A Thanksgiving Heirloom
More on "Big and Small" on Thanksgiving is coming up and I had to share a little miracle with you.
Our three-year-old, Sweetpea, loves to play with her dolls and has spent many hours in a world of ever-flowering imagination as she spins out complex storylines with her small charges. Kids are notoriously fickle with their belongings so as an experiment I've purchased a few items from local garage sales, not sure if they would inspire creativity in Sweetpea's world. Take the yellow and green plastic kitchen I scored for a quarter from the nice lady down the street. Sweeetpea bonded with it the instant it appeared in her room and after many meals of plastic food served up to us and to her various stuffed animals, I found her a more durable, wooden kitchen from Little Colorado Company in Denver. I ordered an unfinished version so after we move to our new house we can paint and decorate it together. It's old-fashioned in concept, but solid, sweet-smelling and lovingly constructed from maple with simple working parts and a removable metal sink. With it came a wire basket of wooden food, glorious in variety and color. Having served its purpose as a toy-in-waiting, the plastic one will now grace our next garage sale and the home of another little girl.
The other thing that Sweepea loves to do is play house and for this we purchased a small, fold-up (and also plastic) dollhouse. Again it stood up to the test of time, even though the rooms were tiny and the furniture fell out every time Sweetpea tried out a new tableau. So about a year ago I started looking around for a more substantial, wooden version and realizing how expensive they were, moved on to ebay for something pre-loved. I saw a lot of dollhouses, some very expensive and elaborate, some very cheap and falling to pieces; old ones, new ones, they came and went while I lurked, wondering if I would ever find the perfect fit. There were tin ranch houses from the 60's (hello memories!), delicate gingerbread confections from balsa-wood kits, and many different plastic wunderkinds of all shapes and sizes, some standing six feet tall with hundreds of pieces of matching plastic furniture. But none were just right.
Then a couple of weeks ago on a late-night perusal of the latest items for sale, I saw a simple but sturdy-looking Federal-style dollhouse up for sale from a family in Plymouth. Since this town is our family's entry point to the Americas (fresh off the Mayflower) I thought this to be an inspired gift to our daughter who is folding into an family of immigrants with her own story to tell. This house seemed to call out to me as a visible talisman from my distant roots, one that would over time become part of Sweetpea's adopted history.
Notwithstanding its provenance, it was a beauty: Tall and elegant, white with green shutters, a peaked roof, and when turned around, an open back to play in with generous-sized rooms finished in old-fashioned wallpaper. The starting price was very low (too low for such a fine bit of construction) so I didn't hold out much hope it would be affordable. But as fate, or luck would have it, when I put my last-minute, inexpensive bid in, I was the winner.
After some correspondence with the seller I learned the house had been built by her husband, a Martha's Vineyard carpenter, and she assured me it would make the trip out west without any problems because it was very sturdy. But nothing prepared me for this work of art when I pulled it from the enormous box and yards of protective bubble-wrap.
It sits now on the floor of our living room, soon to be hidden away again for Christmas. And it is the most exquisite object my child-heart has ever laid eyes on. The house stands four feet tall and every inch of it is crafted with care. The painted white exterior is sheathed in a replica of eighteenth century wood siding, each of the six faux-glass windows are four-paned and graced with forest-green wooden shutters. The roof, high pitched with a chimney at the peak, is laid with hundreds of individual, overlapping shake shingles, still in their natural color in shades of walnut and sienna. Solid, wooden steps lead to the paneled front door and the turn of a tiny, filagreed brass knob opens up into a gracefull entryway and a beautifully made staircase leading to the second and third stories. The floors are 1/4" wood, made to look like tongue & groove hardwood, and each room is wallpapered in a miniature version of Republic-style wallpaper. Tiny roses, stripes, polka-dots, ribbons.
When my husband came home he saw me on the floor, peering through the tiny windows. I was thinking about moving in.
"Look!"
He walked past.
"You know," he said kindly, after a moment "this dollhouse isn't for you, right?"
Any toy that mother and daughter can delight in equally is a good toy in my book.
That's my motto now.
Thank you Plymouth/Martha's Vineyard family for giving up this treasure. I don't know how you could have parted with it but it's staying in our family forever. And one day very soon, like any house worth its salt, the new owner will fill it with many bits of furniture, a family, laughter, and love.
I can see it already.
Our three-year-old, Sweetpea, loves to play with her dolls and has spent many hours in a world of ever-flowering imagination as she spins out complex storylines with her small charges. Kids are notoriously fickle with their belongings so as an experiment I've purchased a few items from local garage sales, not sure if they would inspire creativity in Sweetpea's world. Take the yellow and green plastic kitchen I scored for a quarter from the nice lady down the street. Sweeetpea bonded with it the instant it appeared in her room and after many meals of plastic food served up to us and to her various stuffed animals, I found her a more durable, wooden kitchen from Little Colorado Company in Denver. I ordered an unfinished version so after we move to our new house we can paint and decorate it together. It's old-fashioned in concept, but solid, sweet-smelling and lovingly constructed from maple with simple working parts and a removable metal sink. With it came a wire basket of wooden food, glorious in variety and color. Having served its purpose as a toy-in-waiting, the plastic one will now grace our next garage sale and the home of another little girl.
The other thing that Sweepea loves to do is play house and for this we purchased a small, fold-up (and also plastic) dollhouse. Again it stood up to the test of time, even though the rooms were tiny and the furniture fell out every time Sweetpea tried out a new tableau. So about a year ago I started looking around for a more substantial, wooden version and realizing how expensive they were, moved on to ebay for something pre-loved. I saw a lot of dollhouses, some very expensive and elaborate, some very cheap and falling to pieces; old ones, new ones, they came and went while I lurked, wondering if I would ever find the perfect fit. There were tin ranch houses from the 60's (hello memories!), delicate gingerbread confections from balsa-wood kits, and many different plastic wunderkinds of all shapes and sizes, some standing six feet tall with hundreds of pieces of matching plastic furniture. But none were just right.
Then a couple of weeks ago on a late-night perusal of the latest items for sale, I saw a simple but sturdy-looking Federal-style dollhouse up for sale from a family in Plymouth. Since this town is our family's entry point to the Americas (fresh off the Mayflower) I thought this to be an inspired gift to our daughter who is folding into an family of immigrants with her own story to tell. This house seemed to call out to me as a visible talisman from my distant roots, one that would over time become part of Sweetpea's adopted history.
Notwithstanding its provenance, it was a beauty: Tall and elegant, white with green shutters, a peaked roof, and when turned around, an open back to play in with generous-sized rooms finished in old-fashioned wallpaper. The starting price was very low (too low for such a fine bit of construction) so I didn't hold out much hope it would be affordable. But as fate, or luck would have it, when I put my last-minute, inexpensive bid in, I was the winner.
After some correspondence with the seller I learned the house had been built by her husband, a Martha's Vineyard carpenter, and she assured me it would make the trip out west without any problems because it was very sturdy. But nothing prepared me for this work of art when I pulled it from the enormous box and yards of protective bubble-wrap.
It sits now on the floor of our living room, soon to be hidden away again for Christmas. And it is the most exquisite object my child-heart has ever laid eyes on. The house stands four feet tall and every inch of it is crafted with care. The painted white exterior is sheathed in a replica of eighteenth century wood siding, each of the six faux-glass windows are four-paned and graced with forest-green wooden shutters. The roof, high pitched with a chimney at the peak, is laid with hundreds of individual, overlapping shake shingles, still in their natural color in shades of walnut and sienna. Solid, wooden steps lead to the paneled front door and the turn of a tiny, filagreed brass knob opens up into a gracefull entryway and a beautifully made staircase leading to the second and third stories. The floors are 1/4" wood, made to look like tongue & groove hardwood, and each room is wallpapered in a miniature version of Republic-style wallpaper. Tiny roses, stripes, polka-dots, ribbons.
When my husband came home he saw me on the floor, peering through the tiny windows. I was thinking about moving in.
"Look!"
He walked past.
"You know," he said kindly, after a moment "this dollhouse isn't for you, right?"
Any toy that mother and daughter can delight in equally is a good toy in my book.
That's my motto now.
Thank you Plymouth/Martha's Vineyard family for giving up this treasure. I don't know how you could have parted with it but it's staying in our family forever. And one day very soon, like any house worth its salt, the new owner will fill it with many bits of furniture, a family, laughter, and love.
I can see it already.
posted by vallie at 9:01 PM
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