Good old boys

This is my 200th post to An Apple a Day and I had big plans for it. I had a big unveil of sorts lined up, but my negotiations with Michael Jackson's people fell through so I'm back to square one. And the funny thing is, I'm not joking.

Instead I'll show you my favorite, most meaningful find in the whole world.

Dartmouth 1942
After spotting these old Dartmouth photos, I've been itching to find some similar ones of the Emerson boys at Dartmouth. The stars aligned on ebay last week and I found a copy of Dartmouth's 1942 yearbook, my grandfather's graduation year. FOR $5!

I know I post a ton of old family photos on the blog, but this one is really special, no one in the family has ever seen it before. I raced through the pages to find grandpa bill and sure enough, there he was. Words fail. I just inexplicably wept.

He was truly the most thoughtful and brilliant man I've ever met. After he died, we found he kept detailed lists of people's interests and accomplishments, along with their birthdays etc... so he'd always be able to reference back to the things they'd mentioned in the past. He'd send me copies of the latest NYT style section, with post-it note comments because he knew I loved that sort of stuff. As humans go, he was evolved.

Dartmouth 1942
Also totally amazing are the photos of all the other boys at Dartmouth in his year. Like the smarmy jocks above.

Dartmouth 1942
Boys of the canoe club, I love you. If you let me borrow your flannel while you paddle me around, I'll wake up early to make you coffee every morning for the rest of your life. Promise.

Dartmouth 1942

Dartmouth 1942
I'm kinda taken with this guy's socks/shoes/pipe combination.

Dartmouth 1942

Dartmouth 1942
A post hockey game party. Is it just me or do some girls have all the luck?

The swingle

It's hard to convey the divinity of a swingle in a photograph. It's hot outside so there's the melting factor, not to mention that they're just a bit too heavy to be held up by a little popsicle stick.

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Plus, it's hard to have a swingle in your hand and not be eating it. I could only mange a few pictures before I gave in. Never heard of a swingle? Neither had I, so you're in good company.

They can be found only in the remote reaches of uncharted Red Hook at Steve's Authentic. For awhile I thought it was called a swindle, not swingle, perhaps because it's more than i'd like to spend on a street side popsicle. But 5 dollars for pure heaven it sometimes necessary.

Anyway. It's a 4" key lime tart, dipped in dark chocolate and frozen. On a stick. Oh god. It's unbelievable.

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And I am not the only one who thinks so. Shopdog Nea has also actively declared herself a fan of frozen lime custard.

In dad's room

home
It wasn't until I was going through some photos I took on my last trip home that I fully appreciated how witty and wise it was of my dad to lace a piece of driftwood through a perfectly matched rack of antlers.

Sometimes I forget how truly spectacular my parents are.

In a pickle

pickles
There are several things my papa and i bond over; botanic gardens, house plant propagation, family history, widdling walking sticks, broken-in leather bags and most of all pickles. We both are seriously devoted to pickles.

pickles
It's a running joke that his top requisite for a wife was whether she canned her own pickles. Needless to say, my mom doesn't even really like pickles. And yet true love endures.

pickles
Given the fact the pickle juice runs in my veins, when Kate F. posted about her recent fridge pickle making foray, I shamelessly copied.

And since then, I've consumed 5lbs of homemade pickles in two weeks. It's been awesome. All thanks to Kate. Can I just take a minute to say how much I love this girl? After a year of reading each other's blogs, we had our first real live date last week. Not only is she holy smokes pretty, she was able to geek out with me about the various foods featured in The Little House on the Prairie, a surefire mark of someone I will instantly and forever adore. Salted ham! Maple syrup snow! Kate, you're the best!

An announcement...

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While we're talking saipua, today is the official opening day of our fancy new flower shop at 147 Van Dyke street in picturesque Red Hook! Flowers to make you weep! Come one, come all!

Hotshot

It's insanely hot in brooklyn and i've melted into one big puddle of frizzled hair and freckles.

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I spent most of yesterday buzzing around saipua's flower cooler, pretending to be, oh I don't know, fixing and moving flowers when I was really just soaking up the extra refrigeration.

(And for the new kids- I assist the most truly awesome florist ever. Her name is Sarah and the shop is called Saipua. If you're not familiar, go and look at her work. But only if you're prepared to have your expectations so wildly exceeded that you will never ever look at arranged flowers the same way again.)

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Is it me or does our vintage your extra touch florist cooler seem, uhh, slightly suggestive? Just sayin is all.

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Wildflower bridesmaid's bouquets up top, garden roses down below. Those bouquets are going to be sauntering down the aisle tonight so wish them luck. Hopefully they won't wilt in the stifling heat.

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These photos were snapped so I could have a reason to poke around in the cooler for longer because it was really that hot.

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In fact, this whole post is just a ruse.

My "picture taking" was a diversionary tactic to distract Miss Sarah R. from my obsession with needlessly going into the cooler. Oh please, don't tell her. These days, I live for my cooler time.

I think I love you

(We're sorry to interrupt this program to bring you a message from our sponsors.)

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Have I properly conveyed to you how excited and nervous I am to have so many new readers this month? Honestly, I never thought anyone other than my mom and ginny branch stelling would read an apple a day. I am so honored (and happily surprised!) to have you here. Both new and old readers alike.

(tomorrow back to our regularly scheduled programming.)

I say tomato

veggie patch
When I was a kid, I used to go out to the garden and see how many cherry tomatoes I could fit into my mouth at once. Yes ladylike, but it gets worse. When I'd squeezed in the last one, I'd lay down in the grass, head turned to the side and count the seconds till they'd pop.

When you live in the country with no other kids around, you gotta do what you gotta do to amuse yourself. I was a really weird kid. Still am.

veggie patch
When I was home this week, I didn't stuff my face full of tomatoes with quiet the same, um, youthful creativity but I did eat more than would be considered proper right off the vine.

veggie patch
We used to grow enough tomatoes to set up a farm stand along the side of the road and my dad would let Micha and I manage it. We'd put our profits into the "horse fund" piggy bank. Micha was the fund's manager and somehow we never got those horses we wanted in middle school. Someone alert the SEC!

veggie patch
The smell of honest to goodness tomato leaves makes me weak in the knees. It is, without a doubt, the one smell that inescapably reminds me of being a kid. A few others? A small town hardware store (no, home depot doesn't count) and baking bread. I know for my mom, it's gardenias and horse barns. Isn't it funny how certain scents can be so evocative of childhood?

New England shopkeepers

Emerson & Sons
I recently discovered that my great great great grandfather was a shopkeeper in Milford, New Hampshire. Sumner Emerson and his son, Charles, opened Emerson & Sons, general and furniture store, in the early 1890's. And photographic evidence still exists! What I wouldn't give to go back in time and stock up on carpets and crockery. Heck, I doubt I'd even need to use the family discount.

store sign
The quality of the photos is unfortunate, but the sign says "2 Miles To Emerson & Sons Furniture". Not sure who those little street urchins are, but I hope I'm related to them cause they're awfully cute.


Time warp

poppies
Good news! My mom is doing well and in good spirits. We've spent the past day giggling till she groans with pain, at which point we start giggling again. I'm typing this out at an honest to goodness machine of antiquated technology, a dell desktop circa 2000. Yes, it has some old timey AOL dial up internet.

While my mom napped this afternoon, I stole my dad's car to run to the antique store, the windows were down, the radio station was playing Sublime and wow, it could have been 1998 for all I knew. GTG, dinner time. TTYL, LYLAS!

I've come full circle, people, full circle.

Back home


mom
I'm headed back home this afternoon to be with my mom. She was in a car accident last night, she's going to be okay, which is the important part, but she needs a little extra TLC right about now.

mom
Broken bones, bumps and bruises. Pain meds. Puppy therapy. I am just so overwhelmed that I get to see her later today. She is, without a doubt, my best friend and I am so lucky to have her.

mom
Your assignment for the day? Tell your favorite people how much you love them.

That's all, class dismissed.

The church basement

There is a church in New Hampshire that consistently blows my mind with it's basement thrift store. Awesomeness all around, all for 25 cents. I normally make one pilgrimage a year, so this is an annual report of sorts.

the church basement

This year's favorites are as follows.... An Elly May-ish short sleeve shirt, a funny patterned bandana and a polka dot hankie, all from the 50s. I have big plans for the hankie that involve a repurposing it into something a little more, um..... scandalous. Details to follow.

the church basement
The men's section is utter perfection. Flipping through the rack it's like vintage pendleton, vintage ll bean, vintage filson, vintage woolrich on repeat with a smattering of j peterman and ralph lauren. And you wonder why I am the way I am. Sadly, I can only buy so many men's things before I officially turn into a boy, which is not the direction I want to be headed.

That being said, I could not turn away these two wool flannels which are single handedly getting me excited for fall. The gray one has perfectly worn in leather elbow patches and the plaid one, well, it's plaid and awesome.

the church basement
And who on earth was this mysterious "Jeef" who's jacket displays pitch perfect penmanship? I bet his little lady spelled out his name before he shipped off. It's so romantic it makes me wanna cry. And this is the pathetic reason I didn't buy it.

It may take a few months to forgive myself this lapse in normally sound thrifting judgement.

**ADDENDUM**

After some well placed google search terms, I've learned that C.E. Jefferess was actually a commander in WWI who returned to live in Winston, NC. Isn't the internet wonderful?


Say cheese

picture day

picture day
That tall boy in the middle with the bow tie? Yup. Totally love him. I want to give him a kiss on the cheek and watch him wipe it off with that adorable disgust that little boys do so well. Yuck, girls.

picture day


picture day
The tomboy with skinned knees second from the left would be my best friend. Her hair bow and rumpled sweater, oh gosh.

If you had to pick a best friend, who would it be?

Pie in the sky

birthday pie
Two weeks ago I had a transcendent experience. It involved eating a whole blackberry rhubarb pie in one glup. Ok, it was several glups. Spread out over the course of a weekend. Regardless.

A word to the wise. Eat with caution if said pie is from the Blue Stove. It will cause you to become disinterested in all other types of food. I was recently caught pushing dinner around my plate with a fork while pouting and saying "All i really want to be eating is pie." Don't let this happen to you, as it is not becoming behavior from a girl over the age of 7.

The Red Chair

The Red Chair
Wow, my head is still spinning just a little bit from all of the funny internet business about An Apple a Day. Luckily, it's back to business as usual round here and I'm sitting in a freeeezing coffee shop, deciding whether I should eat another cookie. I vote yes.

The Red Chair
For a fun treat to celebrate all of this blog love, i thought i'd drag you to my favorite antique store of all time (other than Moon River, duh). The Red Chair in Peterborough, NH.

The Red Chair
This store does pretty and sweet better than anywhere else I've ever been. Better than anywhere in any big city and no, it's not just because her prices totally do-able by comparison. Jocie's taste is just stellar and her merchandising is brilliant.

The mohair stuffings are dedicated to Francesca, whom I had the pleasure of dragging here in real life (along with dear GBS).

The Red Chair

The Red Chair

The Red Chair

The Red Chair

The Red Chair
I bought more than my fair share of blue and white bits (see first photo) and have decided that when I die and go to heaven, I want an 18th century delft tile fireplace. or backsplash. or entryway. oh heck, tile the whole house.

Side note- When my mom was in town a few weeks back, I bored her to bits looking at delft tiles on ebay. Eventually she pointed out that if I spent a little less time on the internet hunting for antique tiles I might have a boyfriend. I guess with age comes wisdom. That being said, I still want the darn tiles.

Blog of Note

Wow, today has become an even bigger and more exciting day, if that's even possible.

Elmwood
I've been deemed a Blog of Note by the mothership, that is to say, blogger. The blogger, as in blogger.com. Blogger with a capital B. I am just really so shocked and touched that people other than my mom read my blog. Words just aren't enough.

Elmwood
If you're new to An Apple a Day and visiting from either blog of note or d*s...

Hi! Welcome! Can we be friends? I'll buy you an ice cream cone and we can roam the streets together. Pretty please?

Elmwood
Let's get to know each other a little better. For starters, i'm obsessed with old doodads. This amazing old seed catalogue envelope is from the attic of Elmwood, my family's house in New Hampshire.

Elmwood
Inside my great great grandmother seems to have stashed all of her correspondence. One rainy day I'll go through them and spill the juicy details!

New Hampshire family
Just for fun, here's a photo I found mixed in with her papers. Arthur Webster, a great great great uncle, I think. If only the penny farthing bicycle was still in the attic, that would come home to brooklyn in a heartbeat!