Hand-Frosted Third Street Doll

I recently had the pleasure of reuniting with a Third Street doll we sold at last winter's Acadia Winter Craft Expo here in Wolfville. This little doll is presently residing with her best friend Leah who takes her everywhere! Talking with her mom, I was so delighted to hear how much Leah loves her doll. We laughed over the Knuffle Bunny-esque prospect of a distressed midnight call proclaiming that a dolly was missing and a little girl was in dire need of an immediate replacement. Well, nervous laughter...

In August, Leah celebrated her first birthday and her mom was kind enough to share a photo of the special cake she made for Leah's big day.

How sweet is this??

We spend so much time bringing life to these little sweets. We have the luxury of evolving gorgeous bolts of fabric into unique dolls thriving with personality and character. Each doll means so much to us it's hard to see them go off into the world, so it is a great comfort to learn of their lives after they've left Third Street. Like so many of us who have made this move, Third Street dolls are filled with a love and happiness that is best shared with a friend. We are glad to see that this dolly shares that with Leah.  

Have a picture you'd like to share? We'd love to see it (and brag about it on the blog, permission pending). Email us if you're interested (link in the right sidebar).

The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

Starting a new relationship is often made delightful through the carefree re-explorations of everyday things. But different, of course, because it's with someone else. Being the reclusive introverted loner that I am, my experiences in this area have often been shared with books - or rather, authors. I love to learn how other people view the things I encounter daily, and how passing thoughts and encounters are interpreted by other minds. I find it rather captivating.

Yesterday I courageously embarked on a new friendship with Canadian author Ann-Marie MacDonald. For many years I have seen MacDonald's books in libraries and new and used book stores, yet I have only now gained the courage to walk across the room and metaphorically break the ice. She's always seemed so cool and refined and is unfailingly surrounded by her impassioned and loyal friends - surely she wouldn't care to meet someone as Andrea as me. And yet I found myself intrigued and, as is often the case, temptation won out.

With a few hours to myself the other day, I decided to take a walk down to The Odd Book, a great used book store here in Wolfville. Having recently ended my torrid affair with Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin and mysteriously misplaced my used copy of John Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire, I was in the market for a friend with a bit of guts and a certain degree of witticism who wasn't going to wonder away when someone more happening came along. Accordingly, as one is inclined to do in search of fellow intellects, I meandered over to the Canadian Literature section.

It was there that I made my move. I affixed a disinterested expression, introduced myself, made a stupid comment on the summer heat and the underachieving culture of air conditioners ... and done: new best friend! I think she was drawn to my clever banter and irresistible charm, but I could be wrong.

Right away I bonded with MacDonald's narrative in The Way the Crow Flies. Her descriptions and impressions - it was as though she knew just what I'd always been thinking. Scary, what with my fascination concerning the mundane and ordinary. Hey, it takes special talent to make peeling paint entertaining, and those of us who thus thrive - regardless of our achievements and failures - need to stick together.

It has just occurred to me that I may be discrediting MacDonald's talents as an author. This is not my intention. I am merely trying to highlight the essence of a good storyteller: someone who can captivate others with their recount of the everyday world, sometimes with very little to work with aside from their imagination and articulation.

I especially love when you find a passage from an author who succeeds in describing otherwise unremarkable experiences or situations in a way that truly captures their essence and 'speaks' to you. As you would expect from my well documented track record as an intellectual hoarder, I've collected a few such excerpts from The Way The Crow Flies for your pondering.

A moving automobile is second only to the shower when it comes to singing. P. 2

Your imagination is the best entertainment of all, writing is the best technology known to man, and your teeth are more precious than pearls so look after them. P. 21

Bikes and trikes and red wagons, sprinklers going, the distant roar of a lawnmower, the smell of freshly cut grass. Kids glance up, mildly curious, strange adults wave casually at the car... P.34. Brings me back here.

The following passage left an especially personal impression (see why here):

... Everything about an air force station is new. And it will stay that way for its entire operational life. Each house, each building will be freshly painted in the same colours they have always had... The families of the PMQs will always seem like the first families to move in, they will always have young children of about the same age. Only the trees will change, grow. Like reruns on television, an air force station ever grows old. It remains in the present. Until the last flypast. Then it is demobilized, decommissioned, deconsecrated. It is sold off and all the aging, the buildup of time that was never apparent, will suddenly be upon it. It will fade like the face of an old child. Weeds, peeling paint, decaying big-eyed bungalows... P.24

As you can see, my engrossment with Ann-Marie MacDonald is only still beginning. I fear there may be more literary hoarding - and sharing - in the days and weeks to come. Lucky you.

Blanche

Growing up many of us had someone like an older cousin or a neighbor that we held in great esteem. Someone you looked up to with little kid admiration and love.

In our world, this person was our Aunt Blanche. Blanche is our mother's youngest sister and when Sonia and I were young girls she came over from Newfoundland to live with our family.

Blanche was just a young woman then - pretty, stylish, smart, fun (much as she remains to this day, of course). She had boyfriends, wore makeup, and chewed gum. When I was little, amongst my many imaginings I believed that grown-ups would eventually grow down to my size. I used to make Blanche promise that when she grew down to my size that she would let me wear all her awesome clothes. I had a particular fancy for a pair of burgundy pajamas she was fond of wearing.

And Blanche was our very own - she loved us, played with us, and took care of us. Blanche has a great laugh and always laughed a lot. I remember she used to hide in doorways in the hall and j ump out to scare us all the time and then she'd hug us while we all laughed. She played games with us and let us sit with her during grown up card games to help play her hand. She took us for walks and berry picking and played with us in the snow.

She listened to cool music like the Eagles, Bruce Springsteen, and Nazareth and she took us to do awesome things like rollerskating and to the theatre to see movies. Plus she could sing really well and knew the words to all the songs Dad liked to play on guitar. Whenever Dad would play Sing Me Back Home I remember I would cry. It's a sad song. Blanche would always dance slowly with me up in her arms during this song. It's amazing how something so small can mean so much and stay with you for so long.

Plus she was a friend and a support for Mom and Dad, something that I can now recognize for its true value. She helped take care of us and helped with the housework so everyone had more time to do fun things together.

Recently, while taking inventory of our dolls for the upcoming Fall craft season, Sonia and I decided that many of the dolls we have in our Big Sister collection were worthy of separate distinction on account of their advanced sense of style. And what better way to signify this beauty than to honor these special dolls with the name that exemplifies class in our eyes? Hence the Blanche Collection was created. 

Blanche Dolls have more defined faces and wear detailed attire and accessories. The are sophisticated and fun and ready to take on the world!

And in honor of the new collection, we have listed these two all new Blanche Dolls in the Third Street Corner Store on Etsy.

Pop by the shop for a closer look at these sweeties. 

Making Bread and Constructing a Family Quilt

What is it about making something with your hands that feels so therapeutic and fulfilling?

As you read in my last post, I've recently entered into the world of bread making. Making bread is a deep rooted tradition in my family. My grandmother Chaisson has achieved eternal reverence with regards to her best-in-the-world homemade bread.

When we were children, my sisters and cousins and I all lived for Nan's bread - many of us restricted to enjoying this culinary delight during summer vacation and the rare winter visit to Newfoundland. Sometimes Nan would even make bread on those extra special times when she and Pop came to visit us.

I remember watching Nan in fascination as she would knead the dough with diligence and determination; a perseverance worthy of true admiration.

Soon after my virginal introduction to making bread I had a conversation with my mother - also an accomplished family bread maker - and it was she who identified the labour of making bread as  therapeutic and cleansing. Getting in there with you hands and pounding out the hearty goodness of the dough for the purpose of providing sustenance and enjoyment for your family truly is a satisfying endeavor.

Moreover, it is a great way to purge tension - much like other physically repetitive activities such as biking or running - providing one with a clear and undistributed mind for thinking things through.
Quilting is another well rooted tradition in my family that unites productive therapeutic activity with the wholesome nature of making something meaningful for someone you love. Selecting fabrics, arranging them in ways that convey a desired mood. Combining these elements in a custom that ensures longevity with the purpose of ultimately forming a single entity designed to provide warmth and comfort is - in my books - a very effective means of expressing love.

One of the especially nice things about visiting Nan and Pop was getting to sleep in one of the old kid's rooms warmly snuggled in one of Nan's quilts. Nan made her quilts with scrap fabrics salvaged from other projects, or from worn out garments within the house - curtains, work shirts, sheets. They were the kind of quilts that hugged you - heavy, big and warm. Their myriad of patterns, fabric textures and colours gave them a unique quality and her use of re-purposed fabrics added a personal touch that made you feel safe and at home.

I am fortunate to have one of these precious specimens upstairs, where it usually resides on my Sweetheart's bed.  Decades after it's construction, my grandmother's quilt continues to embrace her family with love and warmth.

It is this degree of love that I hope to convey to my family with the making of my very own family quilt. So far in the process I have assembled my own collection of outgrown, out-fashioned, and plain warn out fabrics that have seen my family throughout its evolution.

This may take me a little bit longer than the two loaves of bread I made for my family, but it is my hope that - like the bread my grandmother made for her family - its sustenance will be felt by the people I love for a long time after its completion.  

New Inspiration

Summer is winding down and my life is filled with the joys of my new daughter.  This weekend we celebrate her baptism and her first birthday.  (pictures to follow)

Andrea and I are in full swing at Third Street, amping up production and getting ready for the Holiday season.  We celebrated our forth sale in our Etsy store and received another order for 3 dolls.  It feels great to be getting "back on track", as I've been saying I needed to do for a while now. 

This fall we are creating some Halloween themed dolls.  They are at the embroidery phase, so watch for them in the coming weeks. Inspired by my trip to China, we've begun working on a new collection of dolls that will be available later this fall, Chinese New Year Dolls. These little lovelies will be wearing traditional inspired Chinese gowns, dressed and ready for a party!

Beijing, Our second week in China

We are often asked "how was your trip?", a questions that is easy and difficult to answer.  Aside from amazing it was tough, emotional, exhausting and sweaty.  Not only were we in China, which in itself was an amazing experience, we also become parents- something we've been waiting almost 9 years to become.  We travelled with three other families adopting children from China, and those little baby smiles were what kept us going. 

After a week in Hubei, the province in Southern China where our daughter Aster was born, we all boarded a plane for Beijing.  Our flight wasn't until 10 at night, so we were all a little nervous as to how our babies would handle the night time traveling.  We were to arrive in Beijing at 2am and we were scheduled for our Great Wall tour the next morning at 9am.  All in the their jammies, the babies fared as well as could be expected under the circumstances.  Little Aster finally passed out across our laps half way through the flight.  Once in Beijing we managed to get our Great Wall tour moved to 10am, though it was unclear what families, if any were actually going to make it.

Through the magic of a few hours sleep we all made it to the Great Wall tour.  We were joined by another family who would be with us for our week in Beijing.  They were also from Canada and adopted a four year old boy from another Ghinese province.  Also joining our tour of the Great Wall was another family from Canada who adopted a daughter from China 13 years ago and had returned to tour her homeland. 

The Great Wall was breath taking.   Aster was exhausted and slept through the whole bus ride, tour, and half of lunch. 
While in Beijing we also visited Tianamin Square, The Birds Nest, Summer Palace and shopped at the Silk Market.  Aster, being the super-duper sleeper slept through almost all of it!

Aster in her Canada Rocks T-shirt waiting to board the plane to Canada

We are so happy to be home and have the support of our family and friends.  Aster is adjusting well and settling nicely in her new home. 

Home for good

I'm back!!

Andrea has been hard at work in my absence but I'm almost ready to get behind my sewing machine again.  I've been back in Canada for just over a week, returning from a trip of a life time, to adopt our beautiful little girl in China. I have so many photos to share and stories to tell, I'm going to spread it over a a few posts.

We spent our first week in Wuhan, Hubei Province in southern China.  Hubei is known as one of the furnace provinces, I can't describe in words the amount of sweat my body produced in that week.  It was amazing I was able to produce saliva.

Here are some photos of our first week in Wuhan.

Wuhan is the third largest city in China, with a population equally almost half the population of all of Canada.  The city is very industrial, with many high rise buildings and not a lot of historical architecture.  We visited The Yellow Crain Tower on our last day in Wuhan, and honestly it was our first glims of what we thought China looked like. (Aster's asleep in this photo, she loved sleeping in her carrier while Mommy and Daddy toured around)

The view from our hotel room

Here she is!  My beautiful little girl, Aster Elisabeth Yun on her last day in Wuhan.  Later that day we flew to Beijing for our second week in China.  I'll post some more photos soon.

I Want to Ride My Bicycle

So I don’t have a very good track record when it comes to biking…  I have poor balance, slow reflexes and I’m frequently overcome with a fear of getting injured.  Regardless, I love biking.

Three years ago I planned an elaborate mountain biking trip for my brother-in-law and I that went horribly wrong.  What we expected would be a couple hours through the woods on an circling trail known as Jimmy’s Round Top turned into the 6 hour lost-in-the-woods ride from hell.  Well, to be fair it was probably more like 4 hours from hell.  The first two hours weren’t too bad since we hadn’t gotten lost at that point… 

One might ask how two adults could get lost on a trail.  Couldn’t you just turn around and go back the way you came? 

Let me paint you a picture: we are talking the middle of the woods.  Woods as in wilderness.  As in abandoned hunting camps.  Random swampy areas (seriously, we were up to our knees carrying our bikes at one point, in which Scott did not appreciate my light hearted leech humour).  Combined with a ‘trail’ long past succumbing to lush overgrowth of forest floor vegetation.  Isolation and desolation with a backdrop of evergreens set to the score of singing birds.

I’m talking deep, deep in the woods were no girl – no matter how un girly-girl she may be - should ever find herself, even if she is with one of the greatest guys in the world who followed her without question because she was she and she had a map. That she had printed from a mountain biking website that she later discovered had last been updated in 2002.  And required a great deal of interpretation to read.  And she had studied the area topographically (sort of…)  On a day following a huge rain storm.  In September when the days get shorter and it gets down right chilly when the sun goes down.  Especially if you are very wet from repeatedly falling hard into rocky mud puddles. 

Scott summed up the overall experience several hours into the run.  When we came upon a deserted hunting camp in the middle of nowhere, Scott quite seriously stated: ”Oh, crap.  This is the kind of place you go to get murdered”.  And this was before the panic set in…

Well friends, hindsight is 20/20.  I realize now that smart planning can lead to a more foreseeable future if you actually engage your brain.  I guess I’m a work in progress.

Well, I’ve already said more about that experience than I ever thought I would be able to without the aid of a trained mental health professional and the employment of strong anti-anxiety meds….

Since buying a new bike in the spring, my husband has been rediscovering biking.  We’ve been out numerous times this spring and summer on the well known and well maintained community trail by our home.  We gear up and head out with the kids in the bike trailer, setting our sights on short jaunts to the river, beaver dam, and playground.  A few weeks back we did a big trip to one of the lakes that lives beside the trail for a little snack and a dip.  This was about 12km of relatively unchallenging terrain made very challenging by the extreme heat and the near 70lb load in the trailer. 

Well, today My Sweetest and I embarked upon a new biking adventure.  We decided to drive along the road from our home to Peggy’s Cove, approximately a 60 km round trip.  Along the coast sans kids and trailer (thanks Papa-Nanny), just the two of us.

I am delighted to say that we had a blast!  We didn’t do the entire trip as planned, only 43km.  Yay, right!!  And we are both still alive and unscarred!! 

We drove from our home to Hacketts Cove where we lunched on french toast and iced tea at the Finer Diner, a gorgeous place overlooking a quaint fishing inlet along the Saint Margaret’s Bay coast.  We relaxed for a bit, chatted with neighbouring diners and took in the view before deciding to head back home to the kiddies and grandparents instead of pushing on the additional 10km.

See how much I’ve grown?  And I didn’t even bring a map!!

We had a great day and hopefully won't be too sore tomorrow.

More of an Etcetera than a Post , Really. Sorry in Advance...

I've been making some changes and moving some things around. 
Here.  Look.  Around.
Right here, on the blog.

What's that?  Oh, you've noticed?!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It's nothing, really.  Just several long and agonizingly frustrating hours a few quick changes here and there.  You know, pretty much. 

So yes, I'm delighted that someone, somewhere appreciates my hard work enough to have noticed.  All of my hard work.  Here.  Today. 

Tweeking. 

Making sure that the ol girl here isn't wearing blazing red and white striped undies with her white skirt.  Even if they are the only ones she had that were clean.  Yes, yes we all know what Mom says about making sure you wear clean undies in case you get in an accident and wind up at the hospital.  But let me tell you something.  If you do wind up at the hospital in such a state that anyone would have to see your underwear, much less handle them in such a way as to have a good look at them I'm pretty sure that their cleanliness would no longer be their most distinguishing characteristic.  Trust me, I'm a nurse.  I know things.  There are much worse things than not-so-fresh underwear.  And whether they're the right colour and style for wearing under semi-transparent clothing.  What are you wearing that skirt for anyway??  You know, you can practically see through it!  Do you want to look like a streel?  What's that?  It's the only thing you had clean?  Dude, do the laundry sometime.  Or go visit your Mom.  She'll wash some clothes for your sorry ass.  She knows about these things.

Wait.  Is that my skirt?!

Phew.  I'm glad you noticed the changes.  I don't think I would have handled it well if you hadn't even noticed.

May the fourth be with you

I know I know, I'm a geek.  It's really not my fault.  My husband is a huge Star Wars fan, we have a Star Wars themed room.  I come by it honestly.

Four years ago today (and tomorrow), my life changed.  I was present for my niece Julia's birth.  Unfortunately, I haven't been able to have children the old fashioned way, so child birth was to be an experience I would never have.  Andrea and her husband shared this incredibly intimate time with me and I will forever be grateful. 

When Andrea went into labour late that Thursday night, the geek in me hoped the baby would have been born on May the forth, but alas she did not make her way into the world until early morning on the fifth.

This is one reason I love May, I have many, many more.  I was born in May for one!  Not that I'm thrilled to be turning another year older, but I really do enjoy birthday cake.

What do you love about May?

The Return of a Delinquent Blogger

Hi, I'm Sonia.  The other sister on Third Street.  Some of you may remember me as a regular contributor on this fine blog,while others may only know me as Andrea's sewing partner she talks about from time to time.  To help you understand my lack of contribution to the editorial side of this blog, I've compiled a top ten list of the reasons I've become a delinquent blogger.

1. I started a fantastic new day job about a month ago.  All the new learning leaves me unable to form sentences at the end of the day.

2. I fell asleep in the changing room at Old Navy.

3. My fascination with stat counter leaves me little time for anything else.

4. Andrea added McKlinky to our blog and I'm still waiting for my free McNuggets.

5. While attempting to multi-task I sewed my sleeve to a phone book.

6. I down loaded the Lady Gaga track pack on rock band and can't stop singing "Bad Romance".

7. Andrea has created a "required reading" list for me and I can't keep up.

8. My dog keeps dropping stink bombs that cause me to lose consciousness for periods of time.

9. My imaginary friend Igor has been going through a separation and needs a lot of support.

10. When sitting down to write a blog I'm distracted by the compilation of misplaced "treasures" on my desk.

So there you have it.  Ten perfectly excusable reasons I've been MIA.

Happy Easter!

Our Roots :: Crafting Ancestry

Recently, our uncle sent us this photo he found on the Memorial University Maritime History website.

George and Alice Shears, 1935

Great Grandfather and Great Grandmother, George and Alice Shears on their doorstep with spinning wheel and hooked rugs, West Coast of Newfoundland, summer 1935 – a picture taken for the Newfoundland Tourist Development Board.

Uncle Terry added: "This is at Grandfather’s old house in Robinson’s. They are near the front door. The veranda extended around three sides of the house. You can see the kitchen part of the house on the right side in the background."

I find this very inspiring.


What do you think?

Something to Talk About

A while back, Andrea and I pulled a sewing all-nighter. We were participating in our first two day show and underestimated the amount of product we needed to have on hand.

A strange thing happened that night, something that has never happened to us before....

 

We ran out of things to talk about.

Anyone who has ever met Andrea or read any of her blogs before, may be baffled as to how this could have happened.  (If you haven't met Andrea and are reading our blog for the first time, Andrea likes to talk.  A lot.  And rarely runs out of things to talk about.)

We realized that sewing all-nigthers may occur again in our future, and we need to be prepared.  So we've started a list of things to talk about for times when we are at a loss for things to discuss. One can never be too prepared for these sorts of unfortunate happenings.

A few of the items on our list are:

- An intellectual reflection on Cheesies.  What is your favorite kind and why?
- Dave Saville's parenting/managing of the Chipmunks
- People who use the word "irregardless" and other words that are not really words

It's scary when Andrea runs out of things to talk about. To my knowledge it has only happened this once, and she ended up falling asleep on her sewing machine while sewing. Not a good situation. Imagine the damage droll can have on the inner workings of a sewing machine.

We'd love to hear from you.  Leave us a comment if you have a suggestion for our conversation list.

The Dawn of a New Era

The past few months have been so exciting for Andrea and me. Our little idea has really started to blossom into a business. We love the response we've been getting and are working hard to have lots of new dolls to showcase in the next few weeks.

Yesterday I took a trip to the printer to sign off on the graphics and layout for our new drop tags and business cards. Up until now I have been printing and hand cutting our tags, a task I am more than happy to hand off to the professionals.

In other exciting news, watch our blog on December 2nd. We're looking into being part of a huge North American Giveaway day, where you will have a chance to win one of our dolls, free shipping and all!!

Our Roots :: Backspacers

I've been working a lot of consecutive nights lately.  Consequently, I am still awake and have no desire to sleep like the rest of my family who are all blissfully dreaming.  Instead, I am cruising the blogosphere to see what friends are doing, moving things around on my computer and looking at old pictures.  Alas, at the hight of my mental stamina I decided that I would like to share some of these with you. Luckeee.  

Shortly after my daughter was born I took the time - in true obsessive Andrea style - to scan all of the childhood snapshots I could get my hands on in a effort at preservation.  Many of us have endless albums cataloging our lives, from horrible Eighties hair to terrible "blowing out the candles" pictures - that we simply can't bear the thought of living without. 

And year after year, we see the deterioration that time has reaped on these treasures.  A quick Google search lead me to this useful page which helped me to understand the organics of photograph deterioration.

I must say, however, that I love the charm that is ultimately achieved by the varying degrees of photo deterioration.  Pictures are meant to capture memories and memories are, by their very nature, hazy.  Isn't it reasonable, then, that these memory-snapshots also aquire some degree of haze over time?  A time travel-esque imprint?  Should we require that snapshots never change?  That they remain crisp and acurate?  Some people likely think so.  I, evidently do not. 

Consider, if you will, the abundance of image editing software that is on the market, many of which feature photo aging effects such as sepia tone and noise filtering.  The following is a picture of my daughter who, despite what this poorly altered photo would have you believe, was born in 2006.

 Of course, it needs to be said that much is left up to the photographer.  In the below picture, Mom was obviously very focused on capturing the momentous occasion that was my first day of school. 

In case you missed it, Sonia is also in this picture. Sadly, this is but one of many such pictures. Hmm, maybe this is where the severed-limb doll references all sprout from...

Mostly, I just love looking at old pictures and remembering good times.  Corny, I know.

Our beautiful 'little' sister, Amy.  Oh, and her friend...

Dad and Ames at Nan and Pop's.  Robinsons, Newfoundland ~ 1988.

Me and Sonia on Fred's bike.  Robinsons, Newfoundland (early 1980's).

Me and Amy baking with Mom.  We always had the coolest aprons!

... and hairnets ...

Ultimately I am pleased that my zombie-like obsessivness goaded me to capture these memories digitally.  Otherwise, what else would I do on nights like these??   

 

 

Our Roots :: Remembering the Bookmobile and Pop Shop

What is in a name?

Today, a name holds joy. 

Third Street Handcrafters has officially been born - in a legal sense, that is.    For several months Sonia and I have been eager to register our little endeavour as an actual business.  It's a marriage of sorts, this little adventure and we decided to - you know - make an honest woman of her.  We've been working for over a year under the name Vervain Designs - a name that has served us well  - but decided that we wanted to move forward with a name that held greater collective relevence and  inspiration.

Sonia and I grew up in a neighborhood known locally as The Villa.  The Villa was an old RCAF Station, part of the Pinetree line that was operational during the 1950's and 60's. During the 1970's the operational site (the radar) was utilized as a plant for making precast concrete (Lundrigans) and the residential area (formerly developed as PMQs) was sold to a private owner who converted it into rental housing.

Over the couse of it's existance the radar has developed a rather dramatic culture riddled with urban legands based largely on suspicions of paranormal activity.  Wonderments have largely suround the deaths of some workers from the concrete plant (numbers vary according to resources), a murder in the area in the 1970's, and misleading information that the building was once the site of a mental hospital.  In fact, several of the administrative buildings of the old RCAF station were converted into an Adult Residential and Nursing Home -  a neighbor who, as evidenced,  has the potential to generate much rumor in the presence of imaginative individuals.  

While we were growing up, the area was famous for hiking, exploring the ruins of various buildings - including the three story burnt out shell of the radar base - and berry picking.  Also, there used to be go-kart races in the summer that started at the top of the hill heading up towards the radar.   

We lived in The Villa during the 1980's and very early 90's, a time when the houses all had numbers that were assigned in no apparent ordering (something to do with the military housing, maybe??) and when the streets had no names other then in reference to their order up the hill (i.e. First, Second, Third and Fourth Street).  We, incidently, lived on the Third Street.  Surprising, I know. 

Ours was a childhood of annual summer parades and Fundays featuring the community firefighters squaring off in the Barrol Roll.  A time of home-delivered milk when our milkman would give all the kids a Farmer's juice bag from the truck.  I remember the Bookmobile coming and the Pop Shop deliveries and playing huge games of hide and seek with tons of kids.    

Sadly, all of the houses were torn down in 2004, rendering The Villa a depressing skeletal reflection of it's former glory.  All that remains is the Nursing Home which has been completely redesigned.  I went up for a hike shortly after the demolition and, aside from being a tad heart sick, I was shocked at how different everything look stripped of the details.  Everything looked so small - even the really big hill we used to sail down on our bikes.  It was like visiting your elementary school as an adult - the fountains are always so unbelievably low to the ground...  

So this is where our new name comes from, for anyone who might have wondered.  We chose it because it is a link to our childhoods, to our time of innocence and imagination, which largely serves as our creative inspiration.  We ask only that you let us help you and your children to

enjoy life and imagine out load. 

*Please note that some of these pictures were graciously borrowed from a Facebook group commemorating The Villa.  We thank the administrator of the group and its numerous members for sharing their memories.

Our Roots :: Vervain Fields

Original Post Date: Wednesday, August 12, 2009 by Sonia for Vervain Designs

For my birthday a few years ago a friend of mine gave me the book "Good Faeries/Bad Faeries" by Brian Froud. A magnificent and magical book filled with beautiful illustrations and stories about Faery folklore. While I have yet to venture into the Bad Faeries side of the book (trust me, it's a whole lot of scary) I've spent my time learning about the good ones and fell into fast love with Vervain Faery, a vibrant flower faery.

Vervain has always been recognized as a plant with mystical connotations and has long been associated with divine and other supernatural forces. Vervain was warn by the Roman Soldiers for protection and used as a signal of peace. In Christian folk legend it was said to have grown at the base of the cross and was used to staunch Jesus' wounds after he was removed. Other legends say that vervain protects people from vampires and witches and in medieval times it was warn around the head to ward of headaches and the plague.  Vervain has been used as a healing herb both in herbal tea and as an essential oil to treat migrains, insomnia, and nervous exhaustion.

"This true faery plant also has diuretic and hypnotic properties. The Vervain Faery can be called upon for healing, protection, and her general soothing ways." 

                                           Good Faeries/Bad Faeries
                                                  Brian Froud