Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [4]
They trimmed berry bushes, pruned fruit trees, and brought back the rose gardens and fountains. They built chicken houses and saw a flock of sheep through a bitter winter. Room by room, they painstakingly restored the Blackwell mansion to the glory of a forgotten age.
“Financially, it’s been a fiasco,” Cici says frankly. “Old houses are expensive, and that’s the bottom line. We never know where the money for the next project is coming from. But emotionally ... this has been the time of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
The next project for this ambitious crew is to restore the vineyard, with an eye toward eventually reopening the Blackwell Farm winery.
“We don’t have the faintest idea what we’re doing,” says Lindsay with a laugh, “but that never stopped us before. The great thing about wine is that it takes a long time to make, and we can learn on the job.”
Meanwhile, the vivacious redhead...
Lindsay grinned. “That’s the part I was waiting for.”
Cici obligingly read it again.
Meanwhile the vivacious redhead is fulfilling her lifelong dream by opening an art studio in the old dairy barn of Ladybug Farm.
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do all my life,” Lindsay says. “It’s why I became a teacher, really. I only have a handful of students right now, but I’m thrilled to be teaching them. And of course, my prize student is Noah.”
Noah Clete, age sixteen, came to work at Ladybug Farm soon after the ladies purchased it, and almost immediately established himself as one of the family. Lindsay took his education in hand, nurturing his talent for art, and today Noah is an honor student at John Adams Academy in Staunton, as well as the holder of the prestigious “Young Artist of the Year” award from the Virginia Council for the Arts.
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Cici excitedly. She flipped the magazine around to show them. “They included one of Noah’s paintings! He’ll die! Where is he, anyway?”
“I sent him to town to get more copies,” Lindsay said, beaming as she snatched the magazine away from Cici to study it. “Oh, look, it’s the oil painting he did of the crow in the apple tree. Hey Bridget, look at you!”
Bridget peered over her shoulder to admire the photograph of her putting the finishing touches on a red velvet cake in the kitchen. “They printed my recipe,” she noted happily. “The writer said she wasn’t sure if there’d be room.”
“Wait, there’s a whole section on you.” Lindsay continued to read out loud.
Bradget Tyndale is the driving force behind Ladybug Farm’s newest enterprise, Ladybug Farm Fine Foods and Catering. Her exquisite homemade wine jams and delightful gift baskets can be purchased at many local shops and through the Ladybug Farm website.
Bridget wrinkled her nose. “One,” she repeated. “One local shop. Which sold exactly a dozen jars of pinot noir jam.”
“But the gift basket was a huge success at the church bazaar,” Lindsay pointed out.
“Come on girls,” Cici said, “the website has only been up a couple of months. What do you expect?”
Bridget sighed and Lindsay read on.
With the help of Cici’s daughter, Lori Gregory, who graduates next year from the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Bridget a/so runs a blog on which she shares her favorite recipes and observations about life on Ladybug Farm. You can enjoy this authentic taste of Virginia for yourself at www.ladybugfarmcharmsblogspot.com. .
Bridget groaned. “I hate blogging.”
“We know, we know,” Lindsay and Cici replied in unison.
“How’d they get the address anyway? No one ever reads it.”
“Your own personal PR agent, how else?” Cici gave a shake of her head that was half amazement, half amusement. “It’s nice to know all those marketing courses Lori’s been taking have paid off. She probably e-mailed the editor just to make sure no self-promotional