Rooster with a view. Follow the link to see this image on a KHS note card.Ever wonder why so many weathervanes feature roosters? Do roosters have special knowledge of or interest in wind direction? I had long figured it was some agrarian tradition. Not so. Bruce Irving writes in the March/April 2012 issue of Design New England that according to legend, in the ninth century, Pope Nicholas I “decreed that all church weathervanes would thenceforth be roosters, a reference to Christ’s prediction that, before the cock crowed the morning after the last supper, his apostle Peter would thrice deny knowing him.” The rooster theme eventually spread far beyond churches to secular belfries, barns, and gazebos, as well.

Many, over the years, have chosen to veer from the rooster weathervane tradition and embrace all manner of creature to signal wind direction. There’s the grasshopper by Shem Drowne atop Faneuil Hall, the dove of peace (originally) by Joseph Rakestraw at Mount Vernon, and the shark by Travis Tuck on Quint’s shanty in “Jaws”. Okay, the shark weathervane never made an actual appearance in the film, but it did get metal sculptor Travis Tuck designing and creating one-of-a-kind weather vanes. Tuck passed away in 2002, but the business he began thrives today as Tuck & Holand Metal Sculptors. What fun it would be to commission a custom weathervane, perhaps of a wire-haired Dachshund, or a Banks Dory, or a trowel. What type of weathervane would you commission? Let me know at the KHS Facebook Page.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast

Wicker in my parents' summerhouseAvery Corman’s “Moving Through Grief, Chair by Chair” in last weekend’s New York Times touches on our unique relationship to the furniture and furnishings of the lives we hold dear. Corman writes tenderly of his late wife’s talent for finding and selecting the things that outfit their country home, their New York apartment, their friends’ homes, and the homes of those who were patrons of her shop in Bridgehampton, N.Y.

Though Corman is the author of the novel Kramer vs. Kramer, he and his wife were happily married. She died in 2004. Corman “nearly remembers” where she acquired each piece of wicker furniture, quilt, and pillow. Each had a story, her and his story. Of course, we are more than our furniture and furnishings, but they do reflect the lives we’ve opted to embrace.

I remember when my husband and I were a young, unmarried couple, living together in Rhode Island. Money was tight and our budget for furniture and furnishings was minimal to non-existent. I had grown up with my mom’s favorite wicker furniture -- on the family porch in the summer and then in the family breakfast area off season. I’d taken a liking to the informality of wicker; plus, it was more economical than many other furniture options. When my then future-husband got wind of my intention to hunt for some wicker furniture, he informed me, in no uncertain terms, that there would be no wicker in our house. Since he was typically more concerned with boats and boat gear than domestic décor, and rarely one to declare a non-ironic rule, I found his no-wicker edict charming. It became one of our pet jokes. I would taunt him with catalogs depicting fussy white wicker dressed up with floral cushions, and tease that I was placing an order. But to this day, no wicker has darkened our home’s doorstep, and a reminder of its absence brings smiles to our faces.

Furniture and furnishings, those pieces we’ve intentionally selected or intentionally not selected, often reveal who we are.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast

Sometimes a building speaks to us loud and clear, but we’re not exactly sure why its call holds such a grip on us. Such was the case with this white-stuccoed cottage with a hipped gable, partial half-timbering, and centered, ocean-blue shutter. It instantly made me smile, much the way catching glimpse of a favorite dog breed will.

In my family, we tend to assign the characteristics of much-revered animals to much-revered people and objects. There doesn’t seem to be an English word for this, not “anthropomorphize” but, perhaps, “animalpomorphize” – though dictionary.com tells me this isn’t a word.

In any case, this little structure reminds me of an Emperor Penguin. Have you seen the March of the Penguins movie? Plus, a PBS Nature episode about animal babies recently aired, and there, again, were charming, waddling Emperor Penguins. Somehow, I see in this hipped gable, two window eyes in a stout white body of an Emperor Penguin. The half-timbering even reminds me of the contrasting coloring of the Emperor Penguin face. In addition, the location and disposition of the blue shutter reminds me of where an Emperor Penguin shelters her or his newborn, in front, down between her or his feet.

But if you’re not one for “animalpomorphization”, this cottage also passes my Recipe for Architectural Charm. Does it pass yours?

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast

Sponsored by Salem Arts Association (SAA) & Shetland Park: March 16 - June 30, 2012

Hope you can join me at the Opening Reception: Friday, March 16, 4-6 pm at the Building One Atrium and Small Business Center (27 Congress St., Salem, MA).

Each featured SAA photographer (including myself) will be exhibiting up to six photos representative of the artist's body of work.

Visiting hours: 9 a.m.–6 p.m., Monday–Saturday

Come take a look, if you can.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast