The air has gone from crisp to cold. The leaves are thinning on the trees. And apparently half the vegetables in Washington are currently in our root cellar. I think that means it’s November.
We’ve already dipped into the pumpkins for tomorrow’s festivities—and if you find yourself in the States at the moment, here’s wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving.
When we head to the mountains on Sunday to get our tree, the holiday decorating will officially begin. At our old house, most of our decorating focused on the mantel—since we don’t tend to go overboard with that sort of thing anyway, sometimes it was the only place that hinted at anything festive. At our new house, the fireplace is even more central to our lives and the rhythm of our home. I’m excited to see what the season brings, and how the mantel will rise to the occasion.
For the first time in many years, we’re not hosting Thanksgiving this time. But we are continuing our tradition of spending the holiday with friends. So when the turkey’s been eaten and all the plates cleared, I’m sure the scene won’t be so different than this one—just in a different location. To me, that sounds just about perfect.
Wishing a wonderful Thanksgiving tomorrow to all my U.S. readers!
The Tailor and I haven’t done a whole lot of traveling this year, because we’ve spent most of our time since January searching for and finally buying our first home. After what has seemed like an eternity (though it has actually been a lightning-fast whirlwind!), we finally moved in a week ago. Now we’re surrounded by boxes to unpack, historic tidbits to tend and restore, and a million little things to fix. But it doesn’t matter, because being able to sketch this scene out my windows anytime I wish makes me happier than I can say.
We’re away for the holidays this year (sketches to come, I’m sure), so instead of a tree at our house, I’ll have to settle for a picture of one. But I tell you what: there are few things more lovely than sitting for hours by the tree, basking in its glow and sketching every ornament, reliving the memories associated with each as you go.
Wherever you are today—at home or on the road—I wish you all the light and warmth of the season, with the very best of your holiday memories.
Merry Christmas.
The Tailor and I have a fairly massive collection of vintage holiday music on vinyl. Some of these are great (Bing! Burl!), and some are terrible (it’s not my fault we own a Lawrence Welk album!), but what they have in common is some seriously fabulous mid-century graphic design and typography. So while the Tailor rummages through record store bins for familiar tunes, I’m taking a good hard look at serifs and script.
Since the holiday falls on a non-post day, I’ll have to settle for this sketch of last year’s table setting. But I’m sure I’ll be sketching tomorrow, too, as our friends gather round our table to share a meal and give thanks for one another—and for friends far away, too.
This goes for you, too—whether you’re here in the U.S., getting ready to celebrate, or somewhere else in the world, having just another normal day. Know that wherever you are, I’m thankful for you, for joining me each week in this space. Wherever tomorrow finds you, I hope it finds you warm, well-fed, and surrounded by the things that bring you joy.
Happy Thanksgiving.
These are not sketches of veggie bins at the farmer’s market—this is what our back porch looks like every year at this time. When we’re at home, the Tailor and I eat almost entirely seasonally and locally (what can I say—we’re weirdos). So that means we buy all of our winter vegetables in November, and then nothing until the markets open again in the spring. I confess that by February I’m pretty sick of beets (and when I’m on the road I might sneak a salad in a restaurant), but in the fall I’m nothing but excited about the prospect of all those beautiful sugar pie pumpkins, fresh cranberries and heirloom potatoes.
Each vegetable has different storage needs: the fussy squash and pumpkins like it dry and cool (and need individual newspaper nests); the carrots, apples and garlic do best in the fridge; and the taters and onions like it dark and damp. (And you really can’t kill a beet, so they thrive on neglect.) But before the squash head for the attic and the potatoes for the root cellar, I spread out all the boxes so I can sketch the whole bounty of the cornucopia.
(And then sometimes I swipe an apple while I work.)
