I never wanted a crystal chandelier. Glitzy isn’t my style. I’m a natural girl; prefer a posy of herbs and wild roses to diamonds. My backup embellishment for elegant occasions is a strand of pearls.
“But every woman needs some bling,” you may say.
Perhaps I’ve never fully recovered from my big jewelry disaster. Dear Reader, imagine my horror when I accidently destroyed my wedding band and engagement ring in a garbage disposal. Truly. Not three years married. I couldn’t cook wearing them, so put the soldered gold set on the shelf above the kitchen sink.
Although my husband replaced the twisted remains with a striking solitaire eighteen years ago, I rarely wear it. A gardener can be a little shy about her hands and fingernails. Besides, the ring is safer out of sight and mind.
Then, four years ago, along came the hankering to raise hens, add diversity to our household husbandry. Mercy! What my friend Carol finds on Pinterest. Of all things, a “chandie” in the Fancy Farm Girl’s chicken coop!
What a playful idea. Wouldn’t my hens oblige some bling when they’re on the nest, a focal point to relieve the pain of egg laying? So Andy, our belated handyman, hung a chandie in our new henhouse for our six maiden ISA Browns.
Countless quiches later, sparkling crystals on a petite brass chandelier caught my eye in a shop window and tweaked my sense of style. The price was right, so why not to rooster up my empty nest? The shopkeeper, bless her heart, gave the name and phone number of a handyman who led me to Don, a master electrician.
“If you want a larger chandelier just like this one for your dining room,” he said with screwdriver in hand, “I have one. I’d rather it go to a good home than take up space in my barn.”
He must’ve seen the gleam in my eyes. I’m a softy for vintage castaways, and took him and the chandelier seriously. One person’s junk is another’s treasure.
“And two wall sconces to match,” he added.
I really liked this guy. It helped that his kinfolk are southerners. We talked beans and cornbread.
After twenty-six years, light now dances in glass prisms in the air, on the walls, windows and furniture where we dine. Crystals dangle from wall sconces where they dared not go before. My husband’s shaking his head, wondering what happened to his wife.
Not to worry. The other morning, I beheld sunrise upon fresh-fallen snow, millions of ice crystals glimmering on branches of maple trees like arms of giant chandeliers. Yes, I mused, there’s no more beautiful glitter in the entire world than in my own backyard.
Flowers may be my bling in blooming season, but in winter, it’s diamonds in the snow that takes my breath away. And thanks to Don, on these long, dark drizzly days, our house is glad to light up our life with rescued teardrop gems from his barn.
