Little Jars of Light

More Crafts, More Decorating

Live in rooms full of light.  ~Cornelius Celsus
I thought I would share with you the creation my husband and I came up with for light fixtures at our cabin (which we refer to as Camp More).  A friend had shown us her Pottery Barn catalog, and we fell in love with their Canning Jar light fixture, but it’s hard to convince DIY’ers to hand over the credit card number when something looks like the perfect project!  We ordered these blue tinted jars from e-bay, and found the new, vintage-inspired electrical cord online. The ceiling canopy came from a porch light that we removed at our house, and we painted it with a hammered metal finish.  We love the way they turned out, and think they add just the right touch to our rustic little get-away.  I’ve seen Etsy shops that sell similar items, and they make such a unique conversation piece.

Opening Doors.

More Crafts, More Decorating, More Miscellaneous

Otis likes to get in the picture!

All doors open to courtesy. Thomas Fuller

Figuratively speaking, the goal of this blog is to help me exercise my writing skills – informally of course, as well as to possibly “open some doors” in the line of writing and presenting for the “artsy-craftsy” community.  So, I’m sharing a hodge-podge of my creativeness for those who want to check-out my catalog of creations.

On my grandmother’s rambling, mountain property, lie numerous “treasures” including…. old rusty cars, abandoned sheds, barns, outhouses, etc.  When my husband and I built our small cabin nearby, we were not impressed at the glaring white sight of the side of the refrigerator staring out at us in the kitchen.  So, when we were wandering Grandma’s junk yard this spring, we decided to take the door off of an old shed sitting in the trees.  It has already been overtaken by small animals and pine-needles, so we didn’t feel too guilty.  We took it home, dusted it off, and retro-fitted the doorknob, so it only protrudes on one side (so it will fit).  Then we cut a piece of wood t fit where the window sat and painted it with chalkboard paint.  We didn’t have any chalk yet, when I snapped this picture, but now we do, and the message says, “The Huck’s are here.  Gone to Miller Creek!” This was such a fun project, and it barely cost anything.  Re-purposing old items and taking finds from trash-to-treasure is one of my favorite hobbies.  Thanks for letting me share!

The Huck’s are Here!

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“I’m your huckleberry…”             Doc Holliday

In Northwest Montana, there are few things as exciting as the first huckleberries of the season.  The husband, dogs and I headed out to find some of these delectable treats this weekend.  We went too high in the mountains at first where we usually like to go, and they weren’t quite ready yet.  So, we decided to head lower to see what we could find, and we stumbled upon a “honey-hole” of berries.  We picked all day in a a dream location – flat, open and shaded.  The reason huckleberries are so coveted is that you really do have to work for them.  The picking is slow, and you have to have just the right “feel” when you’re picking, so you don’t get the ones that aren’t quite ripe.  These berries were to die for, and when I would reward myself with a taste, it felt like a burst of sunshine in my mouth.  I love that huckleberries haven’t been domesticated.  It adds to the mystery, when you know that the only berries out there are ones that have to be picked on a mountaintop.  What a reward, what a treat!  We had huckleberry pancakes for breakfast on Sunday, and sprinkled some on homeade ice cream last night.  I will post my aunt Shelly’s huckleberry cake recipe soon, and will be freezing some of these for huckleberry cream cheese pie.  I delivered a cup to my uncle who stopped by the cabin for a visit, and took some over to the neighbor to add to her oatmeal for breakfast.  When you are  a huckleberry picker, you don’t just hand out these treasures to anybody, so if you have been given huckleberries by a friend, you should know that you are very special, indeed.