Some houses are built. This one was grown.
For as long as anyone has known her, Tillie Rose Treadwell has been the one who finds the beautiful thing- the gift with an artist's eye behind it, made in small and exclusive measure, given as though the person unwrapping it were the only soul in the world. And for many years, quietly, that same eye has been tending a garden of its own.
This last year, the tending became a gathering. Petal by petal, stitch by stitch, it is all coalescing- something rooted in old stories and slippered footwork, something a little fae around the edges, something that has waited long enough to bloom.
THE CURTAIN RISES OCTOBER 1
Until then, the gate stays latched and the garden stays veiled- everything within it in bud, and unmistakably alive.