Yesterday I was finally feeling better and ventured out to mail a package,
visit the market, and stop at the library.
It was a lovely, soft, spring day with filtered sunshine.
Whenever I drive through my tiny town, I am always enchanted by the sweet little cottages.
This town was founded on logging and coal mining at the turn of the last century.
These sweet cottages are modest and small, but so charming.
Come along with me and I will show you a few favorites!
This classic farmhouse style has lovely windows-the rectangular one of bottle stained glass.
It was once part of a large farm, but the land was more valuable for building homes....
An ancient plum tree stands guard over a lovely yellow cottage.
I love the little bump outs and the tiny panes in the front door.
I can imagine a sweet bedroom under the eaves.
This cottage on the corner also has a charming room under the eaves.
The white picket fence and cherry tree caught my eye.
If you can look past the recycling bins waiting for pick-up, this little charmer stole my heart.
The tiny front porch with oval windowed door, and the little sun room brought back fond memories of my parent's very first home, which was also my first home.
I have memories of sitting in a similar sun room with my Dear young Mother
as she taught me to sew and where I learned the alphabet and colors.
I can relive these moments when I see this cottage,
complete with the memory of a particular bird song that delighted my young ears.
Sweet, sweet memories....
I don't know why this cottage has always captured my imagination.
Maybe it is the gorgeous blue, or the wood shingled roof.
Or maybe the large brick chimney and picket fence.
The tiny windows next to the chimney?
Or the beautiful bay windows and covered porch?
All together, it reminds me of a story book cottage.
This 100 year old cottage was once in a very bad state.
I knew the woman who owned it and brought it back to life.
I worked with her at a local diner - both young mothers
looking to earn a few extra bucks to bring home to our families.
Sadly, her husband died in an accident and she was left to raise two teenage boys.
Not long after, a noble man from her church offered his hand in marriage.
She asked me, 'Do you think I can marry a man that I don't love and make it work?'
My answer was, 'Maybe you can learn to love this man if he has good qualities and is kind.'
She married him, they finished the house, and not long afterwards they moved away.
I often wonder if the marriage worked.
She was beautiful, with long auburn hair, and a beautiful heart.
I hope she found love....
This tiny charmer with its neat and tidy gardens overlooks my little mountain.
A perfect little doll house!
This is my idea of the perfect cottage.
Picket fence, arbor, charming front porch, and look at that tree!
My daughter's childhood friend lived here.
It is just as charming inside as out.
Naturally, it resides on 'Cottage Street'!
Also on Cottage Street, this lovely house of worship sits nestled among the cottages.
Last, but not least, how beautiful is this little cottage, surrounded by spring's beauty?
But I must bid the cottage tour goodbye and be on my way...
A stop at the post office and market and then ...
I pull up to the library with its beautiful blooming trees.
It's pure joy walking under these blooming branches to get inside.
I choose books on wildflower identification, Northwest gardening,
bread baking, sewing purses, crochet, paper crafts, and of course, cottage decorating.
I walk from the hushed, dim interior to the beautiful spring sunshine and make my way home.
This week I will be planting Sweet Peas - inspired by my painting that was once my Dear Mother's.
She loved this painting.
I hope to have my blue canning jars full to the brim....
Thank you, Dear Friends for coming along with me today.
I hope wherever you are,
you are enjoying nature's beauty surrounding
the cottages of home.
xoxo
Linking to:
And Spring arose on the
garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt
everywhere;
And each flower and herb
on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its
Wintry rest
- Percy Bysshe Shelley