#hamish sewell

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Spring 1916

It was spring in Brindleton, which meant the calving season was in full swing and sleep was a luxury no longer promised. The whole family felt the strain of it, Hamish and Will the most, but little Charlie came in a close third as Hamish insisted it was time he learned the ropes. Will had experienced almost ten full calving seasons. One morning — when he was unable to crawl to bed until well after the sun rose and breakfast had been served — he found himself desperately glad he wouldn't experience another.

With barely any time for sleep, Will hadn’t seen Clara in weeks. It wasn’t as if she had all the time in the world, either: her own family’s herd wasn’t much smaller than that of Sable Dairy. Despite each other's absence, it would seem neither was far from the other's thoughts. Will had found a small basket of still-warm rolls and a crock of honey sitting on the front stoop in the pearly near dawn that morning; Clara’s initials neatly embossed on the corner of the napkin they were wrapped in.

Will had been unable to stop thinking about Clara after Hamish’s well-intentioned question, and once he began thinking about Clara, he began thinking of his own friends' lives. He had uncomfortably realized that they were all married or engaged, leaving him the only bachelor. Albert and Posie were close to celebrating their second anniversary, and a baby was expected to mark the occurrence. Clive and his new wife had set up his medical practice in a small house overlooking the bay (after throwing the most extravagant wedding the town had seen in years). John — always the more wild of the group — had fallen head over heels for the new baker’s assistant and spent the past six months making an absolute fool of himself as he wooed her. The entire town had breathed a sigh of relief when she had accepted his proposal and the antics came to a halt.

Will had laughed along with everyone else at John (good-naturedly of course) but he had also harbored a secret jealousy of his friend. To find someone and fall so deeply in love so quickly that you would prize your love above all else seemed to Will like a true gift. His father’s stories of love at first sight had set him up with lofty expectations, and Will was still trying to readjust them to fall in line with everyone else's. Most folks knew they wouldn't immediately fall deeply in love; successful, well-matched marriages were built on a foundation of mutual respect and well-matched interests. Clara was a good match for Will.

He had repeated that line over and over again, trying to imbue the truth of it into himself. He repeated it as he looked over the array of delicate rings nestled in velvet at the jeweler's in Britechester; he repeated it as the simple ring was wrapped by the portly jeweler and he parted with a sum greater than any he had ever spent; he repeated it as he sat on the train home, unable to keep from staring at the unassuming ring in its small red box. He had repeated it until it became his truth. He had the ring; her father's blessing had been secured the week before, now all that was left was asking Clara to be his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[burlveneer-music]

Levitation Orchestra - Wave Potentiality - large jazz group’s new single benefits  Tomorrow’s Warriors

All proceeds earned from this release will be donated to two organisations. Firstly, Tomorrow’s Warriors, a charity dedicated to educating young people in jazz music at a level that matches conservatoire education. They place a special focus on women and young people whose heritage is from the African diaspora. The second organisation is an app developed by one of our tenor saxophonists, Deji Ijishakin, which in his own words is a “philosophical and economic entity which seeks to buy black, build black, and back black commerce.” 'Wave Potentiality' comes from the quantum mechanics theory and more specifically an experiment called the double split. In a nutshell it states all particles, the fundamental building blocks of reality, exist as a wave prior to observation. A potential to manifest itself into form. Into what however, we do not know. Just as our hearts pump iron around our body, that metal originates from past stars forming and exploding, forming and exploding, scattering iron out into the universe. As above, so below. As below, so above. We believe this tune serves as a beautiful metaphor to the wave of potential our generation across the globe indeed possesses. It is a potential to elicit great change, and the wave of people taking to the streets around the world is proof of this. Whilst we could not have foreseen the current events when we composed the tune, or have these events in mind when we decided upon the title, the concept we believe holds meaning to the cause we are supporting. As with all our work, this song was composed collectively, with each member contributing freely and equally to the creation of the group’s music. As such, overall vision of each project is a sum total of the participants influences and aspirations. 

Axel Kaner-Lidstrom - Directions In Music Lluis Domenech Plana - Flute James Akers - Tenor Saxophone Deji Ijishakin - Tenor Saxophone Plumm - Vocals Zakia Sewell - Vocals Marysia Osuchowska - Harp Saskia Horton - Violin Tom Oldfield - Cello Paris Charles Raine - Guitar Roella Oloro - Keys Hamish Nockles-Moore - Bass Harry Ling - Drums

[jazzworldquest-blog]

UK: Exclusive Premiere: Levitation Orchestra "Mystical Yang" (Astigmatic Records)

Levitation Orchestra - a collective ritual of creativity There is no denying that UK jazz has been on everyone's lips for several years now. Away from the hustle and bustle of music media focusing on London jazz stars, Levitation Orchestra was founded by trumpeter Axel Kaner-Lidstrom (Cykada). Best kept secret of the jazz scene bustling upon Thames. Only a handful of heads have had a chance to get acquainted with this unique project and their performances.  The values and rules behind Levitation Orchestra are beautiful, simple and pure. None of the members is individually responsible for the orchestra's compositions. The whole 13-member band composes music collectively in the spirit of communal ownership, which allows for the emergence of unique energy among the musicians. For them, creating pieces like this is somewhat of a ritual. Levitation Orchestra writes, practices, records, and then sets off on another journey. After the composition is created, the members of the orchestra practice the material through 4 rehearsals, then play 4 unique concerts, then head to the studio to record the material. “Inexpressible Infinity” is the second of such cycles recorded.  The group is formed by young London musicians who are either already well-established on the scene or just one step from getting there. Axel Kaner-Lidstrom, the founder of the orchestra and trumpeter of Cykada and Where Pathways Meet, has gathered a group of gifted and unconventional musicians: Saskia Horton, violinist, Deji Ijishakin, saxophonist from Nihilism, Polish harpist Maria Zofia Osuchowska from Sawa Manga, two female vocals – Sophie Plummer and Zakia Sewell of NTS Radio, on the keyboards there's a recent Boston Berklee alumnus Roella Oloro, we've also got Lluis Domenech Plane on flute, saxophonist James Akers, cellist Tom Oldfield, guitarist Paris Charles Raine, double bass player Hamish Nockles-Moore, and Harry Ling on drums. via Blogger https://ift.tt/33JPCC3

[automaticar]

Podcasts are exploding in popularity, especially true-life crime. Hamish Sewell brings his years of ABC Radio National story and sound production skills to his work in crafting geo-locative podcasts. Walking podcasts give the listener an immersive sensory experience of walking through locations where the story has taken place as you listen to the story. Adding mixed and augmented reality brings another dimension entirely. There are a number of excellent examples such as The Cartographer’s Confession by James Attlee and Consent - Walk the Walk by Chris Brookes. Geo-locative storytelling can be used anywhere a story can be told, tourism, business, real-estate, education… the list is limited only by our imagination. This is the future of storytelling. Find Hamish’s work at www.storiedland.com

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Spring 1916

Joe's grand plan for a full service automotive service station in Brindleton Bay cleared a large hurdle in the Spring of 1916 with the securement of a sizeable investment from a certain Walter Fernald (heir of THE Fernald shipping fortune), who summered at the Cavalier Hotel every year. The sharp rise of excitement Will felt was mirrored by the swoop of dismay as he realized there really was nothing else for it: he had to tell his father.

It wasn't until after the evening milking that Will got the nerve to broach the subject. Twilight had descended on the farm, muting the verdant green of the grass poking up in the pasture. A soft breeze was rustling the newly unfurled birch and maple leaves. The air carried with it that particular spring quality of hopefulness and new beginnings; an aura that Will — nervous as he was — was rather oblivious to. He'd spent the day worrying over what to say, how to tell Hamish this huge news. The perfect words had been elusive, so what came out when he finally got the nerve to speak was terse, if not to the point.  

"Joe's offered me a job as a mechanic. I'm going to take it." Will felt an immense weight list from his shoulders as the words left his lips. His concern over his father's approval was still there, but it no longer ruled him; it was as if speaking it aloud had freed him. 

Hamish, who had been washing his hands at the pump, jerked at the statement, splashing water over himself. 

"Christ, Will, not one for a gentle breaking of news are you, son?" Hamish cursed under his breath as he removed his now soaked overcoat, leaving only his shirtsleeves. "He's expanding I suppose? I'd figured he might with how many autos there are on the roads these days." He sighed, and fished in his pocket for the slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes he always had there. Happy that they were dry enough he shook one out and busied himself with the business of lighting it.   

"I didn't know you wanted to leave, Will." While the words were spoken softly, they may as well have been shouted for the impact they had upon Will. He looked down, gripping the fence rail hard enough to hurt, not wanting to see the disappointment in his father's eyes. He was surprised when a work-worn hand appeared, offering a cigarette. He looked up to see his father's eyes did not hold disappointment, but some other inscrutable emotion. Will accepted silently, and his father equally silently held up the lighter to him before turning to look over the fields. 

"I don't think I ever really told you why I bought this farm, son." Will stayed silent, not wanting to ruin the moment. Hamish loved his son, but he was a taciturn man and had never been quick to share his feelings. Will sensed the story he had to tell was more than the simple one relayed to small children at their father's knee; that his father was offering Will a side of himself he had not seen before.

"My father was an exacting man to work for, you might not believe that 'cause he mellowed out with age a bit, but when I was young everything had to be done exactly how he wanted or there would be trouble. There was all this literature on new farming techniques, ways to increase yields, and I'd show it to him but he never wanted to hear it, never even let me try it on my own." Will thought he heard the ghost of the anger his father had held as a young man in those words.

"So I bought this place." He said it matter of factly. "If he wasn't going to let me do anything my way, I didn't see the point in working with him. Old Mr. Sable had always liked me, I'd help him out sometimes when I had extra time. After his wife died he just wanted to get rid of anything that reminded him of her, the farm included. He sold it to me for a steal really," Hamish said looking around at the farm; the buildings so lovingly maintained and improved by a quarter of a century of his father's hard work. 

"This is a good opportunity," Hamish said, abruptly switching the conversation back to the present. "I'm glad for you." He clapped Will on the shoulder. "Now I think your mother will be wondering why we've let her get her supper go cold while we stood out here." Will looked up to see his mother standing in the open kitchen door and grinned. 

"Well, now," Hamish said thoughtfully as he smiled up at Will's mother. "Meeting your mother was the real push to make my own move, has Ms. Parr been influencing this decision at all?"

Will started at the question, asked in a jovial, almost conspiratorial tone. As if his father was sure he knew the answer but only wanted to tease Will. The truth was, Will hadn't thought about Clara at all when making this decision.

His mother's impatient call to come to dinner saved Will from having to answer the question that should have had an easy answer to. As he sat down at the laden table in the warm, cozy kitchen and his father leaned down with a small smile to kiss his mother's cheek, he was gripped intensely by the desire to have something like this for himself. He found himself imagining a smaller kitchen, the table set for two, and the arms of his wife to welcome him home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell's private journal~

Winter 1914

I think it's always a bittersweet day when a mother realizes her little girl is well on her way to becoming a young woman. We recently celebrated Elsie's twelfth birthday and I hate to admit it, I found myself getting quite misty eyed when letting down her skirts for what feels like the fourth time this year. She's closing in on me heightwise and I swear just last year she was only at my elbow. She's looking so grown up even if she's still in short skirts and pigtails. Her hair has recently darkened to more of an auburn than the fiery red of her father. It's almost a combination of his and my coloring now.

I made a special birthday supper for her; she loves fish and Will was able to purchase a beautiful carp in town so we had that fried up with some tomato preserve. The real showstopper was dessert though, I made a coconut cake - a flavor none of us had had before. I had seen the recipe in my Ladies Home Journal and when I came across the coconut at Greenfield's it just felt serendipitous. They're ugly things and quite hard to get open, but the aroma was very pleasant. The cake turned out lovely, I even caught Charlie licking his plate, a behavior I strictly admonished. As a birthday treat, I wouldn't let her help a whit with the cooking or clean up, even if she has become quite a hand in the kitchen.

She's grown into such a responsible young lady, I am quite proud of her really. She's always quick to help and is quite accomplished with her embroidery and knitting. She can be a bit fanciful at times, no doubt encouraged by all the fantastical stories my father tells her and Charlie; I haven't the heart to tell them they're all embellished to high heaven or just pure fiction. The faith of youth is such a special thing and all too soon the world will feel more real. Time certainly sneaks up on you, I recently came to the sobering realization that I was only six years older when I married Hamish. It seems of late more and more of the young ladies of Brindleton have been finding beau's from further afield, Britechester or even San Myshuno. I can only hope Elsie won't stray so far when she marries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Christmas 1911

The holiday season at Sable Dairy was always a jolly, convivial time, with plenty of good food and fun to be had. Freddy's return from Britechester brought with it an increased energy and desire to make the most of the holiday.

The boys were tasked with finding and securing the perfect Christmas tree; selecting a fine fir from the small copse behind the farm. The assistance of a sledge was needed to drag it home, but once inside and garnished with a festive popcorn and cranberry garland it took up a dazzling countenance tucked up against the stair. The card table that usually sat there banished to the attic for the time being.

It would be a lie to say that none of the Sewells had a sweet tooth, and so a flurry of holiday baking was accomplished by both Violet and Elsie. Elsie, having recently discovered both a passion and talent for baking, had been allowed to build the annual gingerbread house unsupervised (with some assistance from Charlie). To Violet's delight, none of the pieces were broken, and only one had some small tooth marks that she was studiously ignoring.

A fine meal of roast ham, potatoes, vegetables, mince pies, and Christmas puddings was made by Violet. The family exclaimed that it was the best they had eaten yet; leftovers were scarce, despite the magnitude of the meal.

Under the tree, the collection of presents the family had gotten for one another was wrapped gaily in bright papers and festooned with ribbons. Will's present to Elsie was front and center; a wrapping job foregone due to the awkward shape and size. The small pram he had built, but the little mohair bear, the latest fad toy for young children, he had ordered himself from the Sims Roebuck Catalog, paying the fees with the money he had begun saving from the farm work and odd jobs he did. He had been right; the smile on her face had been completely worth it.

Violet received a teapot in a stylish new pattern. Charlie was gifted a wooden train set, each car hand carved by Will and the functional track built by Hamish. The bright paint job, with wheels that resembled the peppermint sweets Nathanial gave each of his grandchildren, was all by Violet's precise hand. Elsie received a new dress from her mother and father, with bright red embroidery and a snowy white collar; she donned it immediately. Hamish found a box of cigars under the tree with his name on them, but with a strict reminder from Violet not to smoke in the house. For Will, Hamish had purchased a sturdy and expansive tool kit, and for Freddy, a fine leather attaché to hold his school papers and a beautifully crafted fountain pen.

The day was long and filled with excitement and good times. The family perhaps stayed up later than they should, all except one that is. His father, once realizing his torpor, carried Charlie to his bed, where his dreams were full of trains made of gingerbread and passengers that bore striking resemblances to Christmas puddings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell's private journal~

Winter 1913

It is fortunate for the increased frequency of train travel between Brindleton and Britechester, or I do not think we would have seen Freddy for his birthday this year! He had only enough time to visit for a short luncheon; coming in on the morning train and leaving on the evening. He is so busy with his university that he insisted he must get back rather than spend the night here.

Despite his short stay, I went all out for the luncheon. I baked a decadently fudgy chocolate cake (his favorite!) and we had smoked salmon sandwiches and potato leek soup. It all felt very elevated to me. He seemed to enjoy himself grandly, and had three slices of cake! The rest of the children limited themselves to only one, in Charlie's case due to my edict rather than choice.

It's hard to believe that he is already eighteen! I'm not sure why, but in some ways Freddy has felt the most like my baby; perhaps because he was so fussy as a baby and required more attention than any of the other children have. As he's grown, that's changed, but I still remember those early days. Even if I only see him occasionally now, I want him to know how much I love him.

"He seems to be enjoying himself immensely at university, having graduated from Britechester Academy last spring. He's full of stories of his lab work and classes — only for disciplines of his own choosing (a thing he's just over the moon about) — though, I must admit, their appeal goes right over my head! Chemicals seem like such a nasty, dangerous business, but I suppose if that’s what makes him happy, I am glad he’s had the fortune to be able to study it."

He really does look like a proper man now, outfitted in his good wool suit and modern city man's hat and with his leather attaché that Hamish gave him for Christmas. He looks every bit the young university student, which I must say looks a bit out of place on a dairy farm. He's been leaving us slowly for a while, but this time as he left for the train station, it felt a bit more permanent. He hasn't lived here for any amount of time in over a year. He spent the last summer working for the Foxbury Electric Co., and informed us he will be doing the same this summer. I knew he would leave, but it's still hard to watch it happen. I just hope he'll remember to take the train to see his mother occasionally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

huge thank you to @tianasimstreehouse for the delightful sandwiches and soup, perfect for a birthday luncheon!!!

[antiquatedplumbobs]

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell's private journal~

Autumn 1910

I am almost dead on my feet with how weary I am, but it is a good weariness: the exhaustion that follows a day well spent and promises a satisfying night's sleep.

Today the Brindleton Grange held it's annual harvest festival. It is nowhere near as large as the New Simland State Fair, which while impressive in size and scope, leaves me drained physically and emotionally. We haven't ventured back since the boys were little and I learned just how difficult a journey of that length with young ones is. I like the more intimate feel of the harvest festival, celebrating the season with people we know and care about.

I was up late last night making biscuits for the luncheon and finishing my entry for the pie contest. I made my mother's buttermilk pumpkin pie, which never leaves a slice uneaten at home, but was yet again unable to unseat Anna Greenfield's spiced blueberry and bayberry pie from the first place position, I shall have to accept my second place ribbon with grace and decorum. The competition is really only for good fun and I was the first to beg a slice from Anna after the judging, that pie is stupendous and she only makes it once in the fall. Despite my very polite inquiries she refuses to part with the recipe.

However, the Sewell Family did not leave the festivities without a blue ribbon, Willy's pumpkin got top marks for size and appearance. He can be rather bashful about things like this, he's not prone to fits of ego or bragging, but I could tell he was quite pleased. And he doesn't really need to do his own bragging, since Hamish spent the whole afternoon telling everyone. The pumpkin competition might be a bit less friendly than that of the pies, menfolk being the way they are...

It was a bumper crop for apples this year and the children set up a game of bobbing for apples. I never played it as a child and I'm not sure I missed out, the girls got positively drenched playing at it. Elsie worst of all, though she did win several rounds so I suppose she got something for her efforts, even if it is only the respect of her peers. It does seem a bit unladylike to me, and I did give her a bit of a scolding for getting her dress wet, but I am so happy for her to have all the friends she does at this age, girlhood is no time to be lonely.

There were many fun activities for the children like pumpkin carving and even a hay maze. Charlie particularly enjoyed that distraction I could barely drag him out when it was time to go. I think that he and his little friends may have decided it was their castle and he was a knight charged with protecting it, but it's a bit hard to understand him on account of him being only three.

It was a jolly afternoon to celebrate what's left of autumn, there is a definite chill to the air this evening and I can almost smell the frost on the wind. The shutters are closed tight against the chill most nights now; I suppose I must accept that winter is hiding just around the corner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell's private journal~

Winter 1912

It's been quiet here lately; the bustle of the holiday season has calmed to a hushed stillness more typical to deep winter in Brindleton. 

A fearsome blizzard last week kept us confined to the house for several days and dampened our spirits, Charlie's fifth birthday offered a much-needed spot of excitement for us amidst the snow. Cake is always a good way to cheer up an irritable, cooped up household, and I was even able to bring a bit of a taste of warmer months to it by adorning it with some candied lemon I found at the back of the cupboard. The worst of the weather seems to have passed now, with only some small flurries here and there. 

The children were thrilled at the opportunity to get out of the house and play in all the freshly fallen snow. Elsie showed Charlie how to steer the old sled we have, and their gales of laughter from the hill behind the barn could be heard from inside the kitchen. I also spied some snow angels at the top of the hill, one a bit smaller than the other, when I was out feeding the chickens. I am so very grateful to have raised such a kind and helpful daughter; her assistance has been invaluable to me as he's grown. Sometimes I envy her early experience with helping to raise a boy — I certainly could have used that when I first had Willy and Freddy. 

The heavy blizzard and deep snow halted travel for a few days; even our closest neighbors, the Parrs, have been unreachable. Once the paths are cleared, society shall resume a bit more, and they'll both be off to the schoolhouse together. I know Elsie is excited to see her friends, even if Charlie made a suitable stand-in during the blizzard. This will be the first time in almost two decades that I have been alone in the house without a small child clinging to my skirts or weighed down by an expectant baby. The idea of this freedom is an attractive concept: I am not as young as I once was and must say I am glad to be done with mothering little ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Autumn 1910

The calendar may have said autumn, but Father Winter was breathing down the neck of every resident of Brindleton Bay. Small snow flurries had been teasing the town all week. None had stuck yet, but with ice starting to show around the edges of the ponds, it was only a matter of time.

Willy and Hamish were racing against the weather to finish an addition to the farmhouse. Violet's father had finally decided to step down from his role as lightkeeper at the Brindleton Headlight. It had taken much pleading and scolding in equal turn from Violet to accomplish this feat.

Nathanial had relinquished his role — somewhat grudgingly — to his overeager assistant Sidney. The promise to spend more time with family, particularly his young grandchildren, had turned the tide in retirement's favor.

Sable Farm was an old homestead, built to accommodate a smaller family, and no spare rooms were to be had for an aging relative. The roof of the kitchen had been raised to make space for a small bedsit, which would be snug and warm, and offer some privacy from the goings-on of the busy family.

Nathanial brought with him his expansive book collection, some family photos, a well used pipe, and a plethora of stories. The youngest Sewells were often found gathered around his armchair on the now chilly evenings enraptured by his tales of sea monsters, mermaids, and daring pirate captains.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Thanksgiving 1911

Dear Freddy,

I hope that you had a lovely holiday in Britechester — our celebration felt a bit incomplete without you. Though we missed having you here, our jealousy that your meal included Grandmother Minnie's leek and currant stuffing outweighed our sadness over your absence... I have thought fondly of that dish many a time since she moved away. I hope that you got seconds for me.

I was lucky to have help preparing the meal this year; I’ve been teaching Elsie to cook and she’s really catching on. She made the pumpkin pie almost completely by herself! It was your Grandmother Elsie's recipe, she's always admired her namesake's delicately written recipe cards, but I wouldn't let her use them until this year. I wouldn't be able to bear it if something happened to them.

It turned out positively beautifully and by the grace of God made it to the table — Charlie had it in his sights and I caught him just in time. I was quite upset and sent him to bed without his supper. I'm fairly certain I saw Elsie smuggle him a slice after dinner, though I pretended not to see.

We had all the other usual suspects: turkey, stuffing (though nowhere near as good as Minnie's), cranberry sauce, biscuits, and some greens. It was just the five of us, but we had a jolly time nonetheless.

It has been a long day and we are all exhausted, your brother, father, and grandfather all seem to have nodded off in the parlor. As soon as I finish the tidying up I'll wake them so we can all go to our proper beds. I am yawning almost every other word I write.

I miss you my dear, but I am so very proud of you. I hope that we might see you for Christmas.

Your loving mother,

Violet Sewell

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Autumn 1910

Autumn had well and truly arrived in Brindleton Bay. The trees were bedecked with fiery crowns as the maples blazed a shocking red; their last push of beauty before the slumber that winter brought. 

At Sable Farm, the Sewell family was slightly preoccupied with other matters. Their second son, Freddy, had recently departed for Britechester to return to his schooling, leaving the family off-kilter from his absence, despite the short nature of his school holiday visit. The time had flown by at an alarming rate, as his mother, Violet, had been heard exclaiming mournfully no less than twice a day. 

The evenings had a newfound chill to them, making a fire a welcome accompaniment to the evenings activities rather than an unpleasant necessity to endure as the summer cook fire often was. 

The family was at leisure, Hamish reading an agricultural periodical, Violet knitting something for someone, Elsie diligently practicing her embroidery, little Charlie busily stacking his blocks as high as they would go, and Willy, absorbed in perfecting the wooden train set he was whittling for Charlie. Spot, Willy's dog, slept loyally at his feet, enjoying the warmth of the flames.

The little family did feel the absence of their missing member, made all the more obvious by the new family portrait hanging above the mantle. The portrait was courtesy of a newly established photography studio, nestled among the dockworker's housing at Tail's End. The Sewells were respected among the town and their patronage was somewhat expected at a location such as this.

With the success of their dairy, the family had sprung for a series of photos to commemorate their growing children. Violet was all too aware that in the blink of an eye, the remaining young ones would be grown and off to make their own way, and all she would have to remember them was her memory — and now, a portrait hanging above the mantle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

I may or may not have been in game taking some Sewell family portraits (coming soon to a dash near you) and you know I couldn't pass up the chance to use @cattermelons amazing lovers rock posepack with my favorite late victorian couple!

As soon as I saw this pack I fell in love with the expressions and body language, such amazing creativity and execution here!!! Hamish and Violet are thriving and young at heart, even if their oldest is almost a young adult !

[antiquatedplumbobs]

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell’s private journal~

Summer 1908

Summer is winding down here, I’ve been seeing a few red and gold leaves peaking out from the trees. Autumn is just around the corner and Freddy will be leaving shortly for Britechester to attend school.

We’re all very excited for him and proud of his accomplishments, but it will be strange not having him around the house. He usually prefers the company of books to us, but he’s been spending more time with us lately, particularly his siblings.

He and Willy have been down at the inlet fishing almost every evening, they haven’t caught much, but I haven’t seen them spend this much time together in years. He’s been teaching Elsie all about the clouds and what the different shapes mean, he has all the latin terms memorized. It seems interesting, but I do question their choice to conduct their observations by laying down in the cow pasture.

He’s even been spending more time with Charlie, trying to teach him things as well. I’m not sure how much is sticking as the little man is only a year old, but there seems no harm in trying.

Even though he’s never been very interested in the farm, he’s been helping Hamish without complaint with the herd. Even though cows have never really been his thing, it is the easiest way to spend time with Hamish. I think we’re all just trying to enjoy the time we have left.

I’ve been cooking all his favorite meals in preparation. I know he’ll be well fed there, but making him flapjacks and beef wellington is an easy way to show him how much he means to me. My father came over from the island for a farewell dinner, and spent the rest of the evening teaching the boys all manner of card games and tricks in the parlor.

I’m so glad we’re able to send him away to school, I know it would have been devastating for him if he had to stop after the eighth grade like Willy. He has such a thirst for knowledge; I’m sure he’ll do great things with an education.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first

[antiquatedplumbobs]

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell’s private journal~

Autumn 1909

Mornings start early here. The cows don’t care if you don’t want to wake up at the crack of dawn, they’re up and waiting to be milked. Our rooster makes sure we don’t sleep in either.

We all have our own chores in the morning before we can have breakfast. Hamish and Willy make sure that the cows are fed, watered, and milked. Elsie helps me prepare breakfast by gathering the eggs and assisting with the cooking where she can.

We have to bake the bread that we started the night before and then make enough to feed two men coming in from hard labor on an empty stomach. Thank goodness our chickens are good layers, because those two can certainly put a dozen away easily.

After breakfast it’s back to more chores, school for Elsie, and even more chores; the herd has to be milked multiple times a day and the stalls kept clean. I try to keep an eye on Charlie, but he’s gotten so fast he’s been getting outside to bother Hamish and Willy while their working more often. I also have my own tasks to keep me busy, it seems as if they laundry is never quite done.

Thank goodness Hamish has willy to help him around the farm, I don’t think he could do it without him. Neither one of us is as young as we used to be, sometimes I chuckle thinking about the long days we would put in when we first moved here, with two little toddlers underfoot to boot. Elsie’s still young, but she’s quite helpful at keeping Charlie out of my hair.

Willy is growing into a fine young man, he’s almost the same age that I was when I was married. Though of course Hamish was a few years older. It’s strange to remember the chubby little baby he was and look up and see a man in front of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next / previous / first