Going to Grenada- Installment 5 ; Me, Danny, "Vermud" and Seven Sisters

No denying that the beach at the Rex Grenadian was captivating enough that I could've tripped down at sunrise and stayed for the whole three days with periodic trips for food and a swim. I say this with a bit of wonder, as my usual modus operandi on vacation involves very little sitting still. This time, I was tempted.
But, my sense of adventure outweighed the temptation for hebetude.
Enter: Danny Alexander.
Danny is a guide for the island. He is my age, has 4 sons ages 13 -20 (I got to meet a few in our wanderings) and is full of ideas. I learned a bit about him in our travels, including that his wife suffered serious injury in Hurricane Ivan and was buried for 16 hours under trees and rubble, but is doing much better now, and that his sons all have large ambitions. Danny shares my interest in native medicinal plants. He learned the lore from his Grandmother and willingly shared the knowledge with me on our hike into the rainforest. If you are hanging out in the rainforest of Grenada, and you get a headache, or your blood pressure is high, or your prostate enlarges, it would be good to run into Danny Alexander.
Danny collected me from the lobby of the hotel. I was surrounded by the Veterinary School representatives waiting for their own transport. He seemed to know which one was going into the rainforest right away. I guess the ball cap, water shoes and bathing suit peeking out from the collar of my shirt gave me away.
Danny was tasked with showing me the way to the Seven Sisters waterfalls in the Grenadian hills. We were actually only going to Sisters 6 and 7, as the death toll of tourists is negative publicity for tourism, and no longer were people permitted to hike up to 1-5. It was just as well, as the last two Sisters were plenty of challenge and beauty. I was evidently the only one at the Rex resort that opted in on the hike, which makes you wonder what you've gotten yourself into, but I was in for the pound at that point, pennies be damned.
After we set out from the hotel, Danny said they had recruited one more pair for the hike and we would collect them in St. George's. We found the young couple, Rhonda and Greg, near the "cruise ship mall" downtown, as they had docked on a Canadian cruise that morning. I felt much better when they got on the bus, as Greg looked like he wasn't a practiced hiker. But that was my "American thinking". In America, we believe strongly in saving people from themselves. We put up fences so you can't fall off a cliff. We post "Warning! Steep incline ahead! Ask your Doctor if this is right for you!" on everything from stretching videos to the ski slope. My natural thought was that if we weren't lithe enough/strong enough/properly attired, someone would prevent us from departing. But that is too American. Outside of the U.S., folks don't feel like they need to parent the population. If you fall off the cliff, well, duh, you shouldn't have gotten too close. If you aren't fit enough for the hike, don't go. I guess that's why the death toll from the Sisters 1-5 had to become noticeable before preventive measures were taken.

The climb from St. George's up the Grand Etang road into the Grand Etang National Forest is a twisted series of switchbacks. The road is often two lanes, but not always, and the curves are blind. Grenadians are very serious about using their horns. They communicate with them. Short beep= "Hey there!" Two short beeps="My Friend!" Staccato of short blasts= "I'm excited to see you it's been a while!" Longer blasts are alerts to other vehicles that you are passing, or you are randomly backing up instead of proceeding forward, or you are about to come around a single lane blind curve. You take preventive measures when you hear a beep come back. It is a constant chatter.

Danny would periodically stop the taxi in the road and jump out, returning to the bus with some plant or another for me to crush and smell and determine what it was. On one of these impromptu stops I shot a photo of this Rainbow Bark Eucalyptus tree.

This next is a little bush or tree that grows in similar habit to a lilac. Danny plucked off a small twig and presented it to me for a quiz.

 It is cinnamon. The bark is peeled away from the tree and allowed to dry in the sun. It curls a bit and the outer bark separates from the cinnamon bark. The darker the cinnamon the longer it will last in your spice cabinet. you can see at the bottom of this tree where some of the bark has been harvested previously.

Danny also brought me sweet leaves of the clove, native cilantro (doesn't look anything like ours, but they use it to flavor goat dishes) and nutmeg.

This is a fruit from the nutmeg tree. the outer fleshy bit is used to make nutmeg jams, jelly and nutmeg syrup. The inner pit is covered in red stringy things that look like plastic. This is mace. Mace is one of those spices you use in the speculaas cookies, or spice cakes. The oil of the mace is in the spray you blast at criminals. Different levels of this will stop your diarrhea, cause miscarriage and relieve aching joints or toothaches.  Under the mace is the nutmeg nut. The shell is commonly used for mulch in Grenada, or in grilling meats to give them a nutmeg flavor. And the nutmeg itself is ground and used ubiquitously in Grenadian cooking and rum punch (yum punch). There is fat in the nut, and if slowly stewed will release as a butter. This is used on the skin.

Eventually we made it into the center of the island and a hut where Danny dropped us off to go park the taxibus. We were told to select a stick, that we would certainly require one. Greg told me that he had been on a 5 hour hike that they had gone miles- and this would surely be a piece of cake. I kept my mouth shut about famous last words, as in my experience, distance is one thing and terrain is completely another. The man in the hut kept muttering at us and shaking his head. I couldn't understand him, and my Canadian cohorts were equally mystified, but it included words like "vermud".

Danny joined us, approved our choice of walking sticks, and we set off.
After a short walk down a dirt path, wide enough for vehicles, we turned into the rainforest. It was beautiful and breezy as we were atop one of the hills, but we began our descent into the forest, and the breeze stopped. Still comfortable, we wended our way for a while until we found the first big drop. And discovered what "vermud" means. 

See, someone had the idea of making a zip line into the rainforest. But rainforest trees aren't up to the task of supporting a few miles of zip line. So, concrete pillars are to be built. In the rainforest. And, to dig the footings, you need a back hoe. In the rainforest. So, someone drove a backhoe in, removing trees and boulders and other things that usefully sat atop the ground, using the claw to repel down the hills. This leaves a slick scar of red clay as the way in and out. Since this provided a rather quick and haphazard course to the bottom, "stairs" have been hacked into the clay. Method of climbing down these hills involves anchoring your stick, stepping sideways with your bottom foot, clutch until you stop slipping and then follow with uphill foot. Thanks to Huz having given me a Fitbit for Christmas, I can tell you Fitbit determined this "one slippery step at a time" method is repeated for 90 stories.

 Here is Danny, checking back to give helpful instruction for the next descent. The trough for the concrete to make the pillars is visible on the left.

I paused at one particularly sound stair to shoot a photo.

You can see my walking stick, and also the booted prints of the folks who had gone down since the morning rains. These would be the construction workers. In the rainforest. Those of the backhoe running, concrete pillar building plan.
I found out what it takes for construction workers to think a middle aged woman is "gorgeez". Stick them 2 miles out in the rainforest. "Kepdonwhadon", followed by a fist to bump. Which Danny helpfully translated into "Keep doing what you are doing."  So, if you're missing the catcalls of your youth, prepare to get "vermud".

Sometime into our hike we started hearing the falls, and encountering lots of larger stones for getting out of the mud a bit. My childhood past as a stone-hopping creek walker was handy as I could accelerate along, not having to plan my route, but knowing it would just come naturally. Poor Danny was left trying to split the difference and not leave Greg and Rhonda far behind.

Then, there they were! Sister six appeared out of the forest.

 As I leapt closer, Sister 7 also appeared.

 I gave Danny my camera and put up some happy "Jazz hands!"

 Then, off with the outer garments and a dip into a Sister.

 The water was very cool, and I had not anticipated how lovely the mist coming off the falls would feel.

 After a bit of splashing about in the pool at the base of Sister 6, I wanted to see Sister 7 from the top. I found a nice sitting boulder to look down on the falls.

 As you can see, Greg and Rhonda have made it and are not atall deterred by the water temperature. Canadians are a hardy lot.

Eventually it was time to once again go back the muddy way we came. A group of adventurers from the British Cruise ship had also made it to the falls, I wish I was brave enough to start snapping their photos. There were older ladies in skirts and proper hats, and people of both sexes who had , judging by their mud covered hips, knees, backs, and one unfortunate face, not mastered the "stick, step, balance, step" descent. Many of them looked weakly at me in my dripping suit, their mouths opening and shutting like landed fish. No one said much.  I asked one lady if she was going to hop into the falls. She clucked at me, clutching her stick and said " I wouldn't dare go across those rocks, my balance is rubbish!" Others, with a sigh and a grunt said "Come this far, might as well." We left the Brits to it, Danny giving some encouragement and sympathy to their guide, and off across the rocks we went.

 Danny had said going back would be much easier, and it was, indeed. Yes, we had to climb back up all those stories, but somehow gravity and our climbing balanced one another.

Plus, periodically groups of construction workers were present, for fist bumps, and probably their morning's entertainment. I would guess it was like an episode of "Keeping Up Appearances : Hyacinth 'Boo-kay' hikes into the rainforest. "

When we came out of the dense-ness, there were people with buckets "Boo-kays?" that make their living washing the feet of hikers. I went up to a bent old fellow with a bucket and a rock. I was to place my foot on the rock, and with a sponge, he laboriously washed my clay covered legs and feet. It felt very odd to have someone washing your feet, and it made me understand further why Jesus chose to do so. I gave him a generous fee. Greg was recovering a bit, and not talking about cake. He had determined that he would make it back on his ship and maybe not move again until they docked in St. Kitts.
I felt fine until the next day, when my legs chided me for not being better prepared. No doubt, the chiding, and the "vermud" was worth it to be with some Sisters.

Going to Grenada- Installment 4; Farmer's Market, Grendian Independance

Playtime, strictly defined, ended for Huz, and he had to go off and be professional. Fortunately, this was not one of my requirements. In talking to the hotel staff the first day, one had mentioned  there would be a trip to the spice market the next morning. So, I made my way to the lobby in the a.m. to get a lift. I soon noticed there was but one taxi-bus and lots of people. Also, there was a pretty and official looking woman with a clipboard checking off names. I sidled closer, and found that you were supposed to reserve a spot on the bus. I had not. So, she said to wait and if there was room they would squeeze me on. And squeeze they did. They measured my rump and found just enough space if I straddled the gear shift and sat partly on Howard from Winnipeg's lap. Howard was a good sport and we were off! I had thought ( in my ignorance and rudimentary research) that The Spice Market was located in Grand Anse, the beach area where we'd spent the previous day. I was pleased to find we were headed to the downtown St. George's Farmer's Market, traditionally held on Saturdays, but since Saturday was the official celebration of Grenada's Independence, the market was to be held on Friday. Emory, our driver, and my close partner in the drive to St. George's let us out near the market and bid us to be back by noon. After standing on the street a moment, another passenger approached to see if I wanted a shopping buddy. Perfect! So, Judy, from Pennsylvania and I headed off into St. George's. Judy is the mother of the Veterinary School representative from UPenn, and her daughter and my Huz, unbeknownst to us, had also joined forces and lunched together at the meeting!
Judy and I found the spice market easily.

  We walked up the crowded street to the top of the market, and back down the other side. Fruits and vegetables, handmade goods, clothing and lots of spices are available. The lady in this picture wearing the orange shirt is selling spice "necklaces". They are sold almost everywhere we went and are made up of all the spices found on the island. You aren't meant to wear them but hang them in your kitchen to make it smell nice. And they do smell divine!

A moment here to talk about the people of Grenada, as I found them to be. I mentioned in Installment 1 this would come later.
There is no doubt that Grenadians make a small wage. I asked, and was told the average starting income is $250 US a month. Imported goods are very expensive, so food grown on the island is the most affordable for the residents. They are a very helpful people. At the market, I asked a lot of questions, and everyone took the time to patiently explain answers. The residents speak, as I was told, Creole, which is mostly English, just with less syllables and really fast. I wasn't good at catching everything, but a passerby was always happy to translate. You get the feeling that they all want you to enjoy the island and your experience. I never felt unsafe or wary. Yes,sometimes people are approaching you to sell you something, but not in that shifty-eyed way that makes you feel like moving on. I enjoyed my interactions with each person I encountered on my visit, and happily chatted with strangers on the street.

 At this fellow's pick up truck, a line of natives waited for a fill up. Curious, Judy and I stopped to watch what he was doing. Soon, a group of older ladies was explaining the process of getting coconut water. They bring an empty bottle or cup and he has this machete with which he spins and chops the top off of the young, green coconut and pours the clear water into the vessel. If asked, he also whams the coconut in half and scoops out the moist, soft coconut for you to eat. The ladies convinced Judy to give it a try. I would've jumped at the chance, but have developed an inconvenient allergy to coconut and had to decline. Judy assured me I was definitely missing out!

I had brought along a burlap bag, which I proceeded to fill with spices and chocolate- also a native crop.

 Many sellers explained how the spices were harvested, and how they are best used, sharing recipes and suggesting preparations for food. How to cook dasheen, and callaloo and cassava. The best way to grind mace and cook goat (not necessary knowledge for me, but interesting). I slowly filled my bag with amazing smells! This picture has baggies of cloves, ground cinnamon, cinnamon bark or sticks, and small bunches of thyme. Also, spiced candied fruits nuts and sweets.

When we finished at the market, we wandered towards the water and into a shopping area that is evidently designed purely for tourists. There is a direct flow from the cruise ships into the shops so you can buy your "Grenada!" tee shirt and shot glass, and then back onto the boat. We breezed through this area and out the other side into the sunshine. Above the parking area loomed a ruins and we moved towards the base of the hill, soon finding a staircase.

 It sat near the Sendall tunnel that connects the harbor side of St. George's to the ocean side. Fort George sits atop the tunnel and the hill that overlooks both sides. In this photo are also the little buses you see everywhere. They are both bus and taxi. Grenadians drive on the left side of the road (British colony style) and their road rules are, well, loose. I don't recommend trying to drive here. You can also see on the concrete wall, shells. These are for sale, and a man sitting on a bucket in the shade told us all about them. The large conch sells are the least expensive and most common. It is from these that they harvest "lambie", the meat of the conch.  He sold some shells to Judy. He also interpreted for an older lady who sold me a bag of  "French Cashews" . These are fruit that is ripe now, red on the outside, white soft flesh, a slightly perfumed taste and a large pit inside. My lunch.
Judy and I set out for the stairs.

At the top, the views delivered. Judy and I exchanged cameras and my proof I was on the trip, not just my camera.

The mouth of St. George's Inner Harbor

The west coast of St. George's

The Carenage of St. George's Inner Harbor

 While exploring Fort George, we could hear from the market area, a great host of drums. A parade had begun! We were lucky enough to be in Grenada for the 41st celebration of Grenadian Independence. The sound of the drums traveled up the hill and we could catch glimpses of the parade in the street. We finished up our perusal of the Fort and headed down to see if we could catch up to the parade.

 On the way down we passed the Presbyterian Church. A ruin from Hurricane Ivan of 2004.

We could hear the drums and the children as we wound down the hill, and just caught the end of it going past. It was the Children's Parade. All the children were in the national colors dancing and marching past.

 In fact, many of the people were in their finest all weekend. Handmade colorful dresses in the national colors of red, yellow and green, Men in shirts, hats, pants, even red, yellow and green checked gloves. Hair was dyed in the bright colors and the flag flew everywhere. The people are very proud of their independence and their country.
The next morning, on February 7th, dignitaries from all over joined the population in the National Cricket Stadium for military parades and celebratory speeches.

This is the crowd going into the stadium.

Businesses are mostly closed for the day, and everyone makes room for the national dish- Oil Down.
I can discuss that in the food installment of Going to Grenada!

Going to Grenada- Installment 3: The Rex Grenadian Resort

While our resort is worth writing about, its future is changing.

There are several resorts on the island, and they all seem to be set in the southern rim. Our resort is currently called the Rex Grenadian, but it has been purchased by Sandals La Source, a pricey resort farther down the tip of the island. La Source Deux? In any case, it will be getting pricier in the future me thinks!

The Rex Grenadian was truly a lovely place to be. It is a bit aged. Not in an overstuffed British castle sort of way, but in a seaside rusty sort of way. But it feels Brit-ish, in that one must suffer a bit in order to enjoy the wonders of life. At the Rex, it is a very small bit. The downside: the accomodations were clean but not special, furnished in a 1988 Florida condo style, with bleached "wood" rounded furnishings, a dubious looking couch and glaring lighting. The upside: WHO CARES what your room looks like? There is a BEACH right outside! Our suite had a big tiled back porch, which is where we spent  any spare time while in the room. And we arrived, 10 pm,  tired and eyes burning (from a 3:00 am wake up in Ohio) to fresh fruit juice in the open air lobby and bright magenta bougainvillea strewn over our bed and in the bath. Flowers and fresh fruit perk up just about anything!

 The view from our porch looked down to one of the bar areas where they had evening entertainment and morning exercise. If you looked the other way you could see the pool and beach beyond.  I didn't know what it truly was until morning came and I could get a good gander.

The pool is on the uppermost level of the structure with a bar and a restaurant as well. Our last evening in Grenada, we strolled back on the beach from The Aquarium Restaurant to the rhythms of a steel drum band playing poolside.

Our bed upon arrival:

 The resort is strung out with several buildings connected by clay tile covered walkways.

Sunrise included walking to the beach.

The pool is obviously a lovely place to be, but we spent almost no time here, and never dipped in a toe. Why bother when the beach and the ocean are so perfect?

From our room we could wend our way to the beach from mulitple stairways. My favorite wound around the hotel on the outside.

From here I could anticipate scoping out a beach chair. That turns out to be one of the hardest decisions of the day, as there were plenty available, surrounded by peaceful sounds of ocean, birds and breeze.

Looks like an imposing decision, no? Undaunted I would stride forth and make a choice. I was never wrong.

Basking in a choice well made. 

I may have spent my morning tromping around hither and yon, but my afternoons were spent right about here.

Or anywhere there.

The pool can be seen on the rock at the end of the beach, but on the other side of the pool was another secluded, empty private beach.

In comparison to Grand Anse Beach, ours was tops. Plenty of shade, practically uninhabited and the cool blue water had a lip of sandstone that you had to cross to get to the soft stuff, but the rock meant the fish came in, and I was surrounded by them. Since the water is crystal clear you can see them all swimming about quite handily. I found out they were not waiting to be petted, and they avoided my hands. So we just swam together. Had one been required to summon up the energy, one could go to the bar at the pool and collect one of those tasty rum punch drinks. I was never required. I found several hours in a beach chair in the shade to be all I required indeed.

Going to Grenada- Installment 2; Grand Anse Beach

Having just returned from Grenada- for more info see Installment 1- I am still relaxed, and not wanting to mess that up! So, my normal routine of NPR in the morning was replaced with silence. Who wants to hear about ISIS when the rhythms of the sea are still so accessible?

Grenada is known for it's spices, but it's sustained by tourists. That being said, it didn't feel overwhelmed by them. The temperature was amazing; 75-85F. This is their dry season. They don't have winter and summer, they have dry and rainy season. Their beaches are broad and soft and white and uncrowded. Their water is those incredible shades that say you are in paradise. I spent a long time contemplating the water's colors whilst in a beach chair under the shade of a magnolia one afternoon. The water is white from the foam on the sand, then yellow, then citron, then lime green, then light blue, light turquoise, spring green, then darker turquoise, then dove grey, light navy, dark turquoise, darker navy and then the horizon. All these shades blend with their partners as well as shadow and light as the waves roll in. It all seems so permanent and strong and unaware. And yet, high levels of CO2 are changing the pH of the oceans and killing the corals and fishes forever. (This killjoy is what I mean when I say I'm not yet ready for NPR.)

Though I cannot say that in my three days on the island I made a comprehensive comparison of the beaches, I tested out a few!

Huz, ready for his play day!

Grand Anse is the most famous beach on the island. It is a fairly long stretch of beautiful beach, with shade trees and smooth sand right into the water. The water was pretty calm the day we were there, and perfect for floating up and down in warmish water in which you can easily see your feet. I say "warmish" because it wasn't exactly warm unless you're used to the North Sea, or the Pacific off the south coast of Chile, in which case it was delightful. For me, I would term it "refreshing", and lovely to warm up on the beach after a swim.

 We had a taxi -Peter Alexander, who ferried us a few times- take us to the Umbrella Restaurant on Grand Anse Beach midmorning. He arranged to collect us in the afternoon. Much of Grand Anse Beach is edged by hotel resorts, but the Umbrella is on a public beach. Right next to the Umbrella beach is St. George's University Grand Anse Campus. It is an older hotel that is now owned by the University for housing of students. Yes, you can be a college student and live right here. Dangerous!
We tromped up and down the whole beach, and this photo was taken on the south half, looking south towards Quarantine Point. Our resort is down the beach that is located on the other side of this point. 
We tromped, swam, sat and dried, repeat, for a few lazy, wonderful hours until we got hungry and thirsty. Back to the Umbrella for lunch on the deck.

We sat up in the trees overlooking the beach. My Perrier is hiding a fresh mango daquiri, Huz is having the special; an Umbrella Cooler, which was then followed by the drink of Grenada- rum punch. This is fresh fruit juices, excellent local rum, and ground nutmeg on top. We tested these rum punches everywhere we went, and Huz voted Umbrellas as the best. I liked 'em all.
After lunch, what better than strolling back out onto the sand to lie under a tree and digest (or, if you're Huz, take a quick after lunch snooze?)

This is the Grand Anse Beach looking north to St. George's. On the left is an adorable little boy, who amused me by making "sand angels" -front and back.

Going to Grenada- Installment 1, the broader view.

4600 miles to Grenada and back this week for an other-worldly experience of sun and clear blue water. It seems impossible to come home and have the same dessicated lemons on the counter, right where I left them. Logic says "Of course they're still there, you ninny." But for three days I was a bathing-suited sea nymph instead of a bundled-up tundra mouse, and those poor lemons had no transformation atall- atall. I think I understand wrinkles in the time-space continuum at long last.

When Huz asked me if I cared to accompany him to a meeting in Grenada in February, I didn't exactly leap at the prospect. I wasn't wholly sure what or where Grenada was, and last January he went to Montana( beautiful in it's own right, but more appealing to me in the confines of summer), so I answered "Yes" then quickly made my way to Google to see to what I had committed. I mean, I had heard of Grenada- wasn't there some war or coup or invasion or somesuch when I was in high school? But I was woefully ignorant otherwise.

So, for those of you who are better informed/better traveled/ less ignorant...skip. If you're like me,here is a not technically detailed version; Grenada is a small island about 200 miles off the coast of Venezuela. The original inhabitants of the island were killed off by the Spanish, then the French, then the English, and those that weren't killed by the invaders eventually jumped off a cliff instead of becoming enslaved. So, the Europeans kidnapped Africans to be their plantation slaves. Those African ancestors are the native Grenadians now. Grenada is a mountainous tropical rainforest encircled by white sand beaches and clear bright water. We brought bug spray (yes, yummy smelling herbal- Ava Anderson via representative Christy Pence) but really didn't need it. We slept with our doors and windows open and listened to the night birds. That being said, they do have Chikungunya- a nasty mosquito bourne ill- but Huz learned at his meeting that those mosquitoes are daytime biters, and I didn't see a one the whole visit.(Incidentally, he also learned that there are actual scientific reasons why a glass of wine cures PMS- we all knew this, but now know why.) Grenada is famous not just for military issues in the 1980's, and being walloped by Hurricane Ivan in 2004, but for it's spices. They grow nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, mace-  all the previously mysterious and important spices for making speculaas cookies, or spice cookies. I know more about these now. They use Eastern Caribbean Dollars, and the exchange rate for us while there was 2.65. So...I'm also naturally dense about these things....this means if I exchange $100 US dollars, I received $265 EC Dollars. Many prices are stated in EC, but many are in US, so each time you ask a price, clarify which one. The Grenadians are quick to transfer between the two, and each time I did the math, they weren't cheating. More about the Grenadian personality later. Grenada is one hour ahead of US Eastern Standard Time. The largest town is St. George's. That's my broad 411.

This is the harbor of St. George's proper. You can see the main road through Grenada skirts the water in the harbor. It looked so pretty from there that I decided to hoof it up to the top of the rim to get a photo. Awfully charming, no?

 Huz was there as the representative from Ohio State U. College of Vet Med to meet the rising senior students at the Saint George's Veterinary College. The Veterinary School hosts these reps beautifully for the trip. Yes, on this little island dot of paradise is a Veterinary School. It is a three year program that then farms it's senior students to other 4 year program schools to have their last year of clinical rotations. Representatives from 4 year programs go and chat with the students, and then they get matched up with a program that works for their desired training. Like speed dating to finish Vet School. Fortunately, he had a free day to play as well.

Winter reward.

I have never lived anywhere for such a length of time as I have lived at Cowfeathers Farm. While not exactly Nomadic, my existence prior to moving down this pretty lane was a year here, a few years there except for my days in Redding, Connecticut. When people press me for where "I grew up", I select "Redding." In the woods. In a delightful home called "Puckihuddle".
I often find myself comparing my formative days at Puckihuddle with my current days at Cowfeathers. Particularly in the winter. I have to say, largely, the Redding days have the advantage during winter time. I think this is because of wind. Cowfeathers suffers from great wind. This makes for biting cold and constant inter-home breezes, snow that leaves lots of bare patches and great drifts, paint that lasts only briefly on the east side of any structure, vigilance in roof repairs, and periodic arrivals of treasures from somewhere upwind. I think, honestly, Connecticut was colder. But not windier. So, your nose hairs might freeze up instantly when you walked out the door, but your coat worked. Connecticut had the advantage of trees, and hills and large rocks- stuff that slows the wind right down. Here at Cowfeathers, wind has free rein- a direct shot from Canada.
But, there is one advantage to the open prairie winter; sunsets. The picture above is a Redding winter sunset; ball of light sinking beyond thick fringe of trees.

Below is our reward for winter in Ohio.

Cowfeathers Sunset (gets a capital letter).

This is what we are treated to when there is sun in the winter at Cowfeathers. God may have opened a windy door, but he also sent an artful window.

Before and After- Salem House Bedroom: Seven Gables

Are these B&A's fun? I love them.

Each bedroom in Salem House got a name of a famous place in historical Salem Mass. The larger upstairs room is called "Seven Gables" . It doesn't have 7 gables, but it does have a lot of angles and slopes!

 I will show just a few "Before" pictures.
The room has sloped ceilings and knee walls with built-in drawers into one wall and a large closet opposite. At the back is a nook area formed by the closet and HVAC.

The floors are wood, but soft pine with lots of pet stains and deep gouges and grooves.

A set of double windows let in light.

The previous owners decorated with white-ish walls, black accent trim and one scarlet wall- not unusual this close to a University with a scarlet and gray color scheme. Not a friendly, or inviting room currently, but with potential!

 Behind the door is a little built-in shelf.

 The little nook at the back of the room.

I kept the room structurally the same. Someone had previously placed a heavy window unit air conditioner in the window and did a lot of damage to the plaster under the windows. After repairing the plaster, it was a guess as to how many coats of "Paint with Primer" it would take to tame the red wall. It turned out to be 4. The rest of the room whitened and brightened more easily.

 January 2014. This became......

January 2015...This!

The hall is Bedford Gray and white, and the floors of Seven Gables are 2x2 squares of white and dove gray.

 This became...

This...

I repeat a favorite from Alexandra Stoddard and paint the ceiling cheery sky blue- actually the same color used in the kitchen, living room and hallway on the main floor. It's a Lowe's  color called "La Fonda Mirage". 

 This became...

This....

First of all, this Blogger program is not always user friendly. There is no gap between the pictures on my work screen but when I preview the product there is a gulf. Can't fix.

The closet doors closed the room up and made it feel smaller, so they were removed in favor of sheer cotton panels that add texture and interest, veiling the clothes in the closet. The panels were longer than the closet opening, so, they are folded over, leaving the crenellated pattern of a castle wall. The pennant banner made with antique music lengthens the wall visually.

 This became...

 This...






The bed frame is an antique brass bed with a peeling blue paint. One of the problems with antique frames is they are often not the size of currently manufactured mattresses. There are options- so don't pass a beauty like this one by! One option is to have a custom mattress and box spring made by a mattress manufacturer. I have a family heirloom rope bed that has a custom mattress. It wasn't as expensive as I had expected. Another option? Make it work. This twin bed was way too narrow for the frame, which left an opportunity. The kid loves books. So, I just shelved out the extra on the side and- instant book shelf!

 This became...

A quiet nook for a desk.

 And this became....

This... a cozy corner for an armchair and a surface for study materials. 

Still a lot of Salem House to see! I'll get back there with a camera again soon.