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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
It's been an awfully long winter and we're finally past the last frost of the season (I hope.) Josh and I started our urban deck garden, a mixture of flowers and culinary herbs - just one of our many home-based projects we've kicked off this year. We really hygged up our Shadyside townhouse, making it a very comfortable and handsome place to hole up this past winter, so much so, we've scarcely left it. Maybe I'll show you our home one of these days, if you're interested. Speaking of which, are you? Do you want to see home decor or foodie related stuff around here? Drop me a line.
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
So yeah, we've had our feet planted in our Pittsburgh home for many months now, so we decided a one-night getaway was in order. We drove three hours away, to the countryside near Harrisburg, and stayed at a bed and breakfast called The Inn at Westwynd Farm. Westwynd is a lovely farm home with an enviable wrap-around porch and manicured gardens. It is a working farm with many horses, alpaca, mini-horses, a couple of donkeys...and is picturesquely set on a plot of land full of sprawling green hills. The inn was full of antiques, warmth, character, outdoor photo opps, there were complimentary snacks and wine, and the owners and innkeepers were charming. We even got upgraded to a bigger room with an incredible 180 degree view where the sun tucks you in at night, and greets you first thing in the morning like a happy puppy. The breakfast the next day had courses. Coffee first, then a berry compote with lemon zest and vanilla yogurt drizzle, then a muffin course (gluten free for moi), and finally the main, ham wrapped poached eggs, toast, and broiled tomato halves with balsamic drizzle. Bon Appetit! A night (and morning) at Westwynd Farm was just what we needed to recharge our batteries. Even though home is great, it is still fun to getaway and see the world outside of your bubble.
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
When we were kids, Josh and I both fantasized about putting our belongings in a fabric knapsack and tying it to a stick (called a bindle) like a hobo, and leaving home. We must've watched the same cartoons or read the same stories to have that romantic wanderlust built into us at such a young age. I often made myself a PB&J sandwich and packed my Dad's 1950's boy Scout manual in my bindle. I marched around my Los Angeles county neighborhood in OshKosh overalls, bindle stick on my shoulder and a canvas covered army canteen full of cool water on my side. My parents often didn't know where I was. In my fiercely independent 7 year old mind, I was an explorer. I still am an explorer. That hasn't changed--I just don't feel the need to carry a bindle stick anymore because I found the perfect utilitarian waxed canvas tote. I love how unprecious it is. It has a patina of wine stains, dirt, scratches, et all. It carries everything: my phone, journals, books I'm reading, books I'm not reading, receipts I don't need, lip glosses and hand lotions, sunglasses, reading glasses, and probably a few things that I think I lost. I need to empty it out, but I've been putting it off because that's no fun.
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
Let's talk about hobos for a second. The term hobo was coined in the 1890's and refers to a traveling migrant worker that used the rails as a means of transportation. At the end of the civil war, many discharged veterans began to head home via the rails. And with the expansion of the American Frontier into the west, many men hopped westward rails looking for work too. Just like looking at railroad tracks into the distance, there is a converging point in history, and the etymology of the term Hobo is widely debated. Some say it came from 'Hoe boy', as in a seasonal hired farm hand, others, say it is an syllabic abbreviation of the phrase, HOmeward BOund.The hopeful romantic in me wants it to be the latter, partly because the sound of the phrase warms me and partly because I don't believe anyone really chooses a dangerous life of homelessness, poverty, unpredictable pay... it's a means to an end, the journey to getting home, where ever and whenever that may be.
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
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| photo: Joshua Franzos |
What I Wore:
Denim jacket: old Levis, suede elbow patches added.
lace cami: H&M
Skirt: old Mossimo
Bag: Room & Board, here.
Shoes: A.S. 98, here.
Your Bosom Friend in Pittsburgh,
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