everything in foom

7 April 2009 by

Lately there has been what seems a never-ending series of flower photos on my Flickr stream. I never thought I’d be a flower photographer, let alone a flower person period. My memory is notoriously steel-trap, but when it comes to the names of flowers, I can’t remember them for the life of me. There’s this one that grows in the garden outside, a beautiful spray of orange. Meaning I love it, of course. I’ve heard the name countless times but not until I finally write it down here am I going to remember it.

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But somehow the flowers are getting to me. Especially now that it’s spring again and the garden, as we like to say, is coming into FOOM. All the colors and blooms (at least, the ones the deer don’t eat). And after more than a year of being around this fairytale garden on a regular basis, I’m starting to remember some of their names. Cerinthe and Ribes – I’ve decided they’re doomed lovers in a Greek myth. Fleabane, imported from a Victorian sensibility and carpeting tiny hills with their even tinier daisy faces. Oxalis, the flowering weed that takes over, infusing everything with eye-searing acid yellow and only rarely with pale pink or white. Puffs of cherry and plum blossoms dotting the wiry branches of trees everywhere. Wild onion, droopy and delicate and sweetly white; forget-me-nots and salvia and camelias and agapanthus and azaleas and magnolias and wee purple hardenbergia and foxglove and lilies and orchids and California poppies and those big orange flowers out back (I should ask about those) and the bush the hummingbirds love, the name of which even my mom can’t remember. And of course, the dogwood. Oh man, the dogwood.

I think I love dogwood

Life has been a little less than bright, happy, simple, and peaceful these past few weeks. It finally occurred to me that the flowers have been just what I’ve needed. They’ve inspired me in a lot of ways and they’ve given me exactly what we look for here.

There is some truth to the old chestnut, I suppose: Stop and smell the flowers. And if you’re us, photograph them as well.

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(all photos in this post by Leah)


the best part of the day

31 March 2009 by


The quiet part of the morning when everything is bathed in golden light, and most sensible people are still in bed. I’m far from a morning person, but it’s my favorite part of the day. Especially in my massive apartment building that’s filled with loads people living on top of me and their cigarette smoke (that’s another story altogether).

This time of day is peaceful and quiet, the birds are singing their little hearts out and I can almost imagine that I live in that building all by myself. And my camera doesn’t mind it much either.


30 March 2009 by


A lot of people have a love of spiders and spider webs. Dark and gothic, mysterious, creepy crawly and ready for Halloween. Or just neat and scientific and a little bit fun, because they totally gross out the girls in class. Which is always a win.

But here’s the funny thing: I never knew I loved spider webs before I picked up a camera. I’ve always had a soft spot for spiders – I admit I think they’re cute, and they do a lovely service of ridding the joint of other annoying bugs. But webs? Other than a fondness for Charlotte and her friend Wilbur, I’m not sure I noticed them much.

So what do you want to bet it has something to do with light? The way webs shimmer and reveal themselves in just the right light – there’s not much else like them. Sometimes a web is invisible until the sun flicks over a branch and there, from the corner of your eye, you catch it. Sometimes you’ll see a spider dangling quite in the middle of a room, and you have no idea what it’s hanging from, only that it must be building a web somewhere, somehow, and you wish you had a soft ray to guide you to the center. Sometimes you’ll think of how delicate the web is, how transient, but how strong too. And how resilient spiders must be, building over and over.

This morning, here in fairyland, there was a true Charlotte’s Web moment: A teeny tiny web, with a gaggle of teeny tiny baby spiders. (I’m sure gaggle is not the word for group of spiders, but if anyone knows that word, educate me.) The web was attached to the underside of an orchid leaf, and the eensy babies were scattered on the web, moving about, maybe learning what it means to be a spider. If you spoke to them, they shimmied and scurried. Eek! A human!

I took a snap of them, but they’re so tiny, I have no idea if the photo will come out. A real macro lens was in order, and I don’t have one. We’ll see. Later in the day, I crept back out to look, and they were all clustered beneath the leaf, huddled together and sleeping. Not yet ready to leave the web. Soon, I imagine.

Seeing them made me realize I had a wonderful shot of a spider web I had yet to post, taken the same morning as the heavenly coffee photo. And it also made me want to share some other spider webs with you. Let’s bring them out of the darkness, shall we? They do collect the light beautifully.

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(all images in this entry are by Leah)

oh! hi there.

25 March 2009 by

Well now. We seem to have neglected the most important thing. A quick hello to everyone who might stop by.


We’ll be getting things up and running soon, we promise. In the meantime, please stop by and read a little about us.

Or visit us at our individual blogs. Ashley’s is at one blue wren, and Leah’s is at Oh! Hey Great.

And please – we’d love it if you’d link to us and come back soon for a visit. We’ll happily return the favor.