Hesperia was one of the Hesperides in Greek mythology, a nymph who tended Hera's garden. In this garden were the golden apples of immortality that Hercules was charged with retrieving in his eleventh trial. So that's your history lesson for the day.
Hesperia, MI, has less mythological significance and much more rustic charm. The local bar, for instance, is one of our favorite places for Saturday karaoke!
It's a very "American" town, especially come the Fourth of July. They run horse pulls in the field in front of Erin's house, and fry elephant ears at the arts and crafts fair down the street. Everybody drinks.
Jayne has a flair for the rustic, and I think it makes the house one of the most comfortable-feeling places I've been. Clapton thinks so too.
A great-uncle on Erin's dad's side was a talented and prolific Art-Deco sculptor during the first half of the 20th century. The family put on a show of his work at an art gallery in Cleveland pretty recently. This is a miniature version of one of his larger works, hanging on the wall near the piano.
The guest bedroom is full of plants, and is kind of like a well-groomed jungle in the spring and summer time. I liked these wall-pots and the way they were positioned. Actually let me see if I can fiddle with the white balance real quick. Ok, that's a little better, thanks picasa!
Here's some more purified rustic:
Not enough? You're in luck:
A typical day up north (now that they had broadband with wifi installed; I don't know how they lived successfully without it) might start with some internets. Also, warm clothes are a must, since the house isn't a hermetically sealed climate controlled McMansion built 3 years ago.
For Clapton, the day fluctuates wildly between bounding over the resonating floor-boards chasing after Olive, and this:
Olive's day is spent mostly watching for squirrels. Just be careful you don't say that word around her, though: the injustice of a bushy-tailed bird seed thief not getting chased back into the filthy, lousy tree that it came from is unbearably infuriating.
As day progresses into evening, we move on to beer. Everyone hates the cherry stout from Bells, except for me. I love it. Jason surmises that it must be cherry juice mixed with pee, in a bottle. This disturbs me. Perhaps I'm just a sucker for the Bell's brand? Could they really put pee in a bottle and sell it to me? Would I enjoy it? Have I already?
I was experimenting with long exposure night photography, and conspiracy theories. I WANT TO BELIEVE.
Erin sometimes falls asleep on the couch watching TV. Since we don't have cable at home, this is a nice treat. Of course, it's also after she's had a few beers and run around for a while.
Here's another exterior of the house. It's absolutely gorgeous! We headed back home Sunday.
Hesperia, MI, has less mythological significance and much more rustic charm. The local bar, for instance, is one of our favorite places for Saturday karaoke!
It's a very "American" town, especially come the Fourth of July. They run horse pulls in the field in front of Erin's house, and fry elephant ears at the arts and crafts fair down the street. Everybody drinks.
Jayne has a flair for the rustic, and I think it makes the house one of the most comfortable-feeling places I've been. Clapton thinks so too.
A great-uncle on Erin's dad's side was a talented and prolific Art-Deco sculptor during the first half of the 20th century. The family put on a show of his work at an art gallery in Cleveland pretty recently. This is a miniature version of one of his larger works, hanging on the wall near the piano.
The guest bedroom is full of plants, and is kind of like a well-groomed jungle in the spring and summer time. I liked these wall-pots and the way they were positioned. Actually let me see if I can fiddle with the white balance real quick. Ok, that's a little better, thanks picasa!
Here's some more purified rustic:
Not enough? You're in luck:
A typical day up north (now that they had broadband with wifi installed; I don't know how they lived successfully without it) might start with some internets. Also, warm clothes are a must, since the house isn't a hermetically sealed climate controlled McMansion built 3 years ago.
For Clapton, the day fluctuates wildly between bounding over the resonating floor-boards chasing after Olive, and this:
Olive's day is spent mostly watching for squirrels. Just be careful you don't say that word around her, though: the injustice of a bushy-tailed bird seed thief not getting chased back into the filthy, lousy tree that it came from is unbearably infuriating.
As day progresses into evening, we move on to beer. Everyone hates the cherry stout from Bells, except for me. I love it. Jason surmises that it must be cherry juice mixed with pee, in a bottle. This disturbs me. Perhaps I'm just a sucker for the Bell's brand? Could they really put pee in a bottle and sell it to me? Would I enjoy it? Have I already?
I was experimenting with long exposure night photography, and conspiracy theories. I WANT TO BELIEVE.
Erin sometimes falls asleep on the couch watching TV. Since we don't have cable at home, this is a nice treat. Of course, it's also after she's had a few beers and run around for a while.
Here's another exterior of the house. It's absolutely gorgeous! We headed back home Sunday.
No comments:
Post a Comment