I confess … it was difficult for me to brush yellow paint across the pink clapboards of my circa 1875 historic home. But the pink was looking faded and I felt a jolt of sunshine was needed. It took months to choose trim colors but we eventually settled on Cottage White, a dark shade of green called Blade, and Candle (some shade of red … not quite sure what you’d call it, exactly). I toyed with lavendar because it’s directly opposite yellow on the color wheel, but another house in town bore this color scheme and I wanted something different.
Here’s our home in the fall, with all the flowers plucked from their boxes and beds. It looks a little barren and sad to me …
but I’m a summer season kinda girl and it’s always hard to pull the faded blooms.
That’s Patches on the porch in mid-Summer. I should’ve waited until later in the day to shoot the photo as
the front of the house is overexposed. Oh well. I painted the porch ceiling blue like many historic homes I’ve seen.
Another view. See that sign hanging at the end of the boardwalk? My hubby hand-painted it. It said “Rose Cottage”
because we had a rose garden. We’ve since replaced the roses, having lost the battle to black spot.
The full side view taken in the fall. It looks to me like additions were added over the years … it’s quirky, but that’s what I love about it. At one point I started taking down the rickety picket fence in the backyard, until my neighbor said she loved it. So, we put it back up. See the horse sign at the rear of the house? I scored that find at a garage sale for one dollar. And now for details …
The back kitchen door. I adore these windows.
Hubby painted the trim work in the high spots. He’s a keeper!
And I painted the trim work on the lower level.
I love impatiens and every year I put them in the window boxes, which my hubby made, by the way. Did I already mention he’s a keeper? And so there it is … our humble abode. It’s always a work in progress, but it’s a labor of love. Old houses pull on my heartstrings. I’ve tried living in a new house, but it didn’t last long. I guess I just need to hear the comforting creaks walking across old floor boards while I wonder about the lives of those who slept in rooms before me.