Carpathian harvest fairytale

Fairytales happens when you believe in them. In the power of ordinary, imperfect, wabi-sabi that is….The power of little, but emotionally charged things, the power of imagination, the power of child-like (not childish!) enthusiasm. I headed to my hometown in Southern Poland recently knowing that some lovely objects are waiting there for me, thoughtfully gathered by my Father just for my photo storytelling. An old kitchen hutch, a table with peeling paint, but gorgeously preserved top by years of oil cloth cover up, a bench. They all come from an old log cabin home nestled on my parents property waiting to be re-invented, re-imagined and hopefully relocated, although this might prove too ambitious…

But in the spirit of living in the moment, I gathered and styled a little scene in my parents’ shed with fruits and flowers from the garden. There is something immensely satisfying about stepping out the door into the morning autumn fog and gathering the branches and flowers by the armful, fruits by the basket, and forgetting about the crispness in the air and working with bare hands to style, nest, experience. Then, there is always my Mom’s cake and tea to melt into…