A girl can dream (can't she?)

I grew up going to my grandparents' cabin in the canyon. We had the blue one halfway up the road, the one with the monkey bridge over the creek, the rope swings, the hammock, the tree house, the profusion of geraniums, the loft with nine beds, the woodcarved phrase over the mantle Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott (A Mighty Fortress is our God). My grandpa knew how to create a magical spot, that's for sure. In the summer all the cousins (and many second cousins in nearby cabins) would gather and play endless games of War and Kick the Can and go barefoot and tube in the creek and do what kids do when they have time and wide open space.

Every once in a while I indulge in dreams of establishing our own family getaway, somewhere where our kids can bring their kids and the magic can continue for a few more generations. I admit I teeter on the line between wishing and...oh, coveting. Envying.

For a couple of years I've been watching a farmhouse for sale in a favorite corner of Vermont. It's not a cabin but it's got space and poTENtial, my friends! Yes, there is the reality about probably not being able to afford a whole other mortgage. Pshaw. Details. And the fact that it's in pretty bad shape and would need tons of work. Perfect, I say!

So here it is:

an 1830s farmhouse with a creek on the property

5 bedrooms
many fireplaces
views of the Green Mountains
and a barn (the better to hold parties with, my dear)

the price tag (a low-for-here $245,000) tells me there's much work to do

but think of the before-and-after photos!

and can't you just see the kids tubing down the creek?

My heart sank today when I did my weekly check of the property and saw someone has made a deposit. Shoot. I hate it when my imaginary future is taken away from me. Keep your fingers crossed for somebody's cold feet...

Does it hurt to be real?

After Bridget's letter yesterday about keeping it real (see post below), I kept hearing a snippet from the Velveteen Rabbit running around my busy brain: Does it hurt to be real? Finally I had to go look it up & I didn't have the line exactly right but I loved the refresher:

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

~ Margery Williams

I think when I read it as a wee one, I thought it described friendship. At this point it pretty much sums up my parenting experiences lately: sometimes magical, sometimes shabby (which reminds me of the time when Sam was 4 and he said "Mom! you have two smile lines under your eyes!" Thanks, buddy.) But worth it, definitely worth it. I wouldn't change being Real for anything. But I think I'll take measures so my hair doesn't get rubbed off.

And now, I'm off to the Apple store for a little spa treatment for my poor battered Clementine. A little piece of her edge broke off yesterday & I feel awful about the abuse she has suffered at my hands. Talk about becoming Real!

Found: Land of Make Believe

This poster shuttles me right back smack into my childhood. I get that happy kid feeling every time I look at it, that combination of feeling the warm sun on the top of my head, the comfort of hearing my parents' voices at night in the car on a family vacation, the smell of library books or lilacs or mosquito repellent or buttered bread toasting in my grandma's oven. 

It shows the geography of the land of make believe, with all the fairy tales and nursery rhymes staking their own places on the map...some of them in the middle of the action (the three bears coming back to their cottage, Simple Simon meeting the pieman) and others just labeled and left to the imagination (here lives Peter Pan, with an arrow pointing to a grove of trees).

detail of my copy of The Land of Make Believe

My grandma had this poster. So did Mrs. Pollard, the local lady who made hand-dipped chocolates in her basement. I was always a fan; my wishes came true when I was given mine a few years ago. I adore it. I started wondering about it, trying to trace the artist and story behind it & even the copyright to see if I could reproduce it myself & spread the joyous word of The Land of Make Believe. Mine was published in 1930 by The Child's Wonderland Co. of Grand Rapids, Michigan, but that information didn't lead me anywhere.

Well {choir of angels} I found it! This week I located a reproduction company who has the rights (sigh. I'm a little sad I didn't get them. But congrats to RDI). Their version is a bit brighter than mine. I kind of like the old-fashioned feel of the subdued colors (probably due to fading) more than the newer one but I'm so thrilled to locate the poster and learn more about the artist.

Jaro Hess was born in Czechoslovakia. He eventually settled (the newspaper article is cut off so I don't know the whole story) in Michigan and became a landscape designer. He submitted his oil painting Adventure in Storyland (its original title) to the Children's Literature division of the Chicago World's Fair, where it won prizes.

You can click here if you're interested in getting one for yourself ($65).
Here are a few details of the poster from the RDI website:

Everyone needs a wonderful moo-moo bird in their life. Which fairy tale/nursery rhyme is that? A few other unknowns from the poster: grandfather know-it-all, the high tower where the little lame prince was locked, the city of brass. Anyone know these? Anyone? Anyone?

Enchantment in 40 pages

I happened upon this book at the library this week and *zoom* it transported me to childhood. Do you know this one?

It's hard for me to deconstruct the book's spell over me. Reading it now I fully appreciate the just-rightness of the text, encouraging young readers to think about giving, perspective taking (that important early friend of empathy), and helping to figure out abstract and concrete concepts, all in the gentle tale telling.

There's something about the dreamy illustrations (wonderful Maurice Sendak with story by Charlotte Zolotow) that has always enchanted me. (Don't you love the colors?) I still want to hop into the book's geography and wander the woods and fields with Mr. Rabbit. Magical.

What picture books still cast a spell over you?