Snow on a Stick

I'll never get used to it.

The cotton fields of south Georgia at harvest time.

Simplistic grandeur on display.

Fall melting into winter with acre after acre, mile after mile putting on an eye-stopping show.

Every year our family (like half of Georgia) barrel south on 1-75 heading to Florida for Thanksgiving break. Disney, beaches, grandma, etc...

But somewhere north of Valdosta, we always get off the highway. Give the pavement a break; drive a stretch down the back roads.

See what we can see. 

This year we exited the highway at Ashburn. And were highly reward.

Both sides of the main street running into town littered with lite banks of cotton.

Thousands of puff balls blown off the tops of work trucks making tracks to the local cotton gin.

"Mommy," asked five year old Gibson, "Is that snow?"

I answered, "No honey, that's cotton. It's what you're wearing." Pointing to his t-shirt.

Proof positive any old road trip can be turned into a teaching moment at the drop of a hat.

South of Ashburn we came to a tucked-away rural community called Sycamore.

An old railroad line ran to the right of the road. Homesteads, turn-of-the century farms and barns rolling by languidly. Surrounded on all sides by a dreamy landscape of creamy-white puffy cotton. Snow on a stick. But millions of them. One field was particularly gorgeous. 

We had to stop.

Us parents, instructed they the children, to take care.

After all, this is not our property. Just a few pictures.

The sun was going down, and the lighting pure heaven. The entire field was bathed in an other-worldly golden glow. I didn't want to leave. But now came an old, beat-up truck, rolling off the gravel, who might be telling us to do just that. 

Ah, yes. The farmer.

We greeted him warmly, hoping he wouldn't mind or shoot us. Explaining that we were just taking pictures. Hoped it was okay.

"Ah well," he drawled. "I jest come down to see if y'all were broke down or something, needin' help." 

Clearly, our Forsyth county licence plates (a.k.a. big city suburbia) a dead give away. Plus the fact, we gawked and played on the front lines of his field like we'd never seen the stuff before.

Not to mention the big old camera round my neck.

Definitely not locals.

On top of being uber friendly, the farmer had brought a bag.

"Pick all yer like," he said, handing the plastic Wal-Mart baggie out his rolled down window to our waiting hands. "Too much of it anyway."

Bam. Instant show-and-tell for all three kids. 

Though I'm much more familiar with North Georgia and her mountains, it's little side trips like this which remind me of all the varietal beauty residing here.
North. South. East. West.
Next year we'll get off the beaten path again on our annual trip down to the sunshine state.
I look forward to being rewarded with more fantastical views of a culturally rich land where cotton is king.
And hopefully, forever will be.

Artful Arrangement: within my walls

A MENAGERIE OF STYLES SLEEPING TOGETHER UNDER ONE ROOF. 

There are little spaces all over my home which make me smile. A mish-mash of eclectic, funky, shabby chic and feminine. Dabs of industrial thrown in so scalloped edges don't get too out of line.

The original enamel on our 1954 Wedgewood gas stove was plain-Jane white.

I asked the appliance refurbisher if its new coating could be chocolate brown. More modern, less expected. In this world of double ovens and gigantic sub z's, its solo petite baking compartment seems downright quaint. But its chunky chrome and retro knobs made my heart melt, and I had to have it.

A possible case of form over function.

However, the tiny oven does fit a Thanksgiving turkey - barely - and that's all I ask.

In any case, I love walking into my kitchen every morning because of its presence.

Wine-crate panels are fantastic to decorate with even if you don't own a fancy wine cellar.

Various type treatments and graphics are intriguing placed side by side. It's a practical treatment for a kitchen counter area where scuffs accumulate at alarming rates. These textured panels are made to take a beating; dings just sorta blend together. Industrial bar stools are stamped with the label: Property of Indiana University. Numerical stencils on the seats were applied with a steady hand - my own.

MASCULINE PINSTRIPE curtains never hurt anyone.
Plus, they keep rooms room from leaning too girly. 
You'd almost expect them in a bedroom, or more private quarters. I hung them in the wide
open instead - our busy kitchen area.

My screened-in porch is truly a second living space for our busy family of five.

Al fresco dinners and games of chess take place around this old table I painted a glossy ebony. Ghost chairs and a modern-esque painting feauturing the kids' footprints keep things lively. Silver corrugated metal ceiling reflects natural light, keeping the space from getting gloomy. An oversized bread board holds my centerpiece menagerie: candles and found objects and plants stuffed into silver serving pieces. A formal water pitcher now holds a vertically-minded plant.

All set among chunky, rusted railroad nails.

Piano room features framed sheet music belonging to my grandmother and mother. An instant gallery of playful vintage graphic design. A set of old walnut shutters flank the patchwork seating arrangement. Nestled on top of the baby grand: a collection of books, Bach and ivory piano keys stuffed into an oversized mason jar.

Vintage gas cans gather round a little old red wagon that's seen better days. My version of yard art for a previously unadorned corner of the backyard.

All images taken by...
www.kathleenmoorephotography.com

A Natural Encounter: brooches & handbags

I can't remember when I first fell in love with unique

 brooches and handbags, but it was years ago.

To me, they go together like cookies and cream.

Hold a purse, wear a brooch.

Or even better - pin brooch on purse.

The beaded number above was found in a London shop a decade ago.

The cramped shop was stuffed to the brim with old purses, dresses, shoes

and home goods. The saleswoman told me it's from the 1950's.

I'll buy that. And did.

The base of floral needlepoint is finely stitched,

and would have been enough in its own right

to make me drool. But then, they added that hand-applied bead work!

Louis Vuitton could never get my heart racing like this thing does.

All items seen in this collection are from my own personal stash;

 a reflection of my style on any given day.

And that's the cool thing about accessories, isn't it?

What I especially like about vintage brooches and purses though,

is the story they tell.

Handbags showcased in mall window displays do nothing for me.

They're gorgeous and fun and very designer-y,

but there's something about the

smell of an older purse that says,

"I've been around. Outrageous parties, whispered conversations

with occupants snuggled tightly on velvet settees."

At least that's what springs to mind when I use my ebony

beaded evening purse handed down by my M.I.L.

This fall, I'll be toting around this needlepoint owl handbag quite a bit.

Dark jeans + white blouse + pair

of leather scarlet shoes will tie the look together.

Much as an interior designer may plan a room

based solely on the vibrancy of a cherish, antique rug,

a girl can easily construct an outfit around an attention-getting purse. 

Not only are needlepoint purses so darn kitschy chic,

they just flat out remind me of my grandmother. 

In all the best of ways.

And it's not just an ode to sweet nostalgia.

Toting around a needlepoint

or decoupage purse is like showing off a petite work of art.

Colorful. One-of-a-kind. Creative.

Yet, also a workhorse. How many piece of art can act as such utilitarian

helper-outters: keys, lipstick, I.D., gum... all tucked neatly inside.

DECOUPAGE purses are a real trip.

Handmade of wood, painted, latched and decorated with cut-outs and glue -

purses simply do not get more individualized.

My little red school house purse features a hinged top

that opens wide, plus faux bone handle.

On all four sides, scenes depicting schoolhouse life tickle the viewer pink.

Ladies stop me on the street, wanting to turn it around and examine all the details.

We do it together. Ooh'ing and ahh'ing.

My only regret, is that whoever painstakingly created the purse didn't sign their work.

As much as I love vintage purses, I can make an allowance

for a newly made handbag if its uniqueness over-qualifies it.

My hot pink Harvey's seat belt purse certainly does the trick.

They come in black and grey and plenty of down-to-earth colors, but for me,

it was the idea of utilitarian, masculine seat belts dyed pink which

added the riot factor.

My bohemian rhapsody purse it just that. 

A fanciful melody of fabrics, jean's pockets and ribbon all sewn together.

A purse that's all over the place.

Mish-mash fabulousness.

This thing is my daily go-to, as it holds so much stuff,

and works perfectly with any jeans or t-shirt I may throw on.

Though my husband teased me endlessly about my "bag lady" purse the day I brought

it home from April Johnson's booth at Gold Rush Days in Dahlonega, Georgia,

I've since received no fewer than a million compliments.

In the end, it doesn't matter what anyone says.

All my purses and vintage brooches add a twist and smile to my day.

And like a pair of children, I love them both equally.

All images taken by:

www.kathleenmoorephotography.com

Lake Burton Fun Run 2012

Any idea how hard it is snapping event pictures while actually participating in the thing?
In this case a two mile run.
Course not.
Because why would one do that?
Put themselves out there - in public no less - looking like a big dork with camera in hand, two feet strapped into a pair of beat-down, over-heated Nikes.

Run ahead. Stop. Take picture. Run ahead. Stop. Take picture.

Actually, it was kind of fun.
And of course, an excellent work out.

This summer, the 28th Annual Lake Burton Fun Run once again delivered.
Because... how could it not?
This U.S.A. Track and Field Certified event is known throughout the southeast as one of the most scenic two mile courses. Ever. Tucked into the far northeastern corner of Georgia, it's a unique setting for exercise and fun. Starting at lovely Moccasin Creek State Park and ending at fabulous La Prades Marina, participants wind down Hwy. 197 where bottles of water, snow cones and quite possibly a dip in the lake await.

Both young, and young at heart, are drawn to this family event. Some folks attending for over twenty-five years now. In many cases, three generations of Lake Burton Fun Run fans show up - encased in event t-shirts, running bibs and big smiles.

The run was started back in 1984 by founder Robert Nichols. And come race day, Mr. Nichols is personally on hand for hours. Grinning, greeting, directing and starting off the race from the back of the pace truck, bull horn in hand. Afterwards, he grabs a mic under the La Prades' pavilion; welcoming everyone again and handing out trophies. Proceeds from the annual event go to support the three Lake Burton Volunteer Fire Departments with a special donation to Rabun County Search and Rescue.

Open to all runners, joggers and walkers, a celebratory spirit waifs throughout the event each year.  Pre-race Jazzercise warm ups go down at Moccasin Creek State Park to get things started. Rock music blasted over speakers as arms reached for the sky. Muscles got loose. Resident ducks never know what to think. They just sit and watch. And quack.

Back in '84 - think Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - the race began with a humble 85 participants. But between the draw of the mountains, gorgeous lakeside setting and cool alpine air, appeal has grown. A firm 800 participant limit is now in place. Note to self: sign up early. In 1998 the course became certified by USA Track and Field, taking its clout up a notch. Most runners and walkers come out for a leisurely good time, and a little huffing and puffing.  But if you want to get serious -  official times from the event can be used for qualifying in other sanctioned athletic events.

Two years ago, the run's board of directors decided to become members of the Road Runners Club of America to continue to meet professional standards. The local chapter is named the Lake Burton Road Runners Club. The Lake Burton Fun Run is their sole event, and boy - do they go all out. Not only is Mr. Nichols on hand, but 100 of his closest buddies join in as volunteers. It seems like all of Lake Burton can't wait to help out with this beloved event.

My favorite leg of the race was passing the Wildcat Volunteer Fire Department Station. Fireman standing roadside: clapping, waving, encouraging and thanking. Since race proceed go towards the area's fire departments, their presence is appropriate. But it's great to see the actual fireman out there cheering on the people, who are cheering them. Community coming together, helping and encouraging. All of this taking place, mind you, before anyone's had enough coffee.

Towards the end of the race, the celebratory spirit only grew: snow cones, popcorn and face painting all on hand. Upbeat music bouncing over both air waves and actual waves, as families gathered at La Prades Marina. Local businesses were also on-hand. passing out everything from magnets to sun screen. Come trophy time, this was my personal fav...

A Going Strong Over 90 award?
That's right baby! We're a group of people who chug our calcium and Vitamin D.
Livestrong and live long.
Tons of awards and trophies passed out this year (although not to people named Kathleen). And once again, it's fair to say, the Lake Burton Fun Run proved its worth.

As things wound down, the fire boat which had been on hand in the cove,
strutted it's stuff. Sapphire water jetting high into the air, signaling both a
frothy thank you and good-bye.
Yes, quite a show. Quite a morning

www.lakeburtonfunrun.com

All images seen here taken by...
www.kathleenmoorephotography.com