WHITE FARMHOUSE KITCHEN TABLE - WHITE FARMHOUSE

19 listopad 2011


White Farmhouse Kitchen Table - 60 Round Folding Tables



White Farmhouse Kitchen Table





white farmhouse kitchen table






    farmhouse kitchen
  • Farmhouse Kitchen was a cookery series that was produced by Yorkshire Television and aired on the ITV network from 1971 until 1989. It was hosted by Dorothy Sleightholme and later by Grace Mulligan.

  • A farmhouse kitchen is a kitchen room designed for food preparation, dining and a sociable space. Typical of poorer farmhouses throughout the Middle Ages where rooms were limited, wealthier households would separate the smoke of the kitchen from the dining and entertaining areas, farmhouse





    white
  • a member of the Caucasoid race

  • being of the achromatic color of maximum lightness; having little or no hue owing to reflection of almost all incident light; "as white as fresh snow"; "a bride's white dress"

  • whiten: turn white; "This detergent will whiten your laundry"

  • Paint or turn (something) white





    table
  • a piece of furniture having a smooth flat top that is usually supported by one or more vertical legs; "it was a sturdy table"

  • a set of data arranged in rows and columns; "see table 1"

  • Present formally for discussion or consideration at a meeting

  • Postpone consideration of

  • postpone: hold back to a later time; "let's postpone the exam"











52.46... seeing visually




52.46... seeing visually





I think I may have mentioned this before, but the big joke in my most intimate crowd of friends is "Oh that's Karen... she sees things VISUALLY". (beat) (beat) (beat) Duh-uh!

It's my own fault. I think it mighta been at the Thanksgiving table a few years ago when I- without adequate aforethought- blurted out in the middle of a conversation "Well that's because I see everything visually". Meaning that I'm more highly attuned to visual stimuli than to anything else in a given situation. If the light's too bright- in my opinion- in a room I will have a hard time concentrating on what is being said until I adjust it. Certain colors- or color combinations- will make my teeth clench. I can remember minute details of the rooms of houses I was in years ago even when I can't call to mind the name of the host. And visual chaos, other than of course my own clutter, will render me incapable of productivity... and even my own visually cacophonous environment will get to me when it reaches a certain point. Didn't have my camera with me on my walk home today from my nutritionist appointment, so of course I saw two dozen imaginary oblong frames over perfect photo ops through my built-in organic viewfinder in the course of two miles.

I'm sure the visual bunch around here can relate!

For some reason this penchant of mine seems particularly acute near the holidays. In both good and bad ways. I love, for instance, how illumination can be used so beautifully to set mood for the "dark of winter" holidays that hover around the solstice. And I have a healthy appreciation for some good old fashioned kitsch... good thing in my neighborhood! But I have no tolerance for the "over the top" sensibilities of the "bigger is better" crowd. Last night when I was over at Matt's for the weekly viewing of my favorite show "Pushing Daisies"- beloved by me mostly for it's fabulous visual sense, but also it's slightly absurd point of view- I hit my limit of bad holiday advertising visuals in less than three hours. A new record I believe. Luckily, I have a significant counterbalance in memories of holidays past.

Last week when I was making pies the day before the holiday, with a buncha friends and family laughing and talking at a table across the room, just the act of looking down into the bowl at the pastry blender mixing fat and flour conjured up a breathtaking remembrance of the barren front yard and manual water pump of my Indiana grandmother. As a very young child I would sit on her ramshackle sagging porch staring out at that pump while we waited impatiently for the pie-day treat she always made us... little individual piecrusts to eat plain and salty and warm from the oven. And then, as always happens when that visual comes to mind, I remembered too how her kitchen looked when my grandad would take a bath in the galvanized tub, with water from the pump heated in kettles on the stove while she was baking the pies. If I was paid to I don't believe I could recall the timbre of my grandfather's voice, or what kind of fillings grandma put in the full-sized piecrusts.... but I could paint you an accurate picture of that front yard, and can draw a groundplan of that kitchen with its farmhouse table and well-used butter churn and the hole in one of the sagging floorboards that you had to avoid. It's not that I didn't love them.... it's that my visual memories overwhelm most of the others.

There's another visual memory I was trying to describe to Matt recently. Much harder to describe. One Christmas Eve when I was maybe 8 or 9 or 10 years old, and we lived in a happy but crowded small duplex, I escaped to the tiny bathroom- the only room with a lock on the door- to elude the party downstairs and the inevitable festive chaos for a few minutes. It had snowed that day, which prompted some of the celebration below, and in there, with the lights turned off, the quality of the light that came through the venetian blinds- reflected off the cold white untrammeled-as-yet snow twenty feet below- had a serenity and a magical quality to it that I've never forgotten. Almost blue, but feeling both warm and cool at the same time. Bright enough that there must have been a full moon, though I don't recall seeing it. The din belowstairs seemed far away for a moment, and there was a feeling of promise to it that I know had to do with anticipation of Christmas, but that felt- in that moment- something more portentous than that.

I bring this one up because, over the many years since that night, maybe once every few years, I will be in a dark room somewhere and the quality of the light will immediately transport me back to that moment.... and I'll see it again as if I'm a child sitting in that tiny bathroom, just hours before Santa's anticipated arrival by sleigh. It's a very happy feeling.

Not all of the visual memories are holiday related, of course. Seeing lavendar growing anywhere n











Cornish Farmer




Cornish Farmer





One of a set.

This farmer had grown up on this farm and worked it for over fifty years, at the time of this series he was living with just his mother (as can be seen from other shots). Terry did not own the farm however, he was a tennant on the land and last year the owner sold the farm on to a rich friend who set about turning the farm into a genteel landscape rather than the farm it had been for countless years. Terry was served with his eviction notice and now lives in bungalow in a nearby town.

I see this series as a capture of a place and a time, neither of which exist anymore. For me it shows the fleeting nature of life and how even fifty years of working and living in one place can mean no more than a few images.

Without these images Terry would not have existed to most of the rest of the world.









white farmhouse kitchen table







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