Back at my parents farm on the Eastern Shore in Maryland, each morning I crawl out of my four poster bed, tip toe down the stairs in my undies and bare feet, and open the big loud wooden door to 180 acres of green, bird chirping bliss. Up at 7:30, Mama brings me my decaf latte, with my delicates folded in a basket at the bottom of the stairs. “Would you mind taking these up when you go?” she asks. Mind you, she’s just finished her second round of chemo. Seriously? I can’t keep up with her, I never could. My second night here, mom & I sat in the middle of her long driveway at dusk waiting for “foxy”, the new little toddler, obviously a fox. While we talked quietly he danced around the grass in and out of the corn fields and stared at us like a curious little puppy, popping his head out from place to place. At one point, we forgot about him, and there he was, standing in the center of the sparkly white graveled driveway staring right at us. What was his plan anyway? Next night, I laid on my belly under a tree for an hour trying to catch the fireflies twinkle on my camera… I got zero successful shots, and about 100 chiggers, and mom had to check me for ticks.
To understand the beauty of this place, you have to BE here. You have to walk alone, and sit, and listen. It’s one of my favorite places in the whole world. We’ve had picnics in the grass, cracked local Ole Bay smothered crabs & beer on the back porch, and enjoyed the rich sunsets and big moons night after night. Today, after coming home from quite a busy day at the hospital, I frolicked up and down the long driveway, singing Kings of Leon’s Woo Hoo at the top of my lungs on my ipod. Come on, the country can make you a little crazy. I also have made a habit of catching up on my true blood episodes until wee hours of the night… Kind of scary in a historic haunted house built in 1775. This house and property is perfect for the True Blood follower, it reeks of the colonial days, I love it. Very romantic…
So you’re wondering… How is Shelly playing for 12 days, going on 18 come Thursday’s departure back to the Pacific? The majority of my days have been spent making jewelry. Sometimes I set up shop on a blanket in Siddhasana outside under a tree, while the dogs sleep around me. The rest of the time, I’m in the formal living room, but I can assure you, I make it very informal. This is by far my favorite room in the house. Completely unaltered, and beautifully historic, this room absolutely inspires the creative mind. It’s perfect symmetry and high ceiling balances me, with four tall windows flooding the room with light all day long. As I trim a new strand of coral, I run to the dining room china cabinet to steal some of mom’s teacups and saucers to pour my findings into. I have my pick of anything antique, from pewter to pottery. This place is magical. I could do photoshoots for six months straight and not run out of ideas. It’s the next issue of Anthropology waiting to be had.
So that’s what you do when you are on a farm with nothing to do. You create, and you dream. You also scurry to design and overnight belly chains and jewelry galore to very fun clients headed to the French Riviera. You download Quickbooks, create Excel spreadsheets, and take lots of photos for future blog postings and catalogs... You search for local feathers from the locals, still working on that one. And then of course, last but not least, you spend the most pure quality time, with your best friend, your inspiration, your hero: Your Mama.
I hate to leave, but I miss my Pig, obviously a dog. And I never leave the farm for too long. It’s always here waiting for me, just as it was when I left. Pure, untouched, and ready to be dreamt on again and again for years to come.