Recently, I’ve noticed a little shade being thrown about the deluge of blogging in the ‘90’s. While posting every day is not something that I’m interested in doing, I feel so fortunate that Mrs. Blandings introduced me to so many lovely people. Christopher Spitzmiller would certainly be near the top of that list.
While our paths have not crossed for a while – in fact, most people with whom I’ve crossed paths for the last year share my DNA – I have so much respect for his work, and more so in how he lives his life.
If you don’t follow him on Instagram you’re missing snapshots into a very careful, but not contrived, celebration of the everydayness of living. While that can easily slide by with the swipe of an index finger – or a quick double tap – Christopher has created a beautiful and permanent record of A Year at Clove Brook Farm, his escape in upstate New York.
While the images have some Martha Stewart perfectness about them (he and Ms. Stewart are friends, after all), if you take the time to read the text, you’ll find a very personal tale of how he’s created this refuge for himself and his friends. Not all of it is shiny success and instant gratification. As with any of us, though perhaps on a different scale, he has had to wait, he has had to reconsider and sometimes he has had to redo what he’d already redone.
In the midst of my own kitchen renovation and garden evolution (which, let’s face it, was really more like resurrecting something from the dead), I’ve found his book to be both delightful inspiration and practical resource. It may be just the solace I need if the impending snowstorm has disastrous effects on my peonies.
p.s. If you’re an Instagram fan – quick! – follow Orangerie Garden + Home, Anthony Bellomo’s garden shop and nursery in Millbrook, New York. Bellomo is Christopher’s partner. The shop is heaven.
All photography featured here by Gemma & Andrew Ingalls
I have seen several Youtube videos on Spitzmiller, and his vision is definitely one worth studying. He seems to avoid the extremes where everything is either too good and fussy, or so minimal that objects have lost their meaning and stories.
–Jim
Some of my favorite connections were made through those blogs, and they have endured the transmutations of the virtual world since then. Inspired me, made me smile or think, and offered virtual friendship that has been a joy in my life. I hope you know that you are one I treasure! ❤️
Thank you, Nancy!
So lovely to see your post. It matters not to me what you post — I really don’t care. I simply love whatever you do or find interesting.
Hint: I’d love to see some pictures of your kitchen renovation.
I was sort of thinking the same thing regarding the kitchen. It’s mostly a mess and likely not finished until June, but I’m happy to take you along for the ride. (You can remind me I said June when that lovely month comes and goes.)
I too would love to see your kitchen renovation, but am also glad to hear about your sons and getting through Covid, and enjoy what ever you write about. I suppose we are all older now, and perhaps unfashionable to younger instagrammers or tictokers but I loved the written dialogue that blogging allowed. I live in a fairly rural area, and being able to read and sometimes interact with people who were interested in similar things was an opening of the world and still is. Its slower, sometimes amateurish in certain blogs, but valuable part of internet life for me.