Archive for the ‘Retro Kitchenware’ Category

When I was a child, the advent of crisp autumn weather meant our free time was spent at my grandparents’ Annapolis Valley farm. The smell of hay and damp, dew-covered grass mingled with the salty breeze blowing across the Minas Basin and the heady ambrosia of ripening apples. The sun low in the sky, touched the brow of the North Mountain, frosting the fields and trees with a warm, golden glow.

While the adults worked, my brother and I would play — exploring the barn, hide and seek in the orchard, clambering amidst the apple bins. The autumns of my childhood are framed by the sides of an old red wooden barn and shadowed around the edges by dust motes dancing in sunshine.

The Gravenstein is an old apple variety. It was discovered in Gråsten, Denmark, in 1669 — a lovely accident of nature that someone chose to nurture, a chance seedling that proved to have qualities worth cultivating. Introduced to Nova Scotia in the early 1800’s by Charles Prescott, who planted them at his estate in Starr’s Point, Kings County, it became popular, and was planted in orchards from one end of the Valley to the other. The apple that Prescott introduced was green with red streaks. The ones currently found in most roadside stands in the valley are of the crimson persuasion, the earliest strain of which was discovered in 1876, in Waterville.

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I am reasonably certain this is the mug that started the whole thing:

 

#mugtag

I am outing myself here, but I saw this mug at our local thrift shop a couple weeks ago and it screamed a certain friend’s name to me, so I bought it, wrapped it in tissue and dropped it off at her workplace for her to find.

 

Who DOESN’T need a cat mug with a wee mousie hiding inside?

 

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Last July, my brother died.

I haven’t written much about him because I didn’t have room to explore those feelings when stressed over my pregnancy. I had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and, sadly, grief can always wait. Since MissVee’s birth in February, they have been slowly coming to the surface.

My feelings take me by surprise — their ferocity takes my breath away.

I still can’t write about him. I’m not ready. Someday I will be ready, but that day is not today. That day won’t be tomorrow. I need more time to process the finality — the “goneness” — of his death and the impact it has on me.

What I can do is tell you a little story about some glasses.

These glasses:

These glasses have a story.

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This little group of dishes is a collection comprised of a dish I found in a rural Nova Scotia vintage china shop (called Perry’s, if I recall correctly, and very much in the middle of nowhere), a similar covered dish given to me by my grandmother, and a handcrafted silver spoon purchased by my husband (at my request! to fit the dish!) on a Swiss business trip around 15 years ago.

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