Miss Scarlett, In The Greenhouse, With Secateurs

{Bunny Mellon's conservatory via current issue of Vanity Fair}

It's 3AM and I'm up late writing the story about the story behind Picnic at Hanging Rock. Specifically, I'm writing about the fictional orphan called Sara Weybourne, who came to a tragic death after she was pushed (or jumped, but I'm with the Push Verdict) out of an attic window of an elite girls' school called Appleyard College. If the fall/push wasn't tragic enough, poor Sara fell directly into the roof of the school's greenhouse, where the gardener only discovered her twisted body amid the broken pansy pots a day or so later.

This terrible and utterly heartbreaking point in the narrative is pivotal to the plot because it heralds the decline of not only the school but also its headmistress, the terrifying and formidable Mrs Appleyard. If you haven't read Picnic at Hanging Rock, it's perhaps too much to explain here, however the short version is that there's a scandal, schoolgirls disappear, and the school never recovers. Mrs Appleyard eventually goes to the top of Hanging Rock and throws herself and her Edwardian corset off. It's worth a read. If you can't be bothered though, just watch the film.

Curiously, Picnic's author, Joan Lindsay, knew something about greenhouses and gardens, having grown up in an enormous estate that had its own enormous garden. She also knew about death. And ghosts. And indeed pansies, which is the flower she plucked to use as a metaphor for little Sarah's death. There's a lot in this pansy scene; far more than most readers realise. In fact, it could almost be the key to the whole story.

I can't reveal too much, as I'm still writing. But in tribute to Miss Sara, I thought I'd do a greenhouse / conservatory post. Just to show they can also be places of beauty, serenity, growth and pure horticultural glory. I don't think any whodunnit novels were set in these splendid spreads? Then again, I could be wrong. I often am.

Bunny Mellon's famously theatrical conservatory in Virginia, featured in the latest Vanity Fair. Doesn't it have something of a stage set about it? I think this is quite possibly the ultimate in private conservatories. Imagine pottering about with your botanicals here?  

A detail of the trompe l'oeil in Bunny Mellon's conservatory. This wall-length mural was designed / painted by Fernand Renard.

The gorgeous conservatory breakfast room of Number Sixteen hotel in South Kensington, London; part of the Firmdale Hotel group. I always stay here whenever I'm in London – or at the Dean Street Townhouse, which is just as pretty. I think I like this hotel just for this beautiful space – and the sublime garden hidden behind it.

The exquisite orangerie of the Moet et Chandon estate in France.

The Palmenhaus in Vienna, which has been turned into a stunning brasserie and bar. I think I'd travel to Vienna just to see this extraordinary building. www.palmenhaus.at

The beautiful buy-off-the-shelf conservatories of Going Going Green. You can have these for a mere $50,000. Imagine this as an office in the corner of the garden?

The sweet make-your-own, pop-up conservatory, 'Plantini', designed by the whizzes at Another Studio / PostCarten and Finch & Fouracre. These even come with a DIY planting scheme. (Okay, so they only provide viola or alfafa seeds, but they could look like the palms at Kew Gardens!) I love the marketing spiel that comes with it – "Experience the grandeur of the Victorian botanical garden in the palm of your hand. Raise your own specimen of ‘Lepidium sativum’ under the ornate arches of your miniature plant house - within a week you can invite your friends and rivals to wonder at the magnificent fauna you have cultivated." Just fantastic. www.postcarden.com

Another cute paper conservatory design from the Another Studio gang. www.postcarden.com

Even table decorations are starting to be inspired by the conservatory aesthetic! Via Traditional Home.

The new pop-up greenhouse created by the imaginative designers behind the REDValentino label,

 Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli. Think clusters of delicate white butterflies, garments and gardening items intertwined in delightful style, lovely scarves enclosed in sheer glass bulb containers, and gumboots suspended over  wooden counters, while the colored jewelry look like seeds planted inside small white pots. Exquisite. And all to promote a new collection. This was on show in St Tropez this month. I wish it would tour the world.

A solar-powered greenhouse in Finland, which the owners use as a spare bedroom. I'd never get out of bed with this view. {Unsure of source; please notify me if you know.}

NB We, too, have been inspired by the conservatory style. Our new library is an ode to these serene green spaces. Will fill you all in once I get a chance to take some snaps!

Crossing To Safety

Things have been quite in The Library, and for that I'd like to sincerely apologise. A little over a month ago, I was in New York, frantically shooting a book. Three weeks ago we were packing up 50 tea chests and just as many pieces of furniture in preparation for our move back to the city, and our new home. Then, two weeks ago, my older brother hit one of life's brick walls.

In between unpacking, writing books and 'decorating' (aka slapping some paint on the walls!) I drove to my parents' house, where he was staying while they were away, to help him through it. As I am not the world's greatest cook, I bought him soups and chocolate-chip cookies, refilled the toilet paper and laundry powder containers, did the washing, cleaned the house and gathered up the remnants of a broken heart. Sadly, he and my other brother have cut ties (my other brother is siding with my sister-in-law), but I decided not to be a 'sider'. I decided to simply be a sister who cares. Because I believe that sometimes you have to show a little compassion.

In Wallace Stegner's book Crossing To Safety (did you catch it on Jennifer Byrne's First Tuesday Book Club?), Terry Tempest Williams wrote in his Introduction that we need to "make accommodations" for people, meaning we need to show humanity, compassion, even generosity. We need to make space for people in our lives, he said. Accommodations. "In reading Crossing to Safety" I began reading my own relationships, wondering what accommodations I have made, (and) need to make" he wrote. The road to maturity, he said, flows through these accommodations.

{Via Country Style magazine and Brabourne Farm}

I liked that. Perhaps more than I liked the actual book. I liked the idea that we need to live a dignified life; and in order to do that we need to treat others with a little dignity too. I also like the concept that life is like a house, and the more we open our 'house' up to people, the more our house becomes a home.

{By Sheila Creighton}

Watching my older brother go through his traumatic life crisis broke my heart, but it also reminded me why humanity is so important. Just as important as family. I have invited him to live with us for a little while, just so I can keep an eye on him.

Soon, my mother-in-law may also be shifting in, only she's in a wheelchair so it's going to be a challenge tackling the stairs. Nevertheless, we will love having her here too, curmudgeonly comments and all.

Welcome to life in The Modern Family. Wallace Stegner would have surely approved.

Our bedrooms are now all booked up. Our 'accommodations' are well and truly full.

It's just as well I snaffled the study early on, so I have a small space to hide.

Armani, Gardens & A Verdant New Trend

If you're averse to green – and many people are – then look away now. I have become seriously obsessed with this fresh, sophisticated colour, and it seems I'm not the only one. {Image via Vogue Italia 2008}

Mr Armani used it for most of his recent 2012 couture collection, sending models out looking like fairies in a Cotswold garden. (Albeit very tall ones. With funny hats.)

Mr Oscar de la Renta is also fond of it (love the emerald frock with the cute turquoise heels above) – and no wonder, when his Connecticut weekender is a haven of greenery.

Mr Jeffrey Bilhuber also loves it for its therapeutic qualities. I shot his Oyster Bay / Long Island mansion two years and just photographing his kitchen garden made my heart lighter. Interestingly, Mr Bilhuber believes that green is dazzling to the complexion. "Green brings out the pink in you," he says. I believe him.

Green has integrity. Strength. Life. It speaks of new beginnings (think spring), fresh starts, growth, and hope. It elevates the spirits and brightens the heart. All of which is just what we need in this economic climate. No wonder we're all looking to it for decorating inspiration. {Images above and immediately below from a recent issue of Veranda magazine. Loved this cover. Loved it.}

I just adore it because it reminds me of gardens. Seeing it is like looking out a window to a view of spring. Nothing makes me happier.

"I love Farrow & Ball's Cooking Apple Green. I've just used it in the great room of a New England barn and the walls just pull all the green out of the landscape". Christopher Ridolfi

"Green works just as well in Palm Beach with hot pinks as in New York with black and white." DD Allen.

"I first saw [a luminous green] in the dining room of Charlotte Moss's shop, Townhouse. Trust Charlotte to know!" John Yunis 

"I just did green in a parlour in Charleston with a lot of white woodwork. Dogs love it!" Mario Buatta

"There's a cafe in Paris near the Place des Voges that has an unusual green on the walls, a kind of old-world colour that makes you feel calm. Think of a mossy garden after the rain. It would be a beautiful colour with black and white toile – or stripes." Stephen Shubel

Chair by Thibault Design

A recent advertisement from Travers.

The glorious cover of Charlotte Moss' bestselling book.

Litchfield style.

Princess Sophia of France, via Fallon Elizabeth. (A great little site.)

A modern kitchen with a traditional edge, via House Beautiful. Love the gingham ceiling.

Our Jack Russell X, Coco, at Como Park yesterday. She adores green too.

Washington Mews, New York, photographed on our recent trip. (This street is full of the prettiest houses.)

A vintage tulle gown in a SoHo, New York, store, shot on our recent trip. I loved the colour of this against the worn floorboards.

Vogue, June 1959.

The view from our sitting room. (The 'I Haven' sign is Danish for 'Out in the garden'. It's a vintage sign I picked up while visiting family in Denmark. It was only 10 kroner. I just love it.)

A corner of our new library. The Louis Vuitton poster was one of my few purchases from New York.

Another corner of our new library. More on this in the next few posts. 

City v Country Life (The Last Word)

Only 2 weeks in our new house and RR is complaining. He says there is too much "traffic noise". "What traffic noise?" I said. "That traffic noise!" he replied. I cocked my head to listen. There was a lone car driving past. Perhaps two. "There!" he said.

This is the response from a man who has spent the last two years living on a village lane so quiet you could walk down the middle of it and not worry about getting run over.

"You mean, that traffic noise?" I said, as another car chugged past. This one was going so slow I could hear Karise Eden's Hallelujah spilling out the open windows. In fact, it was going so slow I think I heard the whole song.  “Can’t you hear it?” he said, incredulous that I could be so facetious in the face of this urban cacophony.

“Can’t you sleep?” I asked him, wondering why he was being so uncharacteristically grumpy. “Well, it’s not as bad as New York, but it’s still loud,” he argued.

Here’s the irony. He grew up in North Adelaide, where traffic, while not Times Square, is still a constant. I, on the other hand, grew up in the country, where the only sounds were the cows calling to be milked. But now, as adults, we have switched aural allegiances. I prefer city living, where the sounds of sirens and drunks falling out of pubs lull me to sleep at night. He prefers the country, where a bike bell is enough to raise his head from his Sunday stupor. He’s having trouble adjusting to city living again after two years of village life. But I – oh my – I have embraced the return to urbanity with the fervour of Tom Cruise returning to a Scientology session after Katie pulled the pin on their fraying marriage. I love being able to walk down to the shops, rather than driving for 20 minutes down a mountain in a thick mist. I adore the fact that there is a supermarket around the corner. (“Oh, you’re out of beer honey! I’ll get that!” Actually, I’d probably never say that...) And I relish the proximity to the cross-city freeway, which is, oh, about a kilometre down the road. If the international airport was closer, I’d be as happy as Katie Holmes looking at her cheque account right now.

This is the problem facing a urban/rural relationship. One of you is never going to be 100% happy. “Perhaps we could buy a little cottage in the country one day?” he suggested yesterday. “I was thinking we could buy a little pied-a-terre apartment in the CBD?” I said sheepishly. I didn’t want to tell him I’d already dreamed of finding a cheap little studio in Paris. Right above the bustling Boulevard Saint-Germain. Or, failing that, in New York. Somewhere near the lovely hustle of Madison Square Park. (We haven’t entirely ruled out moving to the US. Or should that be, I haven’t.)

Reading one of Ben Petreath’s blog posts the other day, I laughed at the responses to his musings about country living v city life. It’s true that urbanites romanticize rural idylls. Sometimes the grass really is greener in the middle of the metropolis.

Here are some comments from both Ben’s post and also www.missminimalist.com. (Scroll down to read.) If you haven’t yet visited Ben’s delightful blog, do drop by, if only for a gawp at his enviable garden and life. Oh – and if you're in the country and need a city fix, here are some more photos from my recent love affair New York.

Manhattan, I'll be back soon. I promise.

See? There are cows in the city!

COMMENTS ON CITY V COUNTRY LIFE

“I don’t think there’s anything beautiful about muddy fields and that’s what the countryside is. I think most city-dwellers have a romanticised view of the countryside. It’s only pretty if you don’t see it day in, day out. After seeing it for a while, you grow to loathe it.” FERN

“In the country you’ll generally have one shop in a small village, if you’re lucky (most places round here don’t have any shops at all and perhaps not any even within walking distance), but if you want anything more than a newspaper you’ll have to drive to a chain store. Oh, and there’s no public transport/proper streetlighting/pavements, so you HAVE to drive (which is incredibly limiting if you can’t).” FERN (She was on a roll.)

“In my experience, the close-knit communities you get from small villages generally foster resentment and oneupmanship rather than community spirit. I don’t know anyone who gets on with their neighbours.” (Yep, FERN again!)

“I wish I loved living in the country, but I really do not. I must admit that it really is beautiful out here, but we are so far removed from any conveniences (like grocery stores) that I fail to see the beauty most of the time.” JENNIFER

“We love living in the country. Sorry about your mud, Fern.” LORI

“I love London (with a slightly bigger garden?) for all-year-round living; the countryside can be grim in winter.” IAN

“I live in the country and come to London about twice a month on weekends. I love to catch the 18.34 on Friday evenings and observe the changes in the landscape with each stop towards London. I stick my head out of the little windows between carriages and sniff the air like dogs do, although I’m sure I don’t look as noble; foliage, manure, river and then on to diesel, dust and chip oil. For some reason a little wander through Boots on the London side helps me adjust to the pace of the city.” GIRLFROMTHERIVER

“Ah the country! Always the country.” KELLY

A Parisian Carriage House: An Extraordinary Before & After

Our life seems to have exploded at the moment, so while we wait for the dust to settle I thought I'd post a quick but cute story about a gorgeous Parisian carriage house that I spotted while browsing The New York Times' archives last month. Some of you may have already seen this, so my apologies if you have, but for those who haven't, it's worth a glance. If, like me, you've always wanted to have your own little Parisian pied-a-terre, a carriage house such as this could be the solution. More details of the project can be found here. {Photo credit: Valerio Mezzanotti for The New York Times.}

Designer: New York interior designer Kein Cross. Building: A two-storey, 18th-century courtyard house in Paris, a few steps from the Notre Dame. Dimensions: 19 feet wide by 6 feet deep.Design Challenges: The living room, minus the area taken up by a stairway, was less than 4 feet deep. The kitchen was so tiny there was no room to open the oven. Furthermore, the exterior featured a bricked-up window, and a facade that would have scared off most designers. Positive points: There was a courtyard. And the rent was half market rate. Budget:  $25,000.

Parisian carriage house exterior: Before

Parisian carriage house exterior: After

Design Solutions

Parisian carriage house kitchen: Before

Parisian carriage house kitchen: After

As the kitchen was too small for an oven, a two-burner cooktop was installed, along with a professional, Parisian-style coffeemaker, which was almost as big as a stove. 

Parisian carriage house living room: Before

Parisian carriage house living room: After

The living area was so small there wasn’t room for a couch or even a pair of chairs. So Mr. Cross created what he calls a pasha’s bed: the end of a modular sofa that cost about $1,000.

Parisian carriage house bedroom: Before

Parisian carriage house bedroom: After

The bedroom was another challenge. Hoping to evoke the romance of sleeping on a train, Mr. Cross bought a bunk bed with a futon that opened to a double bed on the bottom. But the futon was so uncomfortable he threw it out and bought a full-size mattress that doesn’t fold up. Even so, it is a cozy space, with the bottom of the upper berth covered in striped wallpaper and a cushion against the back wall.

Parisian carriage house bathroom: Before

Parisian carriage house bathroom: After

In the bathroom, he replaced the sink and mirror, regrouted the white tiles, installed $69 glass shower doors, added two rows of black tiles and striped the bathtub with black enamel paint.

The end result? A dream house in Paris.