Summer 2020. The Dahlia's Story.

 

This is my home. It is a Pennsylvania German stone house and it was built in 1811.

I share it, as we all do with old houses, with the previous inhabitants who shaped it into what it is, and the family I call my own. Four cats, three dogs and two of us humans. The door is (almost) open and the house is always busy. The Summer is all about tomatoes, basil, and dahlias.

The flowers start on the back hill. High in the sunshine, and protected from the winds with cages to help stabilize. The garden is for the house to be decorated. Resplendent with blooms, buzzing with bees and jungle enraptured for the cats who guard it. 

Once the flower buckets are full the arranging happens at the potting cellar door. It is shaded, the vases are chosen and the best part unfolds.

The colors reflect the shades of the tides as the garden phases from early bloomers to humid tolerant varieties. All are fuel for the creations.

The house has rooms with intentions and some just to enjoy.

The den is dark brown wallpaper with parrots and dark crimson peonies. It is perfect to highlight the huge dinner plate varieties.

The dining room has a table made for vignettes, and, that's the place big blooms backdrop my other collections.

The kitchen is an 18th century log cabin. One long NC mercantile table, old chestnut floors, and early, safely restored sink, stove, and fridge.

My canine crew. Everyday off to the vet clinic together.

My Frippie who brings me a solitary random, never to be matched again sock. her version of breakfast in bed.

My dear friend Stan Lee. The girl who always wanted to be a veterinarian for the sake of her patients.