Reggie's Independence

Today, July 4th, is a very special day for me, Dear Reader.  It marks Independence Day, one of the most important holidays of this Nation.  And it is also the day that I married, three years ago, my most beloved spouse, Boy Fenwick.

My grandfather's wedding ring
My father's wedding ring
My wedding ring

Today is our anniversary.

I never thought that I would marry.  I never thought that I would be able to marry.  That is, unless it was a marriage of convenience or "mariage blanc," an option I never considered seriously.  I am what was once referred to as "not the marrying kind," with a cynical wink and a knowing smile.

Well, no longer, thank you very much.

Something happened in this country that I never would have imagined possible, that people of "my kind" would be accorded, at least in some enlightened states, the right to marry spouses of the same sex.  Incredible, yes, but true.

And for those of us who thought that we would always be the ones left on the outside, as I did, always looking in as an outsider at the honeyed inner circle of those whose relationships were sanctioned and approved of under the bands of matrimony, unlike mine, it was a dream come true.

A slightly weird dream—I must admit—because even to this day I'm still somewhat surprised that I married a guy instead of a gal.  But I did, and I am most grateful that I was able to, and proud that I did.

A bas relief of George Washington
surmounted by the American flag
at Darlington House

Boy and I were married by a Justice of the Peace in Massachusetts three years ago today with our closest friends George Pinckney, Jasper Lambert, Francesca Montmore, and Hazel Hazaga at our sides.  Afterwards we repaired to Darlington House and celebrated the blessed union with a lobster dinner and an impromptu dance party that lasted into the wee hours of the night.

Boy and I chose to marry on Independence Day, Dear Reader, because of its significance as the day when our Founding Fathers declared our fledgling Nation's independence from the tyranny of Mother England.  Just as our own marriage declared, I believe, Boy's and my independence from the tyranny and oppression from the world that once told us that we did not, would never have, and were not worthy of the same right to marriage as our own brothers and sisters, and our own fathers and mothers.

2012 Macy's fireworks display
Image courtesy of bestofnj.com

I also chose this day to marry, Dear Reader, because I knew that the rest of our Nation would always join me each and every year on my anniversary, whether they realized it or appreciated it or not, with a joyous explosion of fireworks on every shore, village green, and byway in celebration and recognition that we all live here in the United States of America as one Nation, united with liberty and justice for all.

God bless America.

Photographs, unless noted, by Boy Fenwick

The Bottle Baskets of Darlington

Today's post, Dear Reader, is about bottle baskets.  Bottle baskets?  Yes, you read that correctly.

Ten or so years ago, Boy and I were out trolling the antiques shops in the surrounding area.  In a junk store, among the dross, Boy came across a dusty, old-fashioned rectangular wicker basket with an arched handle and internal dividers.  It was tagged for five dollars.

"What do you think?" he asked, holding it up for me to examine.

"I'm not so sure about that," I said.  "What would we use it for?"

"For what's it's made, silly, for carrying wine bottles, of course!" Boy responded as he handed it to the fellow who ran the shop.

I became a convert in short order, and since then we've acquired half a dozen or so bottle baskets.  And we use them frequently and for their intended purpose—to carry and store bottles.  They are attractive and sturdy little workhorses.  We keep one on the floor in our kitchen, next to Pompey's basket, filled with bottles of San Pellegrino.  We use others to bring bottles of wine up the stairs from our wine cellar for luncheons, dinners, and parties.  We've picked up all of these baskets at tag sales and group shoppes, usually for less than twenty dollars apiece.

Bottle baskets are particularly useful to have in an entertaining household.  During parties our caterer's staff find them most convenient and aesthetically pleasing for shuttling chilled bottles of white wine and Prosecco upstairs from our basement refrigerator to the bar set up in the center hall.  We have a large, two-handled one that holds twelve bottles, perfect for red wine at a porch or dinner party.  It is very decorative and looks more festive than bottles simply arrayed on a table.  You will notice that I'm showing it empty of wine bottles, though, because we . . . uh . . .  drank it all.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Mrs. Whaley, By Way of Maxminimus

I recently received a gift of a book from my esteemed fellow-blogger Maxminimus.  Titled Mrs. Whaley and Her Charleston Garden, the book is ostensibly about the author's justifiably famous garden in Charleston, South Carolina.  But it is more than that.  It is a charming and thought-provoking memoir that delves into Mrs. Whaley's past, her family, her marriage, and her philosophy of life.

Maxminimus' gift, photographed by Boy Fenwick
in the gardening barn at Darlington House

Maxminimus sent it to me, he said, because of the post I wrote awhile back, on Charleston Receipts.  He thought I might like it.  And he was right.

It is always so nice to have a book inscribed by its giver
Photograph by Boy Fenwick

It is not a particularly weighty tome, but it is one that resonates and ripples beyond its covers.  I highly recommend it to you, Dear Reader.

Mrs. Whaley's Charleston garden
Image courtesy of Preservation Nation

Mrs. Emily Whaley, who died in 1998 at the ripe age of eighty-seven, was of a vanishing breed of women that once spread throughout this country, whose population has been sadly depleted by the passage of time, the spiraling cost of living, and the supposed benefits of "progress."  She was of a class of women, largely wives and mothers, who were raised in a culture that valued tradition, continuity, self-discipline, service to others, and positive thinking.  While some, like Mrs. Whaley, were raised in affluence, it was not a prerequisite for belonging to this breed of women.  An appreciation for thrift and economy were also among its hallmarks.  They planned ahead.

Mrs. Emily Whaley with landscape architect Loutrel Briggs
Photographed in the 1970s
Mr. Briggs designed Mrs. Whaley's garden in 1940
Image courtesy of the Cultural Landscape Foundation

I was quite charmed by Mrs. Whaley's book, the stories she tells in its pages, and the nuggets of wisdom she shares.  The book is full of her keen observations and sensible opinions on matters ranging from working with others, marriage, raising a family, faith, getting involved, and being active.  She genuinely liked people, was appreciative of the advantages she had either been given or worked hard for, loved her dog Rosie, and didn't take herself (or others) too seriously.  She was happy to poke fun at herself.  And she was a worker, too—whether it be in her garden, helping out family members or friends, or toiling on behalf of a worthy cause.

Mrs. Emily Whaley with her beloved Rosie
sitting in her Charleston garden in 1997
Photographed by Milton Morris
Image courtesy of Workman Publishing Group

In short, Mrs. Whaley was a lady.  In the very best sense of the word.  She was someone that one would be proud to have as a mother or as a wife.  And she was a person that one would most certainly be honored to count as a treasured friend.

Thank you, Maxie, for introducing me to the delightful Mrs. Whaley.

Reggie is sure that you will enjoy Mrs. Whaley's memoir as much as he did, Dear Reader.  It can be ordered here from its publisher, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill.  It is also most likely available in print and on ebooks at your local public library.

Wedding Band China

For many years I've collected Paris Porcelain.  I inherited some that was passed down from my great grandmother Giggy, but I've added a lot more over time.

Made in France in the 19th century, what is today known as Paris Porcelain was highly popular in this country in the decades leading up to and following the Civil War.  Millions of pieces of it were shipped to America, often in blanks awaiting decoration.  Much of it was painted after it arrived on the shores of the young nation, and was most frequently decorated with gold rims and circles within the interior, as shown in the photographs accompanying this essay.  Known commonly as "Wedding Band China," a name prompted both by its decoration and the frequent giving of it to newly married couples, this type of Paris Porcelain makes a regular appearance at our meals at Darlington House.

I recall seeing an article many years ago in Martha Stewart Living magazine about collecting Wedding Band China, but I've not been able to locate the issue.  We didn't start saving issues of the magazine until the spring of 1998, shortly before we bought Darlington.

Why do I collect this china, you might ask, Dear Reader?  Because I have fond memories of eating off of it as a child in the house I grew up in, and because it is (or once was) readily available on the East Coast at (generally) very reasonable prices.  Also, it sits right in the middle of our collecting period for such things.  Furthermore, having stacks of it on hand is most convenient when throwing large buffet parties.

Wedding Band China can be found at tag sales, at yard sales, in junk shops, in group shoppes, and on eBay.  As these things go, it is usually quite inexpensive, and can often be picked up for less than ten dollars a dinner plate, and sometimes for substantially less.  At such prices, who cares if a plate chips or cracks?  Buy extra for breakage!

Yesterday, when out and about in the town near Darlington where we do much of our shopping, we came across a table piled high with Wedding Band China sitting in front of an antiques dealer's shop.  Pawing through the assortment of offerings on his Saturday sidewalk sale table we came up with nearly two dozen plates in varying sizes that we were able to buy for only one hundred dollars, or less than five dollars a plate.  Try coming away with that kind of bargain at Crate and Barrel, Dear Reader!

With but a quick sudsy scrub our once dusty plates were gleamingly clean, and they are now safely stowed in the dining room cupboard at Darlingon House, awaiting their next act.  And, to that end, just today at luncheon (eating off of two of our new/old plates, I might add) Boy and I hatched a plan to host a large bruncheon party in the not-too-distant future, where our expanded pile of plates will be a most useful and pleasing addition.

Reggie urges you, Dear Reader, to keep an eagle-eye out for Wedding Band China and to amass stacks of it to use at large buffet parties, as we do at Darlington House.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

The Salts of Darlington

The subject of today's essay is the vessels we use to hold salt.  As I wrote in last week's post, we do not shake our salt at Darlington House, but rather we pinch it and sprinkle it with our fingers.

A Regency-era cut-glass salt cellar

Although we have a collection of small silver spoons to scoop up salt from our cellars, we gave up using them years ago.  Too fussy and "genteel," in my view.  Besides, I like using my fingers to pick up the perfect amount of salt to season what I'm eating or cooking.

A jumble of unused silver salt spoons

At table in our dining room at Darlington we mostly use cut-glass salt cellars.  Some of them are from the Regency period, and some of them are later, in the Regency style.

We have them in various shapes and sizes.

We have other salt cellars, too, some of which are made of Sheffield silver . . .

. . . and some of which are made of mercury glass.

Boy found this tall mercury glass footed salt that we sometimes remember to use.

At our kitchen table we use heavy glass cellars for "every day."

We also use an antique horn pepper and salt cellar, from time to time.

I found this little milk glass chicken-in-a-basket salt cellar in one of the cabinets at Darlington House after we bought it.  It was left behind by the previous owners, the Procters.  I like to use it at breakfast.

For cooking we have glazed earthenware containers to hold different types of salt.

We fill our cellars with a variety of salts, including fleur de sel, kosher salt, and assorted flavored salts.

Tell me, Dear Reader, do you pinch or do you shake?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Bring Me the Rubirosa!

There was a time, not so long ago, when certain louche men of café society rather naughtily referred to a pepper mill as a "Rubirosa."  I'm not going to explain exactly why, Dear Reader, but if you're curious to know the reason, it's easy enough to find out why by doing only a modest amount of Internet searching . . .

But that's not the subject of today's post.  No, today's post is about the pepper and salt containers that we use at Darlington House.  Not quite so thrilling a subject, perhaps, but certainly a more appropriate one for this blog and for its readership.

When we first bought Darlington House and began to entertain in earnest, we used at table the silver pepper shakers that I grew up with, a wedding gift to my mother, MD.  They are in the shape of miniature eighteenth-century silver sugar casters, and they hold finely pre-ground pepper.  I paired them with an early set of Sheffield salts that I found on eBay.

Over time, though, I traded MD's silver pepper shakers for silver-banded ebony pepper grinders that I found at Scully & Scully on Park Avenue.   We pair them with unmatched Regency cut-glass salts.  This is what we use at table today at Darlington House.

In our kitchen, though, we use more humble vessels for salt and pepper.  When cooking, we use a latch-grinding pepper mill, and we have several earthenware salt containers to dig in to for pinches.

We keep white pepper in this white metal grinder:

At our kitchen table we use the Peugeot grinder shown at the outset of this post, along with a heavy glass salt cellar.  They are both very satisfying to use.

Interestingly, we haven't a single salt shaker at Darlington House.  We only use salt cellars, the subject of a subsequent post, Dear Reader.

Tell me, do you administer your pepper from a grinder or a shaker?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Another String Dispenser . . . and More

As I promised in my last post, Dear Reader, today's essay is about our trip to the Rhinebeck Antiques Fair, held in Rhinebeck, New York, every Memorial Day weekend.  First thing Saturday morning we piled in the Rover with our guests, Preston and Digby, and drove straight to the Dutchess County Fairgrounds, where the fair is held.  Not one of us was in much of a spending mood, unless, of course, an inevitable "must have" appeared in one booth or another, and we approached the fair more for entertainment than as a buying opportunity.

Boy's "new" nineteenth-century
English boxwood string dispenser

But, of course, that didn't mean we weren't shopping, because—despite our best intentions—we were.

In a display case at the booth of Michael Haskins Antiques, of Palmyra, New York, Boy spotted a "must have" for his collection of string dispensers, a turned-wood example that complements two already sitting in Darlington's kitchen.

"Three little [nineteenth-century
English turned-wood bee-skep-form]
string holders are we!"

One or two aisles before Boy found the string holder, I spied a large, early-nineteenth-century engraving in a lemon-yellow frame at the booth of John D. Gould Antiques.  It was unceremoniously sitting on the floor, propped against the wall behind a small tiger maple stand.  "What's that?" I asked.  Boy chimed in, "Is it 'The Death of Montgomery . . . '?"

An engraving after a Trumbull painting that the artist
painted for the purposes of having an engraving made.

"No," John said, "it's 'The Battle of Bunker Hill.'"  (Trumbull's painting, the source of the print, is generally known as "The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker's Hill, June 17, 1775," so Boy wasn't so far off, simply confusing his generals on a muggy May morning.)

Trumbull's painting, profitably licensed for engraving by
the artist, is in the collection of Boston's Museum of Fine Arts.
Other  Trumbull paintings of important scenes of the
American Revolution, including a study for this canvas,
are in the collection of the Yale University Art Gallery.
Image courtesy of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts

We will hang the print above an engraving of George Washington at the Battle of Trenton or Princeton (I cannot remember without abandoning my laptop and climbing the stairs) on the landing between the first and second floors of the front of Darlington House.  Boy plans to tilt it forward with a few clean wine corks, hanging it in the old taste.

A perfect pair for tilting the top of a painting, print, or mirror.

Our first purchase at the fair was the humblest: two old cast-iron irons, one sporting an anchor on its handle.  Last weekend handyman Rich and his helper, Tony, carried out all of the wicker furniture, lamps, and other furnishings from the barn and the basement, and set up the screened porch.  When we depart Darlington for the city in the summer, we push everything on the porch together and throw a big canvas tarp over the lot, weighing down the corners with old irons.  Last Sunday afternoon, Boy suggested we find a few more of them (several were left behind in the house when we bought it) to better anchor the tarp against stormy winds.  And so we now have a few more of them.

Anchors away?

And that, Dear Reader, completes our Rhinebeck morning, done at Mach speed in under an hour!

Tell me, what did you find out and about in your travels this Memorial Day weekend?

Photographs, except where noted, by Boy Fenwick