True, it’s not out of character for me to just name something Part 1 and then walk away entirely. However, I did have every intention of adorning my own home with these stencils and then writing all about that, too. The problem is—I still haven’t gotten to it!

But don’t worry, there’s good news: Part 2 is finally here. The stencils are just… not in my stairwell, like I thought they’d be.

The stencils are actually on a set of cotton knitted blankets.

Take a walk with me…

In the fall, I got an email from a person named Hannah Villanueva, sending me a line sheet of her work for consideration in upcoming gift guides and testing the temperature to see if I’d want to try out a collaboration.

I clicked around on her site—Hannah Via—full of very colorful and graphic tufted mats and machine-knit blankets. Even though I tend to be more muted, I really liked her stuff and I LOVE trying a new thing. I wrote back: I’m in.

We met up at her house in Portland to figure it out. I came with exactly one idea, thinking maybe we’d riff and come up with something different. I told her my idea; she said: I like that a lot. Let’s do it. SO FRICTIONLESS?

The idea was, you guessed it, early American walls stencils.

We looked around at yarn samples and swatches from the Long Island (!) based factory she works with, came up with a color palette, and I was sent on my merry way to come up with inspiration imagery. We decided to take some of these really established motifs and rework their layout to suit a blanket and not, you know, a wall.

I wanted to make sure I was really doing a full review of the form, so in addition to more internet poking around, I bought two out-of-print books on the subject: Early American Stencils on Walls and Furniture and More Early American Stencils in Color. I culled together a collection of inspiration images, starred my favorites, and sent them off to Hannah in our newly-established shared Notion folder (ICYMI: I love Notion?).

Hannah then took all these images and, from my chaos, put together several really excellent blanket layout ideas. Because I am in the tricky position of, on the one hand, having strong visual opinions, but on the other, not being a designer at all—I asked a few trusted friends to help me look at the first round of designs. I came back with notes, Hannah made the design that we decided was best even better, then—I think?—another round of notes and then DONE.

Hannah just got the blankets in-hand and we are prepping for what I think is going to be a really beautiful photoshoot this Friday. It might even not actually rain, after all.

I can’t wait to show the real things to you! (Next week.)

In the mean time, we’re going to put up some behind the scenes action on Instagram and here on Notes. Here’s Hannah’s IG and here’s mine if you want to follow along on Friday.

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Little disclaimer on the inspiration images above—besides the ones from the books, all the others were Pinterest snake-eating-tail images wherein I couldn’t find the source, I was just lead to more Pinterest images. If you happen to know who owns the images, please send them my way!! xz

I’m always happy to noodle on arcane topics, but I thought—why keep these questions and their answers private? Why leave the funnel of Treehouse Knowledge only open to those who happen to know me personally?

So! Lo! Ask Treehouse—an ongoing column where anyone (anyone!) can write in to ask me something.

A note: You’ll notice this column will be called Ask Treehouse and not Ask Zinzi. You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t actually know the answers to all things. So—if you come to me with a great question, I think this would be a fantastic opportunity for me to go out, hunt for an expert, and figure out a good answer for you. It will be FUN.

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Our first Ask Treehouse comes from Jay in Lincolnville. Jay got in touch after I splashed in a little momentary detail about my love of project management solutions. I wish I had a concise “Dear Treehouse”-style letter from Jay, but, looking back, it was actually just a series of wacky texts that led to a Google Meet or similar where I shared my screen and walked him through what I do.

After reading the linked post above, Jay wanted to know if I had experience with time blocking (sorta) and any platforms that could support it. Having dabbled in, I think, every available option or way to sort your to-do list and trick yourself into doing what you’re supposed to, here are the things I’ve found most helpful and effective.

Pomodoro Method

Jesse and I had to go to a wedding a month after I’d had our son and, being a diligent and inexperienced parent, I faithfully left with James, bundled in a wrap after the ceremony to take him back to our hotel room for the night. Meanwhile, Jesse reported, the bride’s family—from Chicago—had a new baby with them as well, actually two I believe, and the babies were just there, in their little baby bucket-carriers, the entire time. We have since called this sort of “what’s the worst the can happen anyway?” parenting style The Chicago Method.

Anyway, whenever I write or hear or say Pomodoro Method, I think of that, despite the fact that Pomodoro and Chicago are truly anthesis to each other methodology-wise.

The Pomodoro Method—alluding to the tomato-shaped egg timer—is simply a way of organizing your focus. Set the timer for 25 minutes. Don’t do anything else besides what you’ve set out to do (helpful to silence notifications, close all other windows) until the timer goes off and you take a break. I use a desktop app called Tomato 2.

Monday Hour One

This is slowly morphing into Sunday Hour One for me, but regardless of what day you choose to do this, here’s how it works: Look through and note down all the events, appointments, calls, etc. that you have going on this coming week. Then look through what you’re meant to (or hope to) accomplish as well. Then plan the whole thing out! I have also added in looking at Cashflow and a few other week-starting rituals—more below.

Mise En Place

As a visual person, I find it very, very difficult to function when things are a-hoo (see March zine about arranging things). Mise En Place refers to the culinary term, from the French, that literally means ‘put in place.’ When you’re cooking, you’d get your mise (all the ingredients, chopped and prepped) ready so that when you begin cooking you can get right to it. This is the same idea, but with computer work (oof, less fun).

My mise takes two forms: I try to leave time at the end of the week (ideally the end of each day!) to clean and reorganize my desk. Coffee cups get bussed, papers get at least stacked, hopefully put somewhere more permanent.

The second thing I do is make a list of what needs to get done next. I find it really hard to reorient myself when I haven’t worked in a bit (even over a weekend), but I know exactly what hasn’t been done at the end of Friday. This is a time where I can jot down what is supposed to happen, theoretically, when I sit down next.

Tiny Notebook + Inbox

I carry a tiny notebook as close to all the time as I can manage. Whenever I think of something—an idea, something I need to do, a friend I haven’t spoken to in a minute—I write it down in my tiny notebook and then I add it to my Notion ‘Inbox’ to get sorted onto a particular day. (More on this below.)

Bujo-y Notion

I’ve been using this same Bullet Journal-inspired system on Notion for almost 8 years (!). It works.

At the beginning of the year (but you can start it now, anytime), I start a fresh Notion page by duplicating the previous year’s and then deleting all the months. I like to pop a good quote up at the top as well.

Good news for you is that you don’t have to start from scratch!! I made a template for Jay and it’s empty, so you can use it too. Just duplicate it to your own Notion.

Here’s the basic layout of it. You’ll set some goals for the year (you could also do this quarterly if you, like me, forget what the point is… a lot). Then you’ll duplicate this “Template” and replace the word template with whatever month it is. Then you’ll set a monthly goal. Guess what—each week also has a weekly goal and each day listed out for you to fill with your life-stuff.

So! At the top of the week, you’ll write your goal.

Then, you’ll consult your Monday Hour One (customize it for what you do in your own life). For instance, I bet a whole bunch of you don’t end your workday at 3:15 to pick up children, eh?

Each day also has a habit tracker, although I can’t remember what the snowman joke had to do with anything and it CERTAINLY doesn’t apply today, in April.

“Add to W&A” refers to a section I’ve left open at the end of each month called Wins & Acknowledgements. Apparently positive feedback/reinforcement really works, so I’m personally trying to be nicer to myself and actually write down what went right, somewhat daily.

Under the daily planner-ish portion is what I call “Inbox”—this is where all those little notes or “oh yeah, can’t forget”s go after you write them in your tiny notebook.

You add things to your Inbox from the notebook or in real time, then when you’re planning your week, you’ll see where any of those things can actually fit in. (A lot of times they don’t and life is frustrating!! It’s OK—we keep trying!)

If you’re still following me, the workflow is more-or-less…

• Ideas, to-dos, can’t-forgets get written in Tiny Notebook

• Each day, you transfer these over to your Inbox

• At the top of the week, during your Monday Hour One moment, you consult your calendar, your Mis En Place from last week, and your Inbox to plan what will happen over the coming days

• You set a timer for 25 minutes—Pomodoro Method—and get to it (because, ultimately, despite all the systems, you must do what you set out to do)

Do you think you’ll try it or it might work for you?

Do you have a question you’d like me to answer or look into? Send me an email—here!

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☮

This is what I know: Chattering into the void is intimidating—which is why I always eagerly await your comments coming in on these posts—but chattering into the void about yourself is an entirely different and extremely treacherous mountain to contemplate, let alone climb. Emphasis on alone.

Given that, you’d think I’d abandon this whole Postcard idea, but I actually really think there’s something here. Plus, what I’ve found is, the more I share about what’s happening on my side of the screen, the more you (generally speaking) share, too. Connectivity! Community! Shared love of the medium-obscure!

I’m going to pepper in some polls here, so that Postcard is exactly as above: A conduit for connection.

Here’s a selection of what’s happening in the Treehouse-a-verse…

The Source got a makeover

Last week, while I was bipping and bopping, making the post about Schoolhouse’s sudden vanishing act, I happened upon ’s newly reorganized and relaunched page on Rec League. Unsurprisingly, it looks great. And, for those of us who have these sort of “departments” over there, it’s a really clever way to lay it all out clearly. I got to work making little cards for each section in the House Treehouse Style (a.k.a. mostly absurd, leaning heavily on Whole Earth Catalogue vernacular). Did I have an entire list of other things to do last week? Why, yes I did. Did I do them? Mostly, no, I did not.

But, man, The Source is now looking really, really good.

Take a peek, here.

Anticipated (hotly, by me) Gardening Show

I am, to the detriment of Jesse’s nightly entertainment aspirations, a comedy girl. Quite limited in what media I’d like to consume, actually. BUT! SO! I was excited to see that Zach Galifianakis has a gardening show (!) coming out later next month.1 Incredible. I don’t think I’ve been as charmed since I found out that Mac Demarco has also gone agrarian. Gardening culture!

Condiments!

People are putting together made-at-home sprinkles, toppings, and sauces! For one, there is an absolutely brilliant post by from last month, which has so many helpful nuggets that I PRINTED IT OUT. Her recipe for probiotic ranch is already a household favorite, but now I want to make Umami Seed Crunchies. Additionally, Heidi at 101 Cookbooks floated a recipe for citrus furikake that I do believe will be going on basically everything very, very soon. Are sprinkles the new sauce? (You can take the girl out of the food magazine, but…)

I read now (for fun)

Reading is fun. Did you already know this? I studied comparative literature in college, collecting an emphasis in Classics, as garnish, and I have read the Odyssey, as of this printing, 12 times in 7 translations. (I am very excited for the Chris Nolan movie!! Who’s coming with me?!!) Anyway, I guess I tend to mostly put homework assignments on my bedside table. However (!), this summer, my sister in law released her first novel and I came to remember/realize that, in fact, reading is so fun. Sometimes reading is dessert. I’m new, but dipping my toes into contemporary fiction. Tell me your recs!!

Print media is (still) doing the work, covering essential topics

For one, is featured in the latest Mother Earth News (one of my many print subscriptions!). I did a spit take, I was so excited to see it. recently said removing labels and moving things into bottles is her kink (which made me chuckle out loud!) and I think listening to Lloyd talk about carpentry and “rediscovering rectangles” might be mine.

Meanwhile! Mere weeks after I sent the last Postcard, Jesse decided our life wasn’t chaotic enough and picked up a puppy! (NB: We already had/have a dog. A challenging one.) She was ridiculously cute and now we have a fully grown Golden Bernadoodle in our lives. Never in my life would I have thought I’d cohabitate with such a creature! This week’s New Yorker piece hits all the right combinations of notes—delight, confusion, shame and embarrassment, love—that come with doodle ownership.

I tried to save democracy by making [really gross] brownies?

Like a whole swath of other Maine people, I am excited about Graham Platner, so I signed up as a volunteer. I don’t know if this is (a) typical of grassroots campaigns, (b) typical of Maine campaigns, or (c) not typical at all, but the ask this week was to make 60 ~graham cracker~ maple brownies to hand out at Maine Maple Sunday. I hope it helped.

So, that’s me, for now.

A couple seasonal things, yet on the horizon, include: Putting away of sweaters; starting of seeds. An extremely slushy snowstorm on Sunday is pushing inspiration for early spring projects way, way down. Will report back.

How did that go—do we like Postcard?

See you next week, my buds!

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Oh, I LOVE a glass cube wall! (LINK)

Could make for a fun summer. If, you know, the snow melts. (LINK)

Orange sink! Could be so fun in a cabin? Or whatever in you’re regular house, do you! (LINK)

MESMERIZED by this one! Can’t find the original listing… Hopefully it’s my reserach skills and this beauty isn’t gone yet! (LINK)

If you are having fun and would like to support my work, here are several ways to do that:

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A couple of weeks ago, I dumbed my phone and wouldn’t stop talking about it and I’ve been told that this is exactly the type of minutiae people flock—come absolutely running—to Treehouse to hear about. So, let me tell you, too, all about it, in exacting detail.

To start, and like many, many of us, I have come to the conclusion that my phone is not-so-good for me. The addictive elements are pretty frightening and its similarity to smoking are weird, too. It fills all the awkward gaps, sure. There’s the whole Remember how we used to stare off into space and it was fine? argument. But why do we have to reach for it so often and with such a zombie-like, unthinking reflex? You can’t call it a gambling addiction, because it’s not, but now they say things like dopamine addiction to refer to the same easy-thing/easy-reward you can get both from phones and slot machines.

Short of going true dumb phone, I’ve done a couple of The Recommended Things. I added a now-defunct, but pretty good app, called One Sec that forces a pause while opening things like Instagram. I turned the screen black and white to make it less fun (what a drag). I hid (!) Instagram and other time-suck apps deep into mystery folders (that muscle memory sure catches on fast, eh?). And of course I tried the time limits put out by Apple’s own Screen Time function, which is, you know, pretty easy to skirt.

Then, this year for Christmas, Jesse left me a Brick in my stocking (joke about coal, goes here). It’s a little device that sticks up anywhere magnetic—mine’s on the fridge—you use it to physically lock and unlock certain apps that you choose on your phone. That means that if you’ve locked it and you, say, leave your house, you are completely and utterly shit out of luck.1 (NB: I actually had to fully delete the app when we were traveling because I had too many essential apps blocked and I needed to find things like email confirmations on the fly. That said, there is also an ultra-strict mode that doesn’t allow that work-around at all!)

OK—so the Brick is OK. It works because it’s so severe. I had my phone Bricked in the morning and in the evening, basically to be more present and less phone-ified when my kids are around. The strange thing is that I started to feel like my non-Brick time was really taking off, probably because I felt so chaste that I justified bipping and bopping the rest of the time.

Meanwhile, I’d gotten into a conversation with a friend who had ditched her smart phone entirely, went flip phone, and purchased a nice digital camera to take photos, which she uploads at home, on WiFi (the same and only place that social media interaction takes place). It’s a good system. And I have been temped by it. And THIS is where the story of My Dumb iPhone really starts to take off.

I started down a path of temptation for different setups. These days there are a lot of pretty nice-looking dumb phones out there. Wisephone recently released a new version, which apparently works really well and Light Phone is set to release its third generation soon. Then there’s Meadow, which is appealing because it sort of tethers to your smart phone (almost miming the situation above where the flip phone goes out in the world and the deactivated iPhone sits at home, in detention). All of them have these sleek interfaces that simply present a list of things: Phone, Messages, Map, Music, etc.

I decided the Meadow would be pretty cool. That was step one. Then I set about trying to figure out a camera (my trusty old Bloggy Days Nikon is, I think, terminally broken, so a replacement isn’t completely out of the question). Yet, as I was sitting, watching YouTube videos comparing the various intricacies of the Fuji 100 series (and working through exactly how much this new setup was going to cost), it dawned on me: I already bring a powerful camera with me everywhere—it just happens to be in my phone.

The search for an entirely new setup, replete with brand new tech-chunks began to fray, as I realized I’d been caught (yet again!!) in consumerist quicksand. It’s like that thing where you shop at minimalistic stores to feel like you own less; or buy lots of “green items” from the re-use store to feel like you’re not adding more useless junk to the planet. It’s marketing, my buds! In fact, I realized, I don’t really need two new devices to help me reign in the one I already have—I can simply reorganize what’s already there.2

Here’s what I did: I created a setting on Brick called “Dumb Phone,” which enables those “essentials” that the pretty new dumb phones have—messages, maps, music, etc.—plus things that I might legitimately need during the day, but aren’t designed to siphon all my time. My bank app, for instance, isn’t the problem. I did not include email, but you could if you felt like you wouldn’t just be refreshing it all the time. I moved everything else off the home screen. So, it’s all still there, but deactivated and out of sight.

Then, both because I really do like the way those new dumb phones look and I am compelled to fluff everything in reach, I made all the app icons the same color. You do this by long-pressing the home screen, selecting “edit” at the top left, then customize. In the mean time, and because I think the phone itself is now clued in to what I’m up to, I was served two ads that create minimal menu masks. I am personally just feeling over it and fatigued over adding another thing, but they do look nice, if you feel compelled. Minimis and Blank Spaces are two of these products—I don’t know exactly how they work, but they seem to create an alternate, clean, operating system that discourages or outright blocks you from distracting apps.

And that’s it. Now my phone is Bricked, as default, in this mustard-y minimal mode all the time. When I decide, hey, I’d like to take a look at Whatever It Is, I have to make a conscious choice and walk to my fridge, which is, I think, a little better than not.

I’d love to know what you’ve done in this realm? Any parameters you’re working with? Or just let it fly, you only live once, light a match, have fun/don’t die?

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Or. (LINK)

I know there are several FOG (friends of goats) who read this-a-here publication, so I’m going to just put these lil cuties riiiiight there. (LINK)

If I don’t white knuckle all of my concentration through the next week, I will buy this and start an entirely new business in which to have it make sense. Someone else do it before I get a chance to?? Mid Coast Mobile Newsstand? Help, someone stop me. Please. (LINK)

Would you buy a slice of cake off Marketplace? (LINK)

About the same time that I found Ruth, I happened to be losing myself, so to speak. Hauser & Wirth showed her looped sculptures in 2016 and the year before that I had had my first baby. Pregnancy came on unexpectedly, I decided to go for it, and at 29, suddenly everything was different. I’d been touring, playing music, recording music, and moonlighting at different publications throughout, all of which came to a surprising (to me), jolting stop. My friends went on vacation without me, assuming, probably rightfully so, that I couldn’t go. Uncomfortable in my new body, I only wore black for a time—I called my new look “mom goth”—and later, I bleached my hair a near-white platinum. Figuring out how to be me and a mom at the same time was a perplexing, unsolvable puzzle I attempted daily.

Something uncanny, of late, has been the convergence of that particular moment in the past month or so. All the same themes, but in a new context. It feels like an internet eternity ago, but fairly recently, people—seemingly out of nowhere—started posting photos from 2016. I looked at the photos and was instantly there again.

I used to really melt down about time (I still do, but less so)—the way little kids really seem to rob you of it. It’s a cause of endless frustration and a battle for autonomy that is constantly raging, even when separation isn’t even really what you want. A couple summers ago, I was mid-rage when Jesse said, What if you invited them into what you are doing? Involve them in your creativity? It was a pretty profound thing to say to me, especially then, and I think that question has a lot to do with my ongoing questions around art, regular-ass living, obligations and responsibility, dirty dishes, half-written manuscripts, schedules, literal and figurative space, fluidity and how the whole thing fits into a life lived well and with creativity.

These questions, which now I can see have been circulating for a whole decade, are why I’m magnetized to books like The Farm at Black Mountain College, which I picked up last spring and read over the summer. A collectively-managed subsistence farm at an experimental art school? Truly there does not exist a more potent catnip for me. As I was reading along, of course, there was Ruth again. As a child, before her family had been interned in a Japanese camp in New Mexico and Arkansas, Asawa’s family had a family farm in Southern California and so she’d come to the school already a skilled grower. She’d been learning at Milwalkee Teachers College, but left when the school wouldn’t award her a degree due to her race. But Black Mountain would; so she moved down the North Carolina and, between farm shifts, studied under and became mentee to Joseph Albers. Black Mountain’s pedagogy of collective work not only in support of the creative, but almost as the fuel for it, must have had a profound impact on Asawa, who wrote “there is no separation between studying, performing the daily chores of living, and creating one’s work.”

I was starting to get an idea of just how cool Ruth Asawa was, beyond just liking her best-known works. Then, I saw there’d be a retrospective at MoMa in the fall, exactly when we’d be in the city. Jesse and I met some friends and walked the exhibit, greedily feasting, frankly, on the rich offerings from Asawa’s brain and hands. I was fresh off an interview with friend and Maine artist Christopher Ryan (read it here) about managing the creative in tandem with messy life moments and so, when I turned a corner into the room all about Ruth’s art and domestic life and read the below, I was absolutely floored.

In this gallery, I learned about Asawa’s six children, her home studio in Noe Valley in San Francisco, her absolute devotion to her community, refusal to move to New York to advance her career, the public school arts program that she and other local mother-artists started, and her ability to put it all together into a cohesive whole. They showed the wooden doors Asawa and her children carved for their home’s front entry. There were some of the dozens of cast masks Asawa made of friends, neighbors, family, and visitors, which adorned one side of the house. There were sketches and paintings made, I assume, in between moments: ink drawings of a baby hand; water colors of backyard nasturtiums.

The next gallery was all about the Alvarado School Arts Workshop, the program she and others started for arts education at their public school and which they eventually brought throughout San Francisco. This one really wound me up, especially the connection between a simple non-toxic baker’s dough Asawa would frequently mix and how that became the medium for her massive public fountain in Union Square, San Francisco. (Unrelated, but Asawa was also really blasé about naming her work. Most of her output is just “Untitled.” She rules.)

Shortly after our visit to New York, and most likely noticing a fixation growing, Jesse got me the book Ruth Asawa and the Artist-Mother At Mid Century. In the introduction, author Jordan Troeller writes, “To portray an artist’s identity as not simply coincident with her motherhood, but dependent upon it, was very unheard of in mid century America. This was an era when the solitary male artist…dominated public perception. Although many women who made art also indeed had children, few allowed themselves to be identified with this role.” But Asawa lived in both realms, happily and on purpose. She herself is quoted as saying, “My need to be an artist does not exceed my desire to be a parent, and also to be part of a community.”

Asawa always did her work at home and with the children around. She did have dedicated studio space at home in Noe Valley, but her work tended to happen throughout the house. From a magazine article and the book:

“Since she does all of her work at home, the pieces, as she herself says, ‘clutter’ the whole house. At the same time she can keep an eye on her three sons and two daughters, the oldest nine years, the youngest not quite a year old.” This was an artistic practice made to be continuous with maternal labor, a space in which “coils of wire, childish drawings, and puppets are constantly underfoot,” observed the journalist. This continuum characterized not only the studio space, but the making of the artwork itself, as Asawa recounted the construction of puppet theaters with her children alongside the making of her pieces for art exhibition, and her daughter Aiko experimenting with the same looped-wire technique that Asawa used to create her sculptures.

In my interview with CDR, he’d said, “You’re still doing what you were doing before, but the weather’s different. You’re still thinking creatively, because that’s how you’ve always thought. The way you were doing it and the context you needed has changed.” Almost in conversation, Asawa herself is quoted as saying, “When you put a seed in the ground, the ground doesn’t say, well, in eight hours I’m going to stop growing. You put it in the soil and that bulb grows every second that it is attached to the earth. I think that every minute that we’re attached to this earth, we should be doing something.” Would that any of this wisdom had crossed my line of sight in 2016! Creation and creating as an ongoing, cumulative, and natural process fundamental to living itself! Not a separation into two beings, old and new, but a daily interplay as one.

It’s subtle or maybe I just couldn’t see it then, I wasn’t attuned to it yet. The exhibition from Hauser & Wirth describes the works in the Abstract Sculpture show as exploring “contingency, imperfection, and unstructured play.” Asawa’s best known works, those wire looped sculptures, are meant to move with the passing of wind and shifts in the atmosphere around them—a useful and again profound metaphor for working (from home) artist-mothers. In fact, from the book and in reference to San Fransisco, we learn that the thousands of salt dough figures which were eventually cast in bronze and made up the larger, massive installation, were made with students, friends, family, visitors. It’s just so her: an artwork “by” Asawa, but created in connection, contingency, and collective with her community: “Because Ruth’s desire to show what many hands working together could do, neighbors and visitors to the Asawa home were encouraged to add to the collage. The process of making the panorama was a collaboration, with many ‘participatory artists’ including dozens of schoolchildren and neighborhood residents who helped make the figures. ‘The youngest person to contribute was three-year-old Mary Bylin from across the street; the oldest was the eighty-eight-year-old photographer Imogen Cunningham.’”

The artwork itself isn’t necessarily my main inspiration, personally (despite the fact that it does happen to be massive and wacky and brimming with details to discover). It’s the willingness to engage with contingency, the rejection of some sort of controlling narrative around selfhood and the artist/protagonist, and, in all of that, just the pure joy of being together in creativity. In Asawa’s world, working with the relationality and imperfections not only make life better, but they make the art better, too.

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A lot of commonality going on at the moment: Yes, like many others, I am completely flattened by the flu right now. Like many others, I’m devastated by the past week(s)-plus (emphasis on plus) of ICE activity both in Minnesota and in my own home state of Maine. Like many others, I am heartened by the counter-swell of kindness, courage, and frankly, staggering logistical prowess of these communities.

I am also, like many others who write or create other kinds of content, tongue-tied at the moment—flu notwithstanding!

Like all of the groups above, at least I’m in good company: ’s latest post titled “I don’t know how to do this” certainly resonates. spoke on managing the deeply confusing cognitive dissonance of this moment. On Saturday, of Department of Salad simply wrote “No Bulletin tonight. Take care of yourselves.”

So, for this week, I thought I would reprint, for free, an interview from the, normally paid, October print edition. In it, I talk to artist and illustrator Christopher David Ryan—who had been, like me, having a year—about maintaining a creative practice when your life is completely spinning out. It’s not a 100% graft for the current scenario, but there are plenty of good thoughts and nuggets in here, as we navigate holding both truly trying times and our daily, necessary lived lives.

Hope you like it! Don’t be like me, get a flu shot—it’s not too late!

Treehouse: October 2025

Creativity In Crisis

Featuring: Christopher David Ryan

Illustrations by CDR

In September 2024, artist and illustrator Christopher David Ryan and I both had seismic personal events occur that upended and altered the course of the following year. Mine: the loss of my stepdad and a year of post-mortem tentacle-cyclones; His: a health event of his wife Maria, who suffered a body-wide infection, damaging her heart, requiring open hear surgery; plus two strokes while waiting for surgery, altering her ability to speak, use her right hand, and, for a while, walk. While Maria makes huge metaphorical and literal strides, and as my scenario seems to have mostly settled down, I wanted to talk to CDR, as he is known, about managing one’s creativity—both as a job and as an intrinsic part of one’s self—in the midst of personal crisis.

I met up with CDR at the 1700s farmhouse he shares with Maria, kids Luna and Angelo, and a cat whose name I did not catch.

So, in Treehouse—and personally—I’m interested living with creativity. We’re obsessed with seeing artist homes. Why? There’s a certain way of living that’s different—a way that your art and your life go together. It’s a pretty basic example, but: Monet wasn’t really painting for years because he was building a garden, right? And then the garden became some of his most famous subject matter. That interplay really interests me.

This year, everything has been spinning around. I didn’t know what I’d to have to deal with day-by-day. I got to a certain point this summer, where I thought: my life and my creativity are completely at odds. I can’t even do my job. Plus, because my “job” is to be creative, I ended up alienated from my sense of self. I’m just a person that handles problems. Like, “Of course,” what will happen today? What will it be tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about, say, what it is to connect with yourself creatively in the midst of, I don’t know, a breakdown?

That’s an interesting place to start because I do that. I say that exact same thing at least once a week where I’m like, Of course, of course.

When you expect things to be bad? Or to be difficult.

There were always “of course” moments.

The climate over the past year has given them so much more weight because I don’t have the bandwidth. I can’t deal with another, not even just a problem, but another input. The context changed. You’re still doing what you were doing before, but the weather’s different. You’re still thinking creatively, because that’s how you’ve always thought. The way you were doing it and the context you needed has changed.

So now, yes, I have less time to stare out the window, or to like, you know, just smoke pot all day and tinker. I don’t have that time, but I still have time. A lot of people in our lives have been like, I can’t believe you drive 40 minutes to school every day. You need to move closer to Portland so we can help you and the kids. But, I like the drive.

It’s a beautiful drive.

It’s a beautiful drive. Maria and I listen to a book, a podcast, music. I look at trees and clouds. It’s beautiful. I use that time to my full advantage. Anything you do can be done creatively.

I try to do this thing, and I don’t always, but whatever I’m doing, even if I’m like making lunches in the morning, I’m working through stuff. It helps me to satisfy this need to be doing what I’ve been calling creativity, which is mostly visual. And mostly around successfully composing or arranging things.

The way that I’ve been thinking about it, these two things are separate and that’s maybe why it’s been frustrating. But what you’re saying is more like braiding the two together, then creativity is an undeniable strand in life.

I mean, there’s always that thing, you know, if you want to change the world, change your thinking.

I’ve spent a good, two, three decades focusing on this idea that, I’ll do these creative things and I will be able to to trade them for money and fame. Right? And come to find out as I continue to get older and I look at the books of painters and artists and designers and musicians, they were never really famous or wealthy.

Right. You’ve got Agnes Martin right on the top here.

Yeah. This is something I’ve just made up. The thing is I am successful, but not in the way I want to be. And I’m like, what is that? Why can’t I be okay with that? The reason I’m saying that is like, I have to now do that with my children, you know? And Maria’s recovery, and myself. I now need to interface with all this stuff with the same intensity that I was doing before. I was applying it to something that was made up, but this thing that’s going on now is actually happening.

Going back to “of course.” There’s a sort of exasperating “of course,” right? But there’s also flexibility in saying, of course, like, great, got it, here we go.

I’ve talked to a lot of friends and they ask me, how’s it going? How are you? They’re like, wow, you’re a superhero, whatever. And I am like, who else is going to do this? This is my life and this is my family. And this is my duty. And it’s not only my duty, this is what I’m doing.

Right.

I’m on this epic journey with these people and I really look at it like that. We were watching The Hobbit last night and these guys are trying to get to Erebor, you know? And they’re having to cross through these forests and things—and there’s scary stuff in there—and they’re just fighting. And I’m like, that’s what I feel like I’m doing on most days. I’m cutting this guy’s head off while I reach behind me and stab this other thing that’s coming up. Just trying to get where we’re going.

I guess I can sort of feel that way when I’m all, task, task, task. But it can feel self-indulgent sometimes to just say, I’m gonna come up with ideas today. You know, The Hobbit image is really pointed, right? It’s a clear path. But, other times it’s like, is this how I should be using my time?

Do you feel that you should be able to kind of dip your bucket into the creative stream at any time and pull out something good?

That’s the pressure when you have limited time.

OK that’s interesting: I think it’s okay for the way you interact with the source to change based on your situation. It has to, I think, in order for it to be really honest.

I can continue making these types of pictures because I know how to do it and I know people will like it, but what am I doing? Throughout the year, I started to see I can’t do things that way anymore. I can do things in 10, 15 minute intervals. I started doing all these geometric paintings or whatever. I’m literally recording the time. Like notation almost. That started to work for me.

I like that.

I had to meet myself where I’m at. The kind of year that I’ve had, I kind of really got to a place where, like I said, there was so many inputs. I had to teach myself how to be like, “Not important.” I’ll wake up the next day and the sun will still be there, you know?

Right.

This past year has just really made me go, oh my gosh, your chess board can be flipped over at any time. No matter how much you think you have it dialed in, all that can change. I know that I can’t do things the way I was a year and a half ago, where I am right now.

The board’s flipped over. And so the game is different, right?

I’m trying to be open to what comes, especially creatively. And this is the thing I learned something from. I’m going to put some paint on a canvas and then I’m going to go make dinner. I’ll come back in and look at it again tonight. If I have more time, I’ll put some more on and then in the morning the paint will be dry and I’ll see it in light and I’ll think about it. And I’ll let it unfold over time and maybe that’s going somewhere. Maybe not. I’m just trying to be open to what, kind of, starts to emerge and what has started to emerge overall is this type of painting I was painting in college. My professors hated it. I was into it back then and I made myself stop doing it.

What’s happened in the past year got me to a place where I’m like, let it all go. I don’t need to make these paintings that are fine, that I’m just trying to get them out the door. Last summer, before Maria got sick, we were in the car and I was super stressed about painting. It wasn’t coming together. I would have sketchbooks full of drawings and I would just be like, well, I’ll paint this one. Fucking boring.

She goes, you need to figure out what it is that makes it you. But the stuff I’m doing now, it may not be what I thought it was going to be. But it’s what it is. And I look at this stuff and it’s like looking in the mirror. This is what the inside of my head looks like. And I’m just going to give myself to that. You gotta let go of the fact that you ever thought someone was supposed to care besides you.

Right. Let’s get back to the other thing about changing the way you think. And also, thinking about these paintings and your approach now, it’s much more honest, right?

It was honest before, but I think it was wrong. It was honestly wrong. I’m being honest about the fact that I’m like, a flat earther. You know, you can say those words, but they’re wrong.

Right, I’m going to confidently tell you a wrong opinion. I liked when you were like, sometimes your connection to source changes, right? I’ve been sort of letting go and thinking my mode for the past seven years isn’t connecting right now.

We have a tendency as people to not make things easy for ourselves. I am going to eat only this way, I am going to work out in this style, these days. A lot of rules. How about: hey, when I can, when it feels right, it goes this way.

Totally. Yeah, yeah.

It doesn’t have to be creative. There was a period where I was getting up at 5 to do something for my physicality. I was just exhausted and sore all time. I’m like, this is what you do to be strong. This is doing the exact opposite. I feel like shit. I’m hurting my back. And it’s like, dude, you need to find something else. I realized a lot of this hell that I’m putting myself through is self-inflicted.

That’s interesting. It’a different way of saying what you said in the beginning about changing your mentality.

It’s what you can control, right? You can’t control everything else, but you can control yourself. Looking back on the past year, I found that if I wore my frustration and stress and sadness, it appeared outwardly and the interactions I got with others were different. Very early on, when Maria was still in the hospital, I was like, I can’t be sad-dad. Inside, I was freaking out, but I was like, I gotta get on top of the freakout or everything’s gonna be freaked out.

Right, totally.

And I remember we were with the palliative care group, talking about what was going to go down and what could go down, all of our friends and family were just bawling and freaking out. Maria’s unconscious and I was like, Guys, whoa. Like, she’s in there. She’s good. We’ve got to stop this. It’s not that I don’t care, but I think it’s super important to be open to the fact that it can’t all be the way you want. Say, ‘I want it to all work out’ and then get out of the way.

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Well! I’m back, like the bad penny I am, to tell you I’ve written one more thing this year that you might like.

Longtime bud and intellect of our time, asked me—and apparently everyone else he could possibly think of—to create year-end lists on any topic of our choosing. And so, naturally, I chose to watch all of the Martha Stewart Living Christmas episodes and rank my favorites.

Here’s the intro I wrote, by way of enticement for a later click-through. (Or hell, click now!)

Are you the same sort of stubborn person that I am, wherein something of yours becomes a cultural focal point—this year’s was the emdash, paper chains, and Martha Stewart—and rather than doing the technically-cool thing and distancing yourself, you double down with unbridled intensity?

Well, this is why, when asked to create a year-end list for this venerable publication, I chose to watch all of the Christmas episodes of Martha Stewart Living, and to rank my top five. You know, “for Max.”

What is my method? We’re seeking only just the greatest, densest expression of the form: We’re looking for projects that are technically possible, but fussy beyond belief; We’re looking for fullest-bloom Martha in focused competition and/or giddy delight; We’re looking for odd moments that are just, basically, sort of unhinged. It’s that feeling when you bite into a perfectly ripe fruit and you think, “OK, there it is.”

You can read the whole thing, which is long and “lovably deranged” according to Max (QUEL COMPLIMENT), over on the Read Max substack. Here is the link.

OK—now I will leave you alone until January. Enjoy your holidays and see you in 2026, pals!

Xz

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As I was fumbling through my printer’s ink swatch book, I noticed that Scarlet and Mint went especially well together and it reminded me of one of the best Christmas films out there (fight me): Happy Holidays with Frank and Bing.

Frank Sinatra hosted a slew of holiday specials through the 50s and 60s (there’s a particularly unhinged one with Dean Martin as his counterpoint), but this one with Bing is a particular favorite of mine. Casting aside their palpable homoerotic tension for now, which could be a post in of itself, I am always floored by the set dressing, including (but not limited to!) the color scheme.

Behold: Scarlet red and a muted blue, maybe even mint. Seafoam? Inspired Christmas choices. Plus a heap of silver as garnish.

Let’s take a walk, see some highlights, and figure out how we’d bring about this look.

By the way, if you’d prefer your holidays with more of a Tiny Tim inflection, keep watching that special for when Frank and Bing somehow hallucinate themselves back to Victorian England. OK!

Frank’s Tree

Looks pretty plastic as far as I can tell. I am a real tree gal myself, however I can absolutely (and do) get in on come BIG C7 string lights. I would generally point you in the TruTone direction (we use these to decorate the outside of our house), but they don’t seem to carry only white and red bulbs! Here is another source, which seems to offer a warm white (3000K) glow. Nice. Tinsel is sort of a drag environmentally, but at our house we use these reusable ones and it definitely adds a good amount of shine. This tinsel garland might get the effect right, too. Add some candy canes and red shiny ornaments, and I’d say you’ve got it.

The Punch Bowl

One of the decor stars of this entire production is this huge punch bowl. This is an item that you could really go big on price-wise. This vintage number would make a sizable financial impact. But then again, there are some dupes just at Home Depot. So, it’s sort of up to you. This clear acrylic set has a similar effect and would really show off those confounding floating apples! Another idea that I came across while poking around the punch bowl universe, is that you could rent one from a party rental company, who I’d imagine would love to see you coming outside of wedding season!

Table Setting

While Frank and Bing really get into it over at the piano, this completely set table (for two) mysterious appears! I’m going to say, I think you will need to get some big candy canes, styrofoam balls, and hot glue to nail that table decoration—it’s just too specific. Many champagne cooler options out there with the right search combinations: vintage, fluted, ribbed, clear, crystal, were some of the ones I used for this, this, this and this. Ever since Marjory pointed out the Webrestaurant Store, I’ve never looked back: Check out the plates! And here are some chargers to go underneath. I’m also interested in these (especially in Rainbow, for another time). This tablecloth is slightly more muted, but would look great!

The real completist will want a floating fireplace and mint colored couch. I do admire you.

Let’s skip the copper horse sculpture, but not the poinsettias (way far back left, near the tree).

Truly, couldn’t love this dynamic more.

What do you think? Does this thing have legs against the Internet’s Most Beloved Christmas Trend, Ralph Lauren?

(I hope so.)

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I am taking the next two weeks of newsletters off, so our next missive will come on Wednesday, January 7th. (2026!)

This year has been, without exception, the hardest I’ve had. That said, it has also made me stronger, more resilient, more trusting of myself, and more determined in my various convictions (including, but not limited to much of the above). Thank you to the human scaffolding that held me up in real life, you know who you are, and those of you who read, liked, commented, or silently enjoyed this space. I appreciate all of you.

I recently saw that 2025 is/was the year of the snake, characterized by truth, grief, endings, shedding, lifting of veils, and end of cycles. 2026, the year of the horse, represents movement, new beginnings, adventure, flow, power, opportunity, and beauty. I can’t wait. See you next year, folks. 🤍

Several months ago, an outdoor collection surfaced that really got me revved up and the star piece, in my humble opinion, was a relaxing-ish1 looking wooden chair. By all appearances, it had the general lines of a typical Adirondack chair, but the precise vernacular was pretty different. It didn’t evoke feelings of cedar shingles, Tom Collins, and what my stepdad not-lovingly-at-all referred to as Jackass Pants. Rather, and without any knowledge of its actual origin, it felt more rustic, more Northern California, more Redwoods, more Salmon Creek to me.

(I turned out to be entirely wrong on that last bit, but stick with me here.)

This particular chair’s price point gave me hives; I figured, ho-hum, probably a proprietary design and then moved on. That was until more recently when another, extremely similar chair2 hit the market and then I spotted a third chair (whose origins I couldn’t figure out) at the fancy lake house my in-laws rented earlier this month.

Clearly, not proprietary—and so I was off, sucked into the vortex of my own curiosity once again.

In 1903, a man named Thomas Lee, of Massachusetts, was at his family’s summer home in Westport, New York, tucked in the Adirondack Mountains. Dissatisfied by the available Victorian-era outdoor seating options, Lee put together a few simple wooden chairs, with an incline at the seat and a natural lean at the back. Side note: Can you even imagine how shocking it must have been to assert your own bodily need to be comfortable at the turn of the last century? Sometimes seating is radical.

Shortly after, in 1905, Lee gave the chair idea to his carpenter friend Harry Bunnel, who then patented it as the Westport Chair. (Lil bit of controversy here: Some think Bunnel patented the chair on the sly; others think that Lee, a wealthy Bostonian, willfully gave the chair to his hunting pal, who was suffering hard times.) He went into production, finding the chairs to be an overall hit, with an additionally robust market among people visiting the mountains convalescing with tuberculosis. At the time, loungers called “cure chairs,” were popular, a term borrowed from German TB countryside sanatoriums. While the Westport Chair was not made explicitly for this purpose, it did wind up circulating the convalescing space, especially as people tended to go in and out of acute illness. Eventually, the chairs became known as the Adirondack Chair, a name that, you know, stuck.

Decades later, in the 1930s, a businessman named Irving Wolpin ended up acquiring the patent from Bunnel and, true to the only thing I know about him (“businessman”) he tweaked the design to be more affordably made and mass produced, with thinner wooden slats as opposed to solid pieces of wood. The chairs have more or less remained unchanged since this last adjustment. Of course, this detail caught my attention immediately—first of all, in my mind an Adirondack Chair is all slat; second of all, the chair of my desires is, emphatically, not. The sweaty hot pink stripes on the back of your thighs after standing up seemed so iconically Adirondack Chair—I was/am floored that this was, in fact, an innovation that came 30 years later.

Anyway.

I looked instead for a Westport Chair and lo—there it was. In fact, the Westport Chamber of Commerce described that Lee “used a single plank of local hemlock [to design] a comfortable chair with slanted back and wide arm rests to hold drinks and food.” The original Adirondack chair of 220 years ago! Not Redwoods-y at all; purely New Yorkian. And extremely excellent, as far as I can figure.

Sources and further reading:::

For Sale: Jardinique; Loll (but plastic); Etsy; Original by Thomas Lee 👀; 1st Dibs;

Bunnel’s Patent

Wolpin’s Patent

The History of the Adirondack Chair

Complete Adirondack Chair History: From Origins to Icon

Yale University Art Gallery: Westport Chair

High/Low: Westport Chairs

The Feel-Good Recliner That Cures What Ails You

Object Lesson: The Adirondack Chair

The Adirondack Chair: A Celebration of a Summer Classic

Lasting Legacy: The Adirondack Chair History

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Speaking of lake culture in New York. (LINK)

Lake culture in Wisconsin? (LINK)

Lake culture in Nova Scotia! (LINK)

Not lake culture (but not not lake culture?) (LINK)

My late stepdad was among the all-time greatest of putterers. Up at 5:30; make some scones; do the dishes; hang a screen door; reorganize the deep freeze; write a story; do the Sunday Times crossword in “the little room” (bathroom); take the dogs out; print some recipes; sharpen the knives; coat of paint on the baseboard. You get the idea. No hierarchy of tasks, more of a tapestry—little interwoven nudges of movement through a day.

Last year in January, I’d resolved to be more generous with my time; I had decided I was stingy with it. Which is sort of a stressful way to think about it, the feeling of always having to be so efficient, hence the lists. Puttering is a naturally generous reframing of time—the horizon is fluid, expansive. The timeframe is as large or small as the tasks you put into it.

So I was pretty tickled to find out that puttering—in the South, “piddling”—had become something of an internet trend. Sort of a natural synthesis of the radical rest movement and that meme about doing your silly little tasks. What’s more, there’s been some recent evidence, from both this silly little arch-capitalist and actual neuroscience, that time spent puttering is incredibly therapeutic.

@landontalksI was so surprised at what some people think piddlin’ means. To me- it means I’m living my very best life. If I’m piddling, I’m thriving. If hummingbirds are involved— even better. Everybody deserves a good piddlin’ day! What’s your favorite piddlin’ activity? Let’s discuss it! #southern #southernliving #southernaccent #southerncharm

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@jarrett_sittonWhat Granny is doing any time we lose her lol

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In the time since I made that resolution, there have been a lot of challenging things going on—grief and its ugly aftermath, for one—more recently, the dizzying feeling of watching my former town burn, and now, politics. What better time, I think, than to make oneself busy, primarily offscreen, and with this brazen sense of inefficiency? And, for those like me, who might be concerned about not getting enough done, I do wonder if puttering, as opposed to list-making, might get the job done better after all.

So here’s what I did: I stopped writing this post, tucked my to do list into a drawer, set a timer for one hour, and allowed myself to float around, puttering, to see what happened.

Here’s what I did:

• Brought speakers in from the barn and set them up in my studio

• Had a little breakfast

• Primed some new shelves for our bookcase, washed the paint brush, and put the primer by the front door to go into the barn

• Considered taking off clothes and lying on acupressure mat, decided against

• Packed up and loaded the car with clothes to bring to our local consignment shops later today

• Organized my kids’ hand-me-downs

• Continued halfway writing this post in my head, sort of gently muttering to myself (I’m normal?)

• Pulled off all the days of my daily calendar that I’d missed

• Put away my camera and it’s accessories, which were strewn about after having recently shot an upcoming zine

• Stretched—what is wrong with my knee?

• Took photos of clothes and shoes to sell on Noihsaf Bazaar

• Stripped the covers off the couch and put them in the washing machine

• Noticed that almost all laundry detergent bottles are empty, brought those down to the recycling

@rosadeleeFor the folks who guilt themselves into “doing something” on days off when they really wanna just putter around the house for a day

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OK, yes, I can see that setting a timer for one hour to see what you can accomplish and then writing it all down at the end is sort of ~not really the assignment~ in a certain way. I’m healing!

That said, the daily calendar I mention above has little missives—including moon facts—for each day. Today’s read, “Just trust yourself, then you will know how to live,” which reminded me of a particularly resonant quote I seem to come back to from Carl Jung. It’s a letter he’s written in response to a woman asking, essentially, how to have a meaningful life, to which he writes,

Your questions are unanswerable because you want to know how one ought to live. One lives as one can. There is no single, definite way for the individual which is prescribed for him or would be the proper one. If that’s what you want you had best join the Catholic Church, where they tell you what’s what. Moreover this way fits in with the average way of mankind in general. But if you want to go your individual way, it is the way you make for yourself, which is never prescribed, which you do not know in advance, and which simply comes into being of itself when you put one foot in front of the other. If you always do the next thing that needs to be done, you will go most safely and sure-footedly along the path prescribed by your unconscious. Then it is naturally no help at all to speculate about how you ought to live. And then you know, too, that you cannot know it, but quietly do the next and most necessary thing. So long as you think you don’t yet know what this is, you still have too much money to spend in useless speculation. But if you do with conviction the next and most necessary thing, you are always doing something meaningful and intended by fate.

Task to task, day to day, with no set plan in mind and you’ll arrive at the life you are building. In other words, puttering.

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Treehouse is—under normal circumstances—a biweekly newsletter and monthly paid print zine broadly concerned with living creatively. That means we do things like: projects around our houses, apartments, or gardens; or taking deep dives into interesting minutiae like light switches, Early American stencil design, or jacquard towels. We learn about and fall for Italian communist furniture designers. We are interested in doing things ourselves, but we’re also interested in learning from experts, to deepen (or hey, even just start) our knowledge of a certain thing. We’re interested in the ways that personal creativity makes meaning in and around your home and family and community. We also have a popular vertical called The Source, which is a sourcebook for shopping and tools and materials.

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Despite the fact that it’s just me, I am typically quite consistent with this schedule. My friend Kate, who tends to cut right to it, once told me she is always surprised when another one shows up in her inbox—Like, wow again? Another?

The reason that you haven’t heard from me in entirely too long is that for the past two and a half weeks, I have spent the majority of my time bedside at—or on my long commute to—the Alfond Center for Health, a hospital in Augusta, ME. Here, I mostly try to do busywork and wait for new doctors and nurses to come in and tell us something about my stepfather, who has become incredibly ill. I have several newsletter drafts open, but to be perfectly honest, the borderline unhinged and irreverent tone I usually tend to take is just not there right now. I scroll; I buy my kids new sneakers for school; I try to get refunds for things I have signed up for during this period.

I also have a lot of open tabs.

So, for now, during this strange period in my life and in this moment where many are only just getting to know me and this publication, I thought I’d do something different: Something like an informal, less curated, more personal version of Click On This (my weekly link roundup series). It may be something you’ve seen already, but that I just want to say something about. It may be something you’ve never seen! It could be one of the so-called Zinzi-isms that my friends tells me are ‘clever but abnormal’ (usually both) systems or things that I do.

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For now: A smattering. A smattering of things that are making me happy or making me think from the terrace level of the Alfond Center. :)

As always and especially now: Thank you for being here. 🤍

I’m a little more personally interested in home-related handiness and caring about one’s car has always seemed like the “eat your vegetables” of being capable. However, this book/manual by artist and photographer Sarah Lyons is pretty sweet and frankly seems pretty helpful.

After visiting several homes and stores, and after borrowing a sweater from a friend, my partner Jesse and I have become very interested in scent. Stay tuned for a collaboarative newsletter on the subject that he plans to call ~Scents and Sensibility~. Anyway, as we have explored this idea in our personal life, we have become excited about actually-good-smelling pot pourri. It exists! I want to try this one from Santa Maria Novella. This one ensconced in a wax tablet seems fun, too.

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Speaking of good-smelling borrowed sweaters, I picked up this laundry soap at a local grocery co-op and now everything smells great, including the outside draft from the dryer.

I’m pretty enamored with this new hardware in forged bronze and wrapped in either braided bamboo or leather from Nickey Keyhoe. And, you know, all the other things too, but that’s not exactly new.

One of the things I’ve had to duck out of as a result of all my hospital-hanging is a Women’s+ Intro To The Woodshop class at Yestermorrow in Vermont. Which looks incredible. But! I’m going to be able to move to a different workshop, which maybe seems even more fun (and longer): Intro to Woodworking. Fun. Join me?

I finished Olivia Laing’s latest, The Garden Against Time a few weeks ago. I love her voice and I love gardens and I love people tackling ambitious projects, which is what she does in this book, but in the lyrical and historical and socially-curious way that she does. Ugh, it’s so good. Before the summer, there was a lot of interest from this here Treehouse community-universe in a potential book club—this one is a real contender.

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A few summers ago, friends stayed at an Airbnb in Rockport with a natural pool, also known as a recreational pond. Are you familiar with these already? Basically, they are man-made swimming pools that achieve a balanced eco system using plants, different animal species and usually some kind of aeration system to make a chemical-free pool that is clean and safe to swim in. This one was lined with gravel so there wasn’t any weird pond vibes underfoot. The whole thing really broke my brain and I’ve become fixated on figuring out how to get one. (The photo above is of the natural pool at Ralph Lauren’s estate in Montauk.) And then recently, within the past few days, I found out about this Substack, Organic Pools, by natural pool pioneer in the UK. Gears are grinding.

This can also be repurposed for walking past unknown people in the hospital tbh.

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It happens when I reveal what we are now referring to as a Zinziism. You see, reader, this little hamster wheel brain of mine just never stops. And because of that, I have all these little things that occur to me, and reasons for them, and systems or tricks or ideas for how to collect or follow through on them.

Today, now that the holidays are behind us and we head into this delightful little lull of a week, I’ll share a few recent things with you. Some are, indeed, part of a larger system that reveals more about my brain than anyone ever probably wanted to know. Some are just things I’ve seen recently and enjoyed. Zinziisms! Let me know if you like them, or if you have anything like these to share by popping them in the comments!

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Absurdly tiny notebooks. Hamster brain really dislikes thinking the same thing over and over again. And so: A tiny notebook that can fit into the back pocket of your jeans (extra points for a tiny pen to go with it) is my solution. When I think of a thing, I put it in the notebook. Every few days, I add the amassed “things” to my Notion Ur-List, which I use in this manner.

Digital self control. I’ve been using the One Sec app for the past few months and have dramatically decreased the amount of my personal time eaten alive by Instagram. All it does is interrupt launching the app by 2-ish seconds, which I have found to be generally enough time for me to say, “I hate it in there anyway.”

A DICKIE!!! …is what I screeched to myself when I first saw Hannayoo Works’ turtleneck scarf (it’s a dickie). I don’t have one, I just want one.

Italian paper. This Etsy seller mostly stocks Christmas-y supplies, which I guess is probably why they have this incredible assortment of handmade Italian paper—for wrapping. I, however, went out and got some spray tack and now there’s nowhere this Italian paper can’t live.

Bouche mordue. I’m not a ~makeup gal~ but I do love this little sheer/matte lipstick from Violette and have been wearing it most days. The idea is to get the effect of “bouche mordue”: just-bitten lips. It’s subtle.

Rite In The Rain in the shower. The best ideas are in the shower, that’s just the facts. So: What if your tiny notebook happens to be somewhere else? What if your tiny notebook happens not to be waterproof?!! This is why I have a Rite In The Rain notebook and pen in there, so all the ideas don’t wash down the drain.

Loop Earplugs. I got these subtle little earplugs with the hunch that, if the household noise or, say, the car ride noise, was just a little quieter, I might be able to hold onto my patience just a little longer. Actually: I was right and it’s been really helping. Essentially, these earplugs limit the decibel level, turning the volume down. You can hear everything perfectly, just quieter. Good for if your partner takes loud calls in the car or if everything is JUST SO GD NOISY ALL THE TIME.

Zumclean. If you’re also not a ~perfume person~ but still ~like smelling good~ I highly suggest Zumclean, with it’s very hippy and very delightful essential oil scent packages. Your clothes smell good! And then by, you know, transitive powers, so do you!

I’m sure there’s more—there always is! Leave a comment, let us know about some of your little -isms!

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NB: If you have been missing the Listings section for the past few weeks, NEVER FEAR, it’s not gone. I just wrote all these newsletters from the past and so I couldn’t know what the listings would be 🔮 in the future 🔮

About a month ago, I dragged my family about two (plus) hours from our house, deep into Western Maine, to buy and haul back a nine foot long, pine Shaker bench. Once we got home, the finish, which looked so perfect and lived-in on Facebook Marketplace, now appeared to be just grime after all and well, you know, lived-in. I washed a little corner of it with soap and water and confirmed: dirt. Now confronted with raw, unconditioned, somewhat neglected pine, it occurred to me that I really didn’t know the first thing about how to treat this piece of furniture properly. But, I was pretty sure I knew who did.

If you happen to have occupied a certain, specific corner of the internet over the past few years, as I have, you may have also spent quite a lot of time on Instagram drooling over Knosen Antiques’ incredible collection of English and European pine furniture. Like every other person, it really is the sleigh beds for me. So, I decided to reach out to Knosen’s very own Amanda Knorr to pick her brain about how she started her business, seller’s remorse, and living with antique pine.

First of all, who are you, what is the name of your business, and what do you do?

Hello! I’m Amanda Knorr, founder of Knosen Antiques, an online antique shop based in the Boston-area selling imported English and European furniture.

How did you get into selling antiques? What attracts you to the category?

It all began when I was searching for bedroom furniture for my son’s room. I’m constantly looking for special and unique pieces for our home, which often come in the form of antiques and vintage. For furniture, I gravitate towards antique pine. I love classic English and European styles—timeless and functional pieces with history and charm, ones that look like they came from a storybook. I was on the hunt for an antique sleigh bed here in the states for a long, long time (I’ve had many customers write to me to say the same). Those beds have since really become a staple for Knosen. I really wanted to be able to bring some of those harder-to-find pieces to the US, both for myself and others. 

I was a style and beauty writer/editor for years, and then worked in marketing for a handful of independent brands. So my interest in storytelling around design has always been there and is definitely a common thread. Just prior to launching Knosen, I was also taking sustainability courses online and considered getting a masters degree. So this company is really where many of my interests intersect—giving new life to beautiful furniture that already exists in the world, and celebrating the story and history of these pieces.

How long have you been in this business?

I started this business mid-2020, and we all know what was going on then…no one was really traveling and it was a wild time to get involved with imports of any kind! I had to figure out how to do everything from afar, including sourcing, storage, and transportation of the pieces. Originally I was looking to ship only a partial container, but through sourcing, I met a couple who has been in the antiquing industry for decades in the UK—they helped me fill the rest of a full container and they have since become mentors and my trusty eyes and ears on the ground. That first container came over in 2021, and now we’re working on container number 5!

Pine! It’s all (mostly) pine. Please tell us what you find so compelling about this material. In other words: Why pine?

There’s so much to love about pine, let me count the ways... To start, pine had a slow rise to its current stardom. It’s always been used for furniture, but it’s a softwood (as opposed to hardwoods like oak, mahogany, and chestnut), so it’s cheaper and was considered less luxurious and desirable back in the day. Many pine pieces were painted over, sometimes even with a faux grain to mimic the more expensive woods. But I think that same unpretentiousness is what pine has going for it now—not only is it beautiful, especially as it ages, but it’s not too precious either. It’s cozy. It’s friendly. It plays well in the room with others! 

When I buy, I like to look at form and function. Some antiques are more collectible and are meant to be looked at and not used too much, but I really stick to pieces that you want to touch, use, and interact with at home, and to me pine fits that bill. That’s how I like to decorate my own home too—approachable and homey, and nothing like a museum.

What are some of your all-time favorite pieces that you’ve found?

I’ve had so many favorites for different reasons. I’m very sentimental so sometimes it will be an emotional connection to a piece—say, the first bed I ever bought overseas, or a piece that represents an interaction I had with someone or a moment in time. Sometimes it’s a piece that just inexplicably speaks to me. That, or a piece that I know is really hard to find like a full-size bed, a giant original plate rack, an intricately hand-carved piece…those types of pieces are especially hard to let go of and I may have a few of those up my sleeve (and in my basement) that will resurface soon on the site because hoarding isn’t cute. Sometimes you get seller’s remorse, but then something else beautiful and really special comes along and you realize that you’ll love again (and again)!

What is your technique for restoring antique pine?

One thing that I think sets Knosen apart is our approach to restoring and refinishing—nearly every piece (and every single bed) is hand stripped, cleaned, and rewaxed, regardless of its found condition, even if it came with its own wax finish to start. So whether that piece was sourced from an individual, a fair, or another trusted dealer, it’s going to get this same treatment. I love the finish on my pieces and I work with a professional refinisher in the UK who is so incredibly talented. He works really hard on every piece, and everything is done by hand. Nothing is done in bulk (nothing is dunked and stripped in a tank) nor left “as is” with a streaky or splotchy finish. 

Wood is such a dynamic material, almost like a living, breathing thing. It expands, contracts, warps, and cracks. If you’ve ever laid down new wood flooring in a house you’ll know that it needs to go through an acclimation period, where it just sits there for a bit and gets used to the room’s climate to see if it does anything funky before setting it into place. Antiques can be just like that. Waxing them provides them with a protective barrier that has a really nice feel to it and enhances the grain’s natural beauty. Nearly every piece I bring over is waxed—no parched pine around here! Of course some amount of splitting and dryness at home is just inevitable.

Containers can get really humid on the ships, and so there’s often some amount of condensation on the pieces when they arrive. My first container arrived at my home in February 2021, so it was freezing here in Massachusetts, and those pieces went straight from a cold and humid container on their voyage to a much warmer and drier space. I thought that would be nice for the pieces, thinking: “ohh you poor things come in from the cold!”...but no. You don’t want to shock the pieces. They can even pop loudly as they shift. When I realized this, I was running around opening windows and shutting off my heat so that they could ease in properly. The UK, where most of the pieces have lived their whole lives, is also generally more humid and has less dramatic seasonal changes than Boston, so coming here is a transition no matter what.

What do you recommend in terms of conditioning?

The wax used on my pieces is typically Briwax or Mylands. I honestly have not done a lot of refinishing myself mainly because all of the pieces come to me already freshly waxed. I’ve also found that excellent refinishing really is an art form. That said, I’ve definitely dabbled with touching up a piece or two and applying a new coat of wax. If I like the color of the piece, I will usually go with a clear wax—it’s hard to mess up a clear coat! Unless a piece is being heavily handled, you should be able to go many years without needing to reapply a wax. For tables we typically coat the top with a clear sealant instead of wax, since it guards better against spills. 

Any other tips/tricks for living with pine furniture?

I would say if you can avoid it, don’t push wood furniture directly up against a heat source (a radiator, baseboard, or vent blowing warm air). Just create a bit of space/distance to prevent it from drying out too quickly. But also sometimes it can’t be avoided. For instance, my son’s bed is right near a warm air vent because it’s on the only wall that works for a bed, so don’t sweat it too much. If your house is drier you may see cracks grow and some shrinkage happen, but I just try to roll with it—it’s a creature, this pine. And also, I try to remember that if I wanted something “perfect”, it wouldn’t be an antique!

Thank you Amanda!! Pals: Mark your calendars for 11/18 and 12/2, when that fifth container of sweet, sweet, pine goes live on the Knosen Antiques site.

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Listings

If you happen to miss that Knosen fifth container (I’m serious about the calendar thing—they sell fast!), here’s some pine in Montecito (LINK), Chicago (LINK), Oregon (LINK), New York (LINK), and Connecticut (LINK).

Would reconsider my (personal, you do what you do) stance on becoming a van mom, if I could have this. (LINK)

Another great sink up here in Maine! (LINK)

I spy a very exciting optometrist’s sign in Philly. (LINK)

Last Thing

I think I was a market editor in a former life because I love gift guides and knowing what all the things are out there in the marketplace. That said—everyone is making gift guides. ‘Tis the season. Not necessarily with that Treehouse perspective and flair you’ve come to expect, nevertheless…

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In the past four years, I’ve barely picked up knitting needles at all. I did a fun lil’ two-person knit-a-long with my friend Janelle (we made this easy and easily-customizable top down raglan, if anyone is curious). I’ve strung together a small handful of bonnets for new babies. These statistics are really pretty unremarkable, unless, of course, you founded, edited, and ran a magazine primarily about knitting for five years.

I stopped Knit Wit in the Spring of 2019, having thrown everything I could possibly think of at it. If nothing else, it was an education (my co-founder Gigi and I would often look at each other, after something had gone wrong, and say “Well, we learned a lot!”). Small business classes! Events! Partnerships! Advertisers! Marketing! Wholesale! Trade shows! There was so much that *wasn’t* making a magazine that I had to figure out. And I did—we raised nearly $25k on Kickstarter, put out eight issues, hosted events, published patterns, eventually switched to online and galvanized an entire, boisterous community of readers and subscribers there (which, I believe is now self-governing as Knit Wits Worldwide on Facebook). I also personally met some really, really special people.

The only thing powerful enough to shock you into looking up, and around, and convincing you to walk away from all that, the only thing like that I’ve ever experienced, at least, is new motherhood. (Stay with me here—I promise this isn’t about parenting!)

I had my second child in November of 2018 and felt pretty lost at sea thereafter. A close friend handed me The Artist’s Way, a perfect, weird, and woo-woo life raft. (For those keeping track, I’ve been writing daily pages with about 80% consistency since exactly then. They will change your life, ready or not.) The process helped me sit down, put together a declarative Goodbye! and finally fold the magazine; it also gave me the courage to step away from writing and editing as a vocation. This was big, because, since my teens, they were an outsized share of how I defined myself. I said, “Actually, I don’t do that anymore,” and it felt great. It felt like I was not only closing a chapter, but slamming the book shut, too.

I listened to this song a lot at the time:

So, I stopped writing and I started thrifting for children’s clothes and selling them online. I put all those skills I had from before and decided to use them for a greater good: The clothes would encourage people to buy used; they’d keep clothes from ultimately landing in the garbage; and I’d send a portion of proceeds to environmental justice organizations. (And, again, for those keeping track: I still do this.)

But, slowly, things started to shift. What was a pretty standard marketing email pattern morphed into an essay, a link round-up, and usually a few other treats. My focus very clearly magnetized to this part of the business, I started uploading fewer and fewer actual articles of clothing to the site. At the beginning of this year, I recognized that I was spending almost all of my time around content marketing, rather than the nuts and bolts of running an online retail store. Evidently, I hadn’t shut the book as tightly as I meant to.

I hate it, but almost all good ideas appear in the middle of the night. I wish I could sleep, but then… when would the ideas come?1 So, this January, while lying awake and thinking about all of the above, I admitted that I missed writing, that I missed having a title and building stories and talking to people about what they are doing. Missed making my art, really.

I have absolutely no idea about other people, other mothers. For me, both times, there has been a period of losing myself—in the interim, finding something new about myself—then returning back, coming to, with both. That night of sleeplessness, I guess I returned. I don’t know where ideas come from, but I thought, I have to start writing again and I have print things on paper. And so it was, so it has been, so it always was. I woke up, signed up for Substack, and here we are together.

The knitting came back more recently, just in the past couple of weeks. One friend reposted a pattern that got me excited; I have a new friend who knits only very chic things and is making a strong case about everything being mohair. Suddenly, inspiration is everywhere again.

I do tend to make declarative statements, as you can probably tell by now. It feels good to make a change, to make a break, to start over again. Admittedly, it can also be a little overdramatic. Yet, one of the best things about having said, “I don’t do that anymore,” is that it created space for returning.

And returning with more energy, more ideas, and more dynamism than I would have without making that space for over four years. I’ve put the needles down many times before and always pick them up again. A cycle, after all; a practice.

I still meet people who say, ‘Wow, you’re Knit Wit?’ Speaking of self identifying. Yes, I am. Was Knit Wit. Or more accurately—every so often.

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Sorta knocked-around looking, but I still want this geodesic greenhouse. (LINK)

Bonita Domes, featured in the first-ever installment of Treehouse (!), is for sale! (LINK)

Excited about the new world of paint that’s coming out these days. Myland Olive Stone Emulsion, whose based is made primarily from olive pits, uses plant-based pigments. (LINK) Alkemis is formulated with clear quartz and earth pigments. (LINK)

As luck would have it, I happen to know two phenomenal hosts—my pals Al and Jay Carroll of olive oil (and other delights) company Wonder Valley. Paid subscribers probably remember seeing their pizza oven, which was featured in the June print edition. I was recently Chez Al & Jay for a fairly large party that had multiple moments, setups, and locations in and around their Bailey Island, Maine home, all of which they moved through gracefully and, at least from the outside, also appeared to be having fun, not weathering an hours long, low key panic attack.

I asked the two to share some of their hosting tips because, phew, I sure could use it. Here it is below—followed by a BIBS (Bailey Island Beach Shack) playlist by Jay for our paid subs.

✨

1. Release the expectation of perfection. Everyone can feel the stress radiate off their host. Roll with the curveballs and blunders. 

2. Generally, people want to participate and be of help. Actually ask people to bring things and lean into their strengths. Like I’m not an amazing baker, but my friend Marjory is, so I’ll ask her to bring dessert. Or, our friend Sarah is knowledgeable about shellfish, so I’ll ask her to bring the scallops and tools to open them. I found that everyone likes to contribute to the beauty and bounty of the evening.

3. Our favorite meals when hosting gets everyone involved. Making homemade tortillas for tacos, prepping a big paella, shucking oysters, making pizza, making home made pasta. It’s memory making with the meal. 

4. Having a pre-batched cocktail on ice makes things run smoothly for your hosting duties (and feels extremely chic and adult). We love a 50/50 martini, which is a less boozy version of a classic: half parts gin and the best dry vermouth you can get. Put it in a bottle or shaker or even mason jar nestled into ice and have some lemon peels and olives ready for a pour-yourself set up. 

5. Strike a balance between high and low. For us, this looks like caviar and ruffles or champagne and cheap beer. 

6. It’s more fun cooking outside: grilling, wood burning ovens, cooking over a beach fire, a yakitori grill.

7. Get moving. Take a walk after cocktails and before dinner, take a boat ride, go for a swim before dessert.

8. If someone offers to hold a baby or do the dishes, say yes! 

9. Wonder Valley Olive Oil makes a very functional centerpiece in the mix with flowers (and repurpose the bottles as candlestick holders when they are empty).

10. Consider all senses with the set up. Dial in the lighting, think about the scent with incense, candles or flowers, have fun with the table set up and textures like the linens and if sitting outside some pillows or throw blankets. 

11. And perhaps most importantly music! Have some playlists ready. Maybe have a musician friend sing for their supper. We’ve even surprised our guests with a mid-dinner mariachi.

Ed.’s note: Couldn’t have asked for a better transition—thanks Al! Without further ado…

Pizza Party at BIBS Playlist

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I forget the phrase, exactly, but let me tell you how I’m living it. Auf geht’s!

There’s a great expanse of floor in my house that needs something on top of it. The problem is that this “floor topper” would need to go under a dining table to make sense and not awkwardly bifurcate the space. Previously, I had a gargantuan version of this (delightful, am a big fan) seagrass rug, which, you can imagine, was not great under a table. (I was going to say “where children eat,” but to be honest, because of this rug, I found out that everyone spews crumbs at mealtime! We are one!)

The rug is gone and the floor’s been bare cement since. Then, recently, I remembered—floorcloths! A big floorcloth would solve my problem.

Excitedly, I started telling pals about my plan, only to find that hardly anyone knew what I was referring to, what I was talking about.

So. Floorcloths are canvas floor coverings that are gesso’ed, painted with oil paint, usually decoratively, and then covered with many layers of a protective clear coat, varnish or marine paint. There are many variations and differences, but by whatever process, the result is a fairly stiff mat that somewhat resembles leather. Extremely durable, washable, waterproof—a useful thing!

From what I’m gathering, their origin is somewhat hazy—maybe Renaissance-era France?—but we do know that their use and popularity absolutely exploded in England (where they are called oilcloths because of all that paint) and the United States from the colonial era up through the mid-nineteenth century. What’s fun about floorcloths is that they were used in all kinds of households. There were extra fancy floorcloths at Mount Vernon and Monticello; there were also floorcloths in early colonial homes to cover stone or even dirt floors. Mariners’ wives made them from old sails. And remember our 18th century itinerant stencilers from this post (the most popular so far, you all are fun)? They stenciled up floor cloths throughout New England, as well.

While I will, predictably, just use a single color for this project, the tradition is more patterned—a lot of the same stencil motifs, as well as checkerboards, flowers, finials, and the like. And, while there are a handful of cottage companies and Etsy sellers who do this, it’s still largely a Done Yourself kind of thing. Not something that’s so ~readily available~

That said! There are some readily available floor cloths absolutely worth bringing attention to before we close out here. The “steppable paintings” of our May zine cover artist, Louise Sheldon. Louise, about whom the multi-syllabic German word we can’t quite remember also applies, has been making these for years and recently did several to pair with a show of her paintings. They are more fun that what I’m going to do, decidedly!

Friends: Firstly, do you already know, already love, floorcloths? Follow-up question: Do you think this will solve all my problems? 🙃

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Everyday, on the way to camp drop-off, I pass a house with two perfect white wire metal chairs, of a variety that seem (to me) beach house iconic. I desperately want them or ones like them. I can’t seem to find some near me (yet), but here are some available in New Hamster. (LINK)

Kalon re-released their stumps in a wackier variety and I think they are the better for it! (LINK)

My heart! How Frog and Toad became queer, anti-capitalist, cottagecore icons. (LINK)

Speaking of toads, I might offer a $100 reward to whoever can tell me what’s going on here. (LINK)

Note

So many new faces! Hello! Who are you/where have you all come from? I’m not good enough at the internet anymore to know how to find this information, but I am glad you’re here. You can hit reply at any time, I quite like it. Oh, and, welcome. 🤝

So today! I am taking the opportunity to s-t-r-e-t-c-h out in this, the digital space, to bring you the full and unabridged musings on wood from the May print edition of Treehouse.

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For those without a paid subscription, allow me to fill you in. The May issue features the work and reflections of artist and designer Gregory Beson. Gregory teaches product and industrial design at Parsons and has a really beautiful personal practice as well. All (or, most) of his work is in wood. For this issue, Gregory went to his preferred lumber yard, Singh Hardwood in Rockaway, New York, took some stunning photos, then sent through something like a philosophy on working with wood. Furniture, photography, musings—all of it just so, so beautiful.

Me, the ruthless, heartless editor in print had to cut a lot of it down to fit into the paltry six pages on offer. Me, the freewheeling, chatty digital editor can now offer the full text below, along with imagery.

Seeing Wood by Gregory Beson

ENERGY

“Fire is the sun unwinding from the tree’s log.”

-Buckminster Fuller

When discussing wood and natural materials we can begin with energy. In our world, in this time, it can be easy to forget what the true cost is to build the material world around us. Both human labor—mental, spiritual, physical—as well as the means by which materials grow, erode, or procreate should be considered. There is a synergy to be found in natural materials such as wood, which I believe is more easily understood than those artificially derived.

KNOWING & SEEING

Trees and their lumber are often not understood by the layperson. Our connection to and intuitive knowledge of timber has waned as less is made by hand and consumerism grows. Physical properties, material semantics, and historical context are all embodied in each individual species; both in the raw unprocessed state (a tree) or the aesthetic or functional object (sculpture or furniture). This information, this embedded story, is available to each of us. Eastern White Cedar shingles used by current and early New Englanders were directly derived from Native canoe-building practices which utilized the naturally rot resistant, readily available, and easily tooled local Cedar to create durable and rot resistant vessels. Countless examples such as this one can be found historically where noticing and understanding inherent properties of materiality leads to new opportunities.

“We only see what we look at. To look is an act of choice.”

- John Berger

Much of the world is knowable. Looking is the first step. With wood (and many other things) there are a few qualities to assist one in seeing better. The diagram attached, adapted from George Nakashima in his book The Soul of a Tree, illustrates the varied ways a log is sawn into timber. The big walnut slabs he utilized were cut “through and through,” which means repeated parallel slices or “cutting from the boule.” He speaks intuitively of knowing where to saw a log to reveal the most spectacular and beautiful motifs in the grain. The way he writes about this, it seems he could see inside the tree before it was cut. His eyes could penetrate and imagine the slab.

Often, people tell me they are unsure what is real wood and what is not. The knowledge has not been passed along as it was before, there is a break in the line. This is exacerbated by so many lookalikes, slights of hand, and deceptive tactics used to make other materials appear like wood on the surface. But we can seek the core, the depth, and the root by looking and asking questions.

Inherently, I think we all know or are capable of knowing. When we walk upon solid wood boards or are surrounded by planks and wall cladding. Consider a rustic cabin in the woods; the tonality of the light, the smell, the sound within the space, warm and whole. When our furniture or spaces are crafted from beautiful parts of a tree, these second lives resonate. We intuitively feel them if we allow their presence to permeate our senses. We understand their individuality and relation to both the constructed environment and the natural world.

If you’ve ever seen arts and crafts furniture (Stickley) or Frank Lloyd Wright solid wood pieces (Francis W. Little House at the Met) you’ll notice a grain patterning in the white oak that is very different from the floorboards often seen in homes. These are quarter sawn boards and produce a straight grain with some “flecking.” This can look like shimmering abstract motifs quite different from the straight grain surrounding it. But it is the end grain that really gives this method of sawing away. The growth rings create lines running perpendicular to the width of the board and yields wood that maintains its straightness. This is durable and strong timber. The drawback is that this sawing process wastes material, takes longer, and therefore is more expensive.

Next time you sit at a table take a moment to notice the grain; focus on the ends. This can be a clear way to know what you have in front of you. Can you see repeating curves? If so, you’re seeing a part of the growth ring of the tree. From this you could ascertain approximately where in the tree the “stick” (piece of lumber) came from. Also consider the hue of the material, the figuring (how the grain looks on the surface) and if there are many boards or a single which constitutes the table. A repeating pattern of grain probably means veneer on a substrate (logs cut in sequence) and can feel almost mathematical rather than organic. Perhaps the table top appears to be one solid board with wildly expressive figuring. If so, you might be dealing with rotary cut maple or birch; thin layers of wood peeled like an apple by a giant lathe at a mill. If in doubt, give it a knock. Does it remind you of the sensation and sound of knocking on an old wooden door? Of walking barefoot on a dock or sitting at a picnic table? It just might be solid then. You can probably tell if you keep looking.

CHOOSING AND WORKING WITH TENDERNESS

When choosing timber there is a continual back and forth as you arrange, carve or lay out boards, slabs, or chunks. I select all of my wood from yards individually. Over time, with practice, I have come to be able to “see through,” lumber in the rough (most of the photos accompanying this essay). I’m looking to see color and hue, grain motif, where in the tree it was cut from, dimension, and also straightness. For example, when looking, I’m trying to ascertain how this tree grew; did it twist over the years? If so, the memory of those cells remains and the tooling process will be more difficult and perhaps result in lost material.  All depends on the project and the potential beauty of the board. If necessary, I’ll work it as much as needed with joy and care. There is a certain kind of tenderness required in this work. You are in fact giving the tree a second life through thoughtful intentional labor.

I only work with solid wood. This choice is about function, aesthetics, holistic methodology, and sustainability. It is also about poetics and my own innate nature; I’m drawn to this material, its warmth, its groundedness. I strive to honor it, so it may last well beyond my own lifetime. Solid wood uplifts me, nourishes me, expands me. This is the conversation between wood and craftsperson. Wood pieces can make a home feel more like your home, they accept time, encapsulate use, and embody the memory in their cells. They grow with you and yours.

I feel a great responsibility to honor each part of the tree I work with. In this way I aim to make looking easier. Hoping that through care and consideration one may more easily sense the resonance of this natural material and choose to welcome them into their home and life.

Listings

Reader submission! Rachel and Karl, currently of Portland, Oregon, are relocating to Maine and, as such, are seeking a 2BR home in Midcoast. From Rachel, “We are flexible and go with the flow people, so we are interested in plenty of possibilities for what housing could be! Even doing a trade for some rent for childcare could be an option! Who knows? I feel confident something is out there for us!” Help ‘em out, pals! (LINK)

I got the fall/winter semester catalog from Yestermorrow in the mail this week, which reminds me to tell you that they are currently enrolling for that season. Go get it! Build things! (LINK)

Walt Disney’s home in Los Feliz is for rent for a cool $40k/month. (LINK)

And because I can’t leave you without something a little bonkers for-purchase: Here’s a stationary bicycle from the 80s. She’s pretty! (LINK)

Do you have an announcement or an ask or something to promote or something to tell this community about? You, too, can post a listing here (within reason and my own person scrutiny)—just hit reply and we’ll figure it out.

Notes

Remember a few weeks ago, when I said “I’ll be out of town, but it’s all good, I’m going to work on the plane”? Fool that I am, fool that I knew I would be, traveling and end-of-school and not-a-lot-of-childcare was not as breezy for putting together a zine as I thought it would be. We are, however, chugging now, and I am happy to report that today, June 22nd, the June edition of Treehouse is very nearly complete. I’m looking forward to sharing more of the details with you soon—it’s a good one! (I am biased?) 💝

Mari, an Italian industrial and furniture designer, was famous for being extremely grumpy, especially about the frivolities of the design world. A Marxist who grew up extremely poor, he was interested in furniture that is inexpensive, pleasant for the furniture-maker to build, and, ideally, existing outside the capitalist system. In this way, making your own furniture is a kind of freedom—to keep your cash, to step away from a naturally depleting system, and to have fun while doing it. Thanks Enzo1!

Whenever you start a new thing, invariably, you have to answer the question: ‘Cool, what’s it all about?’ I have been struggling with a one-liner to explain whatever this newsletter/zine is. {{Taking suggestions, feel free to leave a comment!}} But, I think it might have something to do with what Mari was after—taking things off the assembly line, or at the very least, out of the algorithm, making the things around you to the extent that you can. And in that way, building meaning in and around your environment. Something like that?

Which is why I’m especially excited to share this resource with you: Self Assembly, a website with free, simple-to-complete furniture projects and a name that I feel fairly confident is a callback to Mari’s own Autoprogettazione. The idea of the site (and the book, to be fair) is that anyone can complete these projects and most of them in an afternoon. I am, predictably, obsessed.

The Sedia 1 is on the site, as is the classic Crate Chair by Dutch designer Gerrit Rietveld, plus a smattering of contemporary designers as well. The majority of the furniture and objects, which I cannot believe you can really just make as a regular person, but I am excited to try, were designed by the site’s founder and custodian Ian Aanderson. I am especially excited by his furniture pieces using cotton webbing.

To be fair, I’ve had this particular site in my pocket for years now. I check back, look at new additions and guides (and comments, what is wrong with me!), but remain always still a voyeur—always still intimidated to actually put hammer to nail. Until Chair Class™ and Enzo (and Todd!) and a pile of pine, that is.

One of the biggest revelations from Chair Class—one of the things that makes me, someone who knows nothing but admiration for carpentry—was the introduction of Japanese pull saws. Unlike the saws you are used to, where the cut action is on the push, the teeth of these saws face the opposite direction, and so, the cut action happens on the pull. Why does that make a difference? For one, you have more control; for two, that annoying wiggle and snag doesn’t happen; but most importantly for yours truly (and who knows, maybe you), it enables those of us without a *ton* of upper body strength to make these cuts without power saws (= intimidating).

Between the Japanese saws, Enzo, Todd, Chair Class, and Self Assembly, it seems like it takes a village for me personally to feel ready to Do It Yourself. But that’s just me! I hope that, now that all this is laid out in front you, you will try it. I love my Chair Class chair so much and I am excited and ready to make more and different ones. Plus, there really is no feeling quite like someone asking my partner if he made That Chair, and having him say, “No, she did.”

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One man’s vintage flower press is another’s tortilladora in Santa Fe. (LINK)

A very exciting orange sink in Southport. (LINK)

It’s SUMMER! Which makes me want to jump off a dock! BYO in California (LINK); ‘Pullin’ some nice sized pike outta the lake, I hear’ in Michigan (LINK); all angles in Oregon (LINK); needs some TLC in Montana (LINK); with a sort of flipped vibe I’m not so mad about in New York (LINK).

SPRING. It’s not all daffodils and baby goats, folks. Spring is also just so much work.

The snow melts away and suddenly there’s dead plant detritus all over the beds that need clearing and then mulching and, later, weeding. The window screens need to be extracted from the barn, cleared of a winter’s worth of spiderwebs and bat guano (which, if you were a certain variety of kid in the 90s, you need to always say in an accent à la Pet Detective). You need to turn the water on for the hose again and pray it’s all ok and not busted. The seedlings need to be escorted in and out, so their tender little selves don’t freak tf out. You need to switch out the tires before you get pulled over for having your winter tires on!

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It has been suggested, by someone close to me and well acquainted with that we do here, what there isn’t enough sartorial content on Treehouse. I’ll leave the real fashion commentary to the real fashion commentators, but I will go on and on about wool. Because one of the other big tasks of spring is bringing out the summer clothes and packing away the layers that keep us warm when it’s not.

You might be wondering: Wool?! Why?

I dress myself and my family (when they will let me) in wool all winter long. Even during the shoulder seasons, I like to wear a merino base layer as a t-shirt under a sweatshirt. Wool is…

• Breathable. Synthetics tend to make you sweat too much and then defeat their own purpose by making you sort of wet and gross, which will then make you cold.

• Naturally antimicrobial (Seriously! The NIH agrees!), which means you can hang it up, air it out, and wear it again. Less laundry! Less water usage! Less TO DO.

• Not *necessarily* the financial investment it seems like, especially because you don’t need quite so many individual garments to get through a week.

• Not made of plastic (😶).

There is, of course, one major downside: Wool needs to be hand washed. And if you wear a lot of wool, like this family does, April—and unfortunately, currently bleeding a little into May—involves a lot of time caring for and tucking away all these items to thank them for their service, but also to prevent moths from snacking on them all summer. As you can clearly already tell, I have spent a good amount of my own personal mental bandwidth thinking about (doting upon?) wool. I suppose you don’t run a magazine about fiber arts for 6 years without putting your time in wool-wise.

So! Here’s how I prep all the wool for its well earned summer of rest...

• Because we’re washing in bulk, I fill the bathtub with tepid water. Very hot or very cold water can make the fibers seize up and then felt. Which is cool if that’s what you’re trying to do. In this instance, we are not.

• Add your cleanser. If I had my way every single time (truly, the dream), I would use a wool wash that includes at least some lanolin. Lanolin is a wax produced by sheep’s skin, which keeps their fleece soft and moisturized. And it has that effect on wool clothing, as well. Additionally, because it’s a wax, it can help weatherize your thicker boiled wool pieces. Here’s one I have used, here’s one I have not, but which looks good. This year, because of time and interest constraints, I used the old classic, Woolite, which is also fine. The clothes just came out a little starchier, like when you line-dry linen.

• Gently swoosh around, then leave it to sit for 10-15 minutes. Wool tends to get too loose and lose its structure if you let it soak for longer than that.

• Drain and, again, gently and without a lot of herky-jerky stuff, wring out the clothes. Hang them to dry unless they’re hand-knit sweaters. Because for those you’re going to…

• Lay a towel on the ground, lay the sweater flat on top, then roll it up into a tube. Here comes the fun part (!!)—walk all over the rolled-up sweater + towel tube. Unfurl the tube and lay the sweater to dry FLAT on another, not wet towel.

• Let them dry, fold them up and positively festoon them with cedar. I like to make sure the odor is almost sort of suffocating. Moths stand back.

And then you’re done (lol)! You can do all the other things on the spring list and dream of winter.

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I had the great fortune to try Non Finito, a new soap made by my pal Jay. It’s almost ready for takeoff and I highly suggest you get ready to snag one yourself. (LINK)

Sort of a geodesic dome meets a yurt meets I want it? In Tustin, CA. (LINK)

An organ used for the Carolina Hurricanes’ hockey games! (LINK)

Poor buddy. (LINK)

Notes

One zine under our collective belt, one zine out in the wide world. Feels good!

Paid subscribers! You were very patient! May is following closely behind, almost ready, in fact. Thank you for your patience and your support—you rule.

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Here’s a little snapshot of how this brain works: Back in 2019, I—like a certain flavor/tambour of people—not only watched, but ingested, Greta Gerwig’s retelling of Little Women. My heart will always belong to the 1994/Winona edition, but Gerwig’s production is so rife with period details,1 my eyes and mind are still, four years later, swirling and overwhelmed with what to do with it all. It’s informing the color I want to paint my house and, after a quick door moment (below) and fireplace embellishment (above), it’s manifested a mild (not at all mild) fixation on Early American decorative stenciling. And I have the Pinterest board to prove it.

The one thing I’ve learned digging around about decorative stenciling is that there’s really no end to the research you can do. People get advanced degrees about it. It’s a technique that’s thousands of years old and spans continents. The earliest known example was found in Fiji; stenciling was widely used in China and Japan in and around the 7th century.

As for the Marches! Late in the 17th century, stenciled patterns began appearing on church walls in France and the fad quickly percolated throughout Western Europe, England and the colonies, gaining mass popularity in the beginning of the next century (also showing up on furniture, floor mats, tins, trays, trunks; they really stamped these patterns on any surface in spitting distance!). At the same time, early-ish 18th Century, printed and painted wallpaper was become a popular luxury for those who could afford it, especially in Philadelphia and New York. For those who couldn’t and in more rural places, particularly in New England, hand stenciling became the way to achieve a similar look and a cottage industry of itinerant painters started circulating. The earliest documented examples of these stencils were found in Massachusetts around the time of the Revolutionary War.

One of the biggest names in late 18th to early 19th Century decorative stenciling (lol, what is this blog), was Moses Eaton, Jr. and his father, who, predicably, had the same exact name. They popularized many of the motifs that you may have (?) seen—pineapple, willow, flower spray, hearts. These very coveted motifs were snapped up and reproduced by many. Originally from Hancock, New Hampshire, Eaton and son traveled, stenciling homes during the Federal period (1790-1830), from Needham, Massachusetts all the way up to central Maine, and very likely, I (not a PhD, just a fan) would guess this is where the production design team of the movie found their references!

Reader: Are you, too, starting to feel a little stencil curious? There are loads of references (and advanced degree opportunities) to learn more about it and the various motifs and origins. I’m listing a few below and stay tuned for Part 2, wherein I do a little step-by-step stenciling in my very own New England home.

Books:
Early American Wall Stencils In Color
Early American Stencils on Walls And Furniture
Stenciling: 140 Historical Patterns for Room Decoration

Helpful websites/articles:
Stenciling: A Very Short History of a Very Long Tradition
Early American Stenciling and the Work of Moses Eaton

Colonial Connection makes pre-made historic stencils!
And so does Liberty Design Co., which I maybe like a little better.

Listings

This appears to be an ancient Snoo. Did they know about the 5 S’s in the Victorian era? (Excuse the deeply parental ref here.) (LINK)

Anyone in New Jersey need a great cast iron sink? (LINK)

Coupl’a post and beam cuties for sale in Nice, CA (LINK); Hillsboro, OR (LINK); Beaufort, NC (LINK); Lyme, NH (LINK); Los Gatos, CA (LINK).*

After @minor.works sold the best LL Bean duster before I had a chance to buy it, I entered a deep wormhole to find one for myself. Here are some of my favorites: LINK; LINK; LINK; LINK; LINK; LINK.

*Last week’s real estate roundup format caused some missed links and confusion. Let me know if this format is working better for you, please?

Notes + Updates

I’m now deep pen pals with the fine folks at Risolve Studio in Pennsylvania, who are going to be printing up the COVER, à la Risograph, for the zine. (Nerds: the interior will be regular four color process because of photos.) We’re getting closer and closer to liftoff here at Treehouse HQ and I couldn’t be more thrilled! (I’m really thrilled.)