Remembrance cups

its you whatever a moon has
always meant
and whatever a sun will always
sing is you

A wedding deserves a token of affection to celebrate eternal love, but sometimes the nicest things happen all in a rush and no invites have gone out. And you want to remember.

Like the fall when a rare bird landed so close to you , you could see its heart beat beneath it's feathers. Or the moment when your baby said her first word. (This yellow butterfly cup says 'flutterby' on the reverse.)

Mr. Pricklepins. I remember the first time I saw a hedgehog. They are so small!

all the pretty birds dive into

the heart of the sky

all the fish climb through

the mind of the sea

Have you ever seen a bird's nest in your very own garden? This nest piece is actually more like a bowl. It would hold a nice portion of granola, (very nesty) or vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce. Maybe even a little whipped cream.

Or seen a fox dash across a clearing, his white tipped tail all lit up like a candle?

The reverse reads;

joy was his song and joy so pure

a heart of star by him could steer

Thank you for checking in to see my new cups. Let's light the fire now and put the kettle on.

all poetry courtesy of e.e. cummings

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Greencoat Squirrell and Little Red, Part 2

Greencoat and a few of his cronies stood beneath the pines, having a confab.
"She's always been inpetuous" said Bunny Two Shoes, "And there's that tendency to linger and pick boquets." Songbird bobbed his head and sang a sweet air.
Mouse stood very straight and raised her voice. "We're coming with you, Greenie! There's strength in numbers!
Greencoat wondered how much strength a mouse posessed, but was glad of the company. They headed out, with songbird as their scout, searching from the sky, every hollow and rotten stump for danger in the form of a Wolf.
At the cottage, Red found the front door stuck, so she entered through the back. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of turnips and moldy potatoes.

"I'm here, gram!" she called.

"Alright, dear." Gram's voice echoed through the timbered cottage.

Red stoked the fire, and set the kettle on. She placed fresh rosemary on the hob and cranked open windows, then uncorked the port and carried a tot into Gram's bedroom. 'This will liven her up.' she decided.

Gram wolfed it right down. "I'm famished, dear, do I smell egg? And may I have more of that scrumptious cordial?" Gram's bonnet covered most of her face, but Red saw alot of brown. Perhaps she'd been working in the garden?
"Yes, there's egg and Greencoat Squirrel has made your favorite cake." A thump rattled the front door. "There he is now."
When Red opened the door, she saw it had been jammed shut with an ebony walking stick.
Curious.

Squirrel sniffed.

"Smells badgerish in here."

"Gram's awfully peckish," said Red, "And you know how much she adores squirrel stew. I wouldn't get too close today." Squirrel blanched and set the cake down.


The band of woodland animals peered through the window, watching and waiting. As Red carried the tea tray to Gram, the animals crept inside.

Red and Gram each had their own special cup. So when Gram grabbed Red's cup, and then began to slurp and belch noisily, without uttering a word of Grace, Red jumped up.

"You are an interloper! Where's my Gram!" Her friends tumbled in the room.

Bunny Two Shoes yanked off the bonnet and gasped, "You're not even a wolf", he said , "You're just a smelly old fox!" Mouse lobbed a walnut at fox's head and he yelped. "Crikey, that hurt!"
Fox sprang up and bounded past them and out the front door. While they gaped at his exit, Gram entered throught the back with an apronful of mushrooms. "Oh, grandaughter, you've brought your lovely friends. Let's all have tea!"

Later, a fox could be seen, leering, as he sauntered through the glen with an ebony walking stick.

He cradled a bottle tenderly in his arm. A bottle of Elderberry Port!

The end of the first official Pinewood Tale
I hope you enjoyed the adventure!

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Greencoat Squirrel and Little Red, A Pinewood Tale

Squirrel's pecan cake trembled in his paws. "Please, Red, don't take the path through the Oaks. The Pine wood will be safer." he said. "I smell Him out there."

Red sniffed the crisp autumn air. "Oh, poot." she said, "All I smell is Watercress and fresh earth. Besides, my way's shorter." She adjusted the bottle in the crook of her arm. "This elderberry wine is like lugging a cannonball around, not to mention what else is in my basket."

"Devonshire cream?" asked Squirrel, "And ginger scones?"

Red nodded. "And hard boiled goose egg, too." She kissed his cheek. "I'll have tea ready when you get to Grams, and remember, no sampling the cake!" She tripped off to the oak glen, while Squirrel took the safer path.

Neither one of them saw the long snouted face that peered at them through the hedgerow. He drooled profusely, and there shone a strange, golden gleam in his eye.

As the glen turned into the Oak wood, Red walked more briskly. She stopped for a handfull of fresh rosemary, and felt sure someone was watching her. She turned back, but only saw a rabbit in a yellow vest, sipping tea from a red polka dotted cup. She waved a hello, and hurried on.

Soon she came to Gram's cottage. Smoke puffed from the chimney. How snug it would be!

She crunched over pine needles and turned the knob, thinking surley, no one had ever been as hungry as she!

Most certainly to be continued........

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Laundry Day

Out of doors
the sun has dried
many a shirt
and sheet that glide
in the wind.
I pin them up,
end to end
and when I'm done, I sail with them;
An unexpected dividend.

The first day in our new house, the clothes froze solid right on the line. I'd been busy

lining kitchen shelves with blue gingham contact paper, and anyway how was I to know the temperature dropped to thirty when the sun set in Jackson, California? I reeled in the pulley style clothesline and sure was relieved for the darkness so my new neighbors couldn't see my mortification. I tossed the stiff laundry in the bath tub, and hung them again the next morning.

Laundry crisis averted.

My mother had the Tee pole style clothesline, with three long lines. I used to walk through the billowing white sheets and pretend they were clouds. Its the closest I ever came to flying. The cups above have clothespin handles, and are decorated with outside things, including a little beehive house.

I see your teacup is empty. Would you like a refill? I've got plenty more shortbread too.

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

To Have and To Hold

You are walking on a woodland path, and there on the earth in front of you lies a cup. Tell me, what does it look like? That is a question from a Victorian party questionairre; Each item you encounter on the path is a symbol for something. The cup is a metaphor for home. Of course it is. It warms your hands filled with black coffee or earl grey tea, and its a vessel, like a house is, to enclose comfort, ritual and nourishment.

Even a broken house that has been through troubled times and it's share of heartache can be pieced back together into something lovely again.

Every day most of us go through the same ritual. We stumble into the kitchen brew our drink of choice and reach for a favorite cup. Once it is filled with coffee, and in my case a tablespoon of honey and a dab of milk, we breathe, sip, and are ready to face the day. It's one of the common bonds that transcend everything else. You may be a librarian, a stevedore, or a diplomat, it doesn't matter. A hot morning beverage in your trusy cup is the great leveler.

Here's one with a butterfly for a naturalist, and another with a blossom and basket of flowers. For a dedicated gardener, or a dreamy type who likes fresh blooms from the farmer's market on the kitchen table. No green thumb required.

A walker, who likes to observe the out of doors at dusk. Hold on, I think I hear the kettle boiling now.

Hope you enjoyed your visit to the Treehouse, and stop in for another cup of friendship soon.

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Fly to me

I never met a bluebird I didn't like. I'm inculding jays, too, and herons, swallows, buntings and kingfishers. Whenever one appears, even in a blue blur, dim prospects brighten and the world seems like a hopeful place again.

According to John Burroughs, the naturalist, the bluebird is considered the harbringer of peace.

Their back is the color of the sky, and their chest that of the red clay of earth, so that in them, the celestial and the terrestial strike hands together in harmony and are fast friends.

I have a whole flock of bluebirds that fly on the wall above my stove. They are pleasant company while I flip pancakes or wait for the water to boil for tea.

My dignity evaporates when I see a bird with blue feathers. "Pull over!" I screech to my husband, as we wend our way along the estero in Morro Bay. "Its a Belted Kingfisher!"

I'm lucky enough to see it dive into an inlet, and surface again in five seconds with a squirming minnow in it's arrow like beak. Maybe we (I'm including you in this, I know you feel like I do) love them because what we really want is to hitch a ride and neslte in all that blue loveliness.

I know his necklace looks as if it were snatched from the neck of a sleeping mermaid by a heron. But its the creation of the wonderful Nina Bagley. http://www.ornamental.typepad.com/

Saturday night supper among the blues. Tonight it will be citrus honey baked chicken, green salad and potatoes mashed by my husband. They are so light, you don't even need a spoon to scoop them out, they just drift from the pot right onto the plate.

Thank you for visiting my treehouse. I hope you'll call again.

xx

julie
P.S. I've been tagged by Lesley at Sea Blue Sky and Abstracts.

Six Silly things that make me happy:

When my dog yawns

Hearing a belly laugh

When a stranger smiles at me
Finding a bird feather
the smell of fresh chamomile

dreaming of flying

Now its your turn, Farmhouse Kitchen, Aunt Jenny and Bird nest on the ground!

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

A Cottage for Sale

I bought my first real estate parcel for ninety cents. Wandering over the wooden floors of Rasmussen's Emporium in Solvang, I let go of my grandma's hand and picked up the little green house with red roof above, which was bundled up in a net bag with a little carved dog, cow, and lady. I was seven, and since then, no house purchase has given me more pleasure. Over the years I've added to my township, inhabited mostly by animals. There's herds of cows, half a dozen sheep, a stork, an owl or two, and a spitting goose which is fiercely protective and snaps at intruders. The pottery house piece behind the goose is two pieces, and would be handy for butter, or a scoop of goat cheese. This piece and other cottagey themed dishes, soon to be up for sale in my Etsy store.

My kitchen cupboard in summer. I do adore dishes of all sorts and maybe its why I never tire of making them. Really. Never.

Here's a farmhouse on Santa Rosa Creek Road. Cows graze right in the front yard and sometimes we have to roll to a stop so the goats can scoot out of the road. I like this house because its not fancy, even the lawn furniture is practical aluminum and plastic netting. All it really needs is a clothesline. I hear two brothers live here, and have since boyhood. I'd love to see the kitchen, but I'll settle for being able to drive by and get close enough to a goat to pet it.

Yesterday, after I returned from our drive in the country, I painted this cup with house handle, thinking of that farmhouse and the clothesline I'd put in the grassy yard. I made this for cereal, or soup, but think it might work as a scoop for laundry soap. I see my friend Jenny is selling it in her Etsy shop. The jelly was so wonderful, I think I might like to try some of her soap, too.

www.auntjenny.etsy.com

Oh, and Rasmussen's is still there, on the corner of the main street in Solvang. The stock has changed, but there's the same old worn doug fir floors, the smell of carnation soap and coming through the open doors, you can get a whiff of the fudge being made across the street in the candy store. And if you can resist going there to buy a piece after all that shopping, you are a stronger person than I am.

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

At the Sign of the Hedgehog

I like a sign on a garden gate. It lets you pause and collect yourself before you enter inside. I took a ramble in this rose garden today, and got stuck. As soon as I unhinged myself from one thorny cane, another reached out for me and held on, until I picked up the knack of holding in my arms, that is until I saw this rose:

Butter yellow, shell pink and raspberry tinged. So I stood there awhile, because it smelled sweet, and because bees zipped by and there was a sort of lonesome, longing wind through the pines. Then I remembered I was hungry.

So home I came, but look what I brought back with me.

These new garden signs are porcelain, run over with lace pressed in by a brayer, then a medallion is added. This one is painted with a farmhouse, larkspur and other summer blooms, with a watering can weather vane. Below it reads 'All the seasons run their race in this quiet resting place.'

Oh, and a rabbit piece because I can't seem to paint a batch of pottery without adding one to the firing.

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Speak To The Earth

My mother really has the prettiest garden in town. Every spot is tenderly watched over, and I've just taken pictures of one small corner. That's me lurking in my clay clothes at the top of the walkway. If I turn to my left, I can go up the stairs and be in the kitchen. Today, there were brownies waiting. I love to wander around this place, I can find loved ones who I miss and thought were gone, but I find they've been here all the time.

Duck as you walk by the grapefruit tree, and go into the rose garden through the wire gate, added to deter the white tailed deer, who browse anyway. And if the house looks grey to you, don't tell my mother. She insists it's blue.

The pathway to the back door.

I found this anonymous poem in an old garden book. Its spoken from the point of view of the garden itself. Its been pinned to a corkboard in my workroom for years, I thought you might like it too.

I, Your Garden

I bring serenity to your life.

No human pursuit gives more pleasure to your days

than the creating of me.

I am outwardlly your own accomplishment,

but in the business of me, God is your more

than equal partner.

I am at once your solace in sorrow and your

inspiration for endeavor.

My flowering hand is outstretched to welcome you

at the end of the day;

My leafy arms reach yearningly for you when you return

from the longer absence.

I keep your feet on the ground, both physically and spiritually,

and something, none the less acutal because unseen,
flows from me into your body and soul, something that makes you valiant

and gives you the joy of living.

I am your flowers and vines and trees,

and the soil that gives them life.

I Am Your Garden.

Speak to the Earth and It shall teach thee.

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Rosy June Morning

My paintbrush has developed this recent habit of gravitating to all the pink paint pots. This rabbit may be wearing a blue scarf, but the plaid accents are raspberry, a country cousin to pink.
I've looped a bunch of thyme over this rabbit's neck, and in back, there is a deep indention in the clay, at an upward angle, so he stays securely on a nail.

This bird is holding a necklace by Nina Bagley, a very simple but earthy one that seems to go with everything I wear. Even overalls, well especially them. The egg is glass and is a lampwork bead made by her sister, Ellen.

http://starcatcher.etsy.com

Pink again. See what I mean?

This jar contains rose petal jelly. I wanted the sun to light this up, so you can see the clarity and lovely pure rosiness of it. Its made by Jenny, who gathers the rose petals in her Utah garden.

http://auntjenny.etsy.com .

The name drawn by my seafaring husband: Daffodil. I've written her, and want to thank all of you. you know I'd like to send you all a honey pot, but you do have my good wishes and gratetful heart.

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com