people are free to read what they like.  I usually read books by authors who have been dead for at least 100 years or are randomly unknown.

I have a library card at the University of New Hampshire library in case I want to read arcane biographies or agricultural collections.  I don’t have a Tee Vee, I swim against the inside tide, and I don’t plan to go to Disney World any time soon.  I don’t have Crocs, either.  My mother used to say “if everyone jumps off the bridge, are you going to jump off too?”

I guess not.

A few years ago, I created a rating system for the books I had read.  One of the categories was “SMW” which stood for “Slit My Wrists.”  My definition was:

The book, while potentially well-written and commercially successful, was dark and depressing and made me want to slit my wrists.

The two books I rated as SMW that year were “The House of Sand and Fog” and “Rabbit, Run.”  “A Confederacy of Dunces” was kind of SMW, but some parts of it were so funny they offset the darkness.

When the “Grey” book came out, I thought it was either a SMW book or it might be about interior decorating because 50 shades of grey would be a dynamite foundation for a well-designed room.  There was a room in the 2004 Junior League of Boston’s Decorator Show House which utilized at least 10 shades of grey, white, and a few pops of lavender; it was “The Bride’s Room” by Fernanda Bourlot and it was my favorite room in the house.

While it has been my custom to write about dreams on Friday, I’m all dreamed out right now.  I do have at least 50 stories to tell about decorator show houses though, and until I’m ready to talk about my dream for locally grown, organic, grass-fed sweet dream pillows, Fridays are going to be called “Talk of the Toile.”

I hope you won’t want to slit your wrists.

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Flying The Coop

Posted on June 7, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I’m thinking of selling my chicken coop-sized condo.

My kitchen is painted yellow with red trim.  I do not have grass growing on my ceiling; ceramic roosters are optional.

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Cute Little Everything

Posted on June 6, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I have a bad habit.  I use the word “little” to describe everything.  If I see a striking old house I’ll say “what a pretty little house” even though it’s at least 3,000 square feet.  I might see a plate of jumbo cookies and say “could you please pass me one of those yummie little cookies?”  Maybe I’m shopping at a cute little boutique in Portsmouth and I pick up an outrageously expensive handbag; I might just say “what a darling little bag!”  Obviously, I have no sense of “word proportion.”   I don’t buy overpriced darling little bags, either.

I’m certainly not a cute little person.  I’m tall, almost five feet nine inches. I drive a roomy Jeep.  Sometimes, I have a big mouth; I talk a lot.  I’m not sure why I’m so enamored with “cute little everything.”

Here’s a picture of a cute little bird’s nest a family of sparrows have built here at the Coop.

It’s the best little thing going on here this spring.

Another little Celtics’ game over; someone get me a couple little cups of coffee!

What are some of your favorite little words?

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Tootsie Roll Candy

Posted on June 5, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

It’s ironic that I wrote about preparing for the Apocalypse yesterday because when I got to work, I had a hissing tire that was flat by the time I finished calling the auto club.  Had the “you know what” hit the fan yesterday morning, I would have been “hoofing it.”  Luckily, yesterday was not Doomsday, since one of the remaining items on my list of life challenges is “learn how to change a tire.”  As it turned out, the service technician arrived in less than 10 minutes, found the broken glass in my tire, and fixed the leak with something that looked like a Tootsie Roll candy.  The gentleman who helped me was kind, courteous, and upbeat; and he reminded me of someone’s favorite candy.

Whenever I’m reminded of Tootsie Roll candies, I think about Elizabeth Tyminski, probably one of the greatest Tootsie Roll candy aficionados of my generation.  Elizabeth was the President of the Junior League of Boston in 2005 – 2006, the same season I co-chaired the League’s 34th Decorator Show House with my friend Audra.  Elizabeth loves Tootsie Roll candies and it was important to have these treats on hand for the long days and nights we three toiled away on the third floor of our house, the Richard Henry Dana Jr. House in Cambridge, MA.  We were endlessly counting and recounting the daily receipts in order to make the nightly deposit at the bank in Harvard Square; I sometimes wondered if the neighbors didn’t ask themselves “what on earth are those Junior Leaguers doing up there on the third floor, burning the lights until all hours of the evening?”

Elizabeth loved the challenge of getting the spreadsheets to balance, so I was not surprised when I heard she would be chairing the Junior League’s 35th Show House.  Elizabeth is thoroughly modern, but she personifies an old notion of the “clubwoman” if such a thing ever existed outside of old movies and novels.  She belongs to lots of clubs and organizations in the city and she throws herself into their philanthropic activities; she’s also pretty good at making her NCAA college basketball bracket selections and thoughtfully remembering people on special days.

Today, Elizabeth has invited interested designers to visit The Potter House in Newton; this is an opportunity for talented individuals to see the bare bones of the house and bid on the room(s) they would like to recreate into masterpieces of good design.  Once upon a time, before HGTV and reality television makeover shows, there was the Junior League of Boston’s Decorator Show House.  In October, it will return to the Boston landscape.

(Decorator Bird Houses, courtesy of Nancy’s Nest, Route 1, North Hampton, New Hampshire)

Although I’m “retired” from active membership in the Junior League of Boston and I’m busy designing gardens, I’m still a big fan of decorator show houses.  To show my support and to help Elizabeth prepare for the challenges ahead, I’m volunteering to be her Tootsie Roll candy supplier from now until the end of the project.  Elizabeth, the sweets are in the mail…goodness knows, you’re going to need them.

Do you have a favorite decorator show house?

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