(Service announcement: In Case you forgot 2016 is starting next week)
Eeks! 2016 is almost heerreee, blog-reading-friends!
Most of you have picked up your calendar, but in case you haven’t! Don’t let your desk or house be caught without one on January 1st! You can still order them here!
Now that Christmas is over I can share with you my favorite Christmas commissions.
I had a slew of different kinds of projects towards the end of the year, and I loved every single one. But only one did I not want to give away. I will be sharing a post each day for the rest of the YEAR! The last one will be my favorite of all. Stay tuned and tell me which one was your favorite.
***Part 1:*** The Virginian Farm
This painting is of an old Virginia farm right around the corner from my parents’ house where I grew up. It was commissioned by a friend I met in Greenwich! How small the world really is!
This tree made me terribly home-sick for all my memories of Virginia’s open rolling hills.
I used to run cross country along rural roads in this kind of a landscape.
This tree sags with those lush southern leaves and brings me back to the dry dirt roads that surrounded my high school just outside of Middleburg.
I was usually alone when I ran and I would survey the beauty around me. Sometimes taking it in and sometimes ignoring it in my concentration. But it still enveloped me no matter my mood. There were little old farms that peaceably sat along the quiet road. Some of the settlements nestled amid fields for grazing, and others nearly on top of the road as I passed by. There were small red barns in the shade and horses grazing or resting along the fence line. Sometimes as I came down a hill, I could see the fields soaking up the sunshine in the late afternoon stretching out to touch the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. We sometimes ran on the property of an old farm, up a steep little hill and around a loop and back to the busy paved road below. The cows would ignore us, and the dogs would watch unimpressed from the shade cast by the house.
The road swept and turned gracefully around the fields and trees and eventually brought us to the back gate of the school. Someone would grab the stop watch that was slung around the grouping of mailboxes above the stone wall and we would all quietly walk up the back driveway to our regular meeting spot beneath three fir trees.
It is all so vivid to me.
If I ever retire to the countryside, these hills of Virginia that skirt the Shenandoah will call my name with a familiar sweet and slow melody.
Stop by tomorrow for a portrait of the sweetest little baby amid cool hydrangea bushes.