The tiny house use to be the Guardian's House to the main house. It is a stone throw away from our home. I have spent many of lovely afternoons here, shared plenty of laughs and after twenty some years consider the owners my French family. They are a bi lingual family as well.
A wisteria grows around the entrance, weaves up and down over the garden house. Little has changed since the last hundred years or so, the house has been in the family since the 1700s. The roots of their memories intertwine, bloom, fade and travel on. The wisteria vine holds their time with grace throughout the seasons, reminded them that all remains somewhere between the beginning and now, waiting for them as they come and go.
Winter 2015
Spring 2009
I have been upstairs in the bedroom of the tiny house, where the blue shutter is open, painting furniture, hanging picture, arranging furniture, sewing curtains... the time flies by. I love being in that tiny house, it is such a pleasure bringing it back to life. Putting gathered household items from the brocante, the attic, the garden house and a few new things in place. The goal is to give it a feeling of how it was back at the turn of the century 1900 Provence.
In the spring the front yard is covered with little daisies.
Enchanting.
I saw my first violet of the season in the garden last week.
Enchanting.
...
Equally enchanting it was this evening to come home, jump in the hot shower and scrub the paint off of my hands...