Today, I’m so excited to introduce two beautiful new shades: Plum Pickin and Blue Belle.

Plum Pickin

Plum Pickin is a rich, deep periwinkle purple with the warmth and character of a perfectly ripened summer plum. Its name was inspired by memories of my grandmother’s orchard, where plum trees grew alongside the apples. She gathered those beautiful fruits and turned them into homemade jams, sauces, and even plum wine.

It is earthy, nostalgic, and just a little unexpected, the kind of color that feels both old-fashioned and wonderfully fresh. Plum Pickin adds beautiful depth to floral designs, barn quilts, painted furniture, signs, and all the little creative projects that need a touch of something special.

Blue Belle

Blue Belle is a beautiful, timeworn blue inspired by the delicate blue flowers that bring such sweetness to a garden. It has a peaceful, welcoming quality that feels right at home in cottage, farmhouse, and prairie-inspired projects.

This lovely shade is soft enough to feel gentle, yet rich enough to make a statement. Pair it with creamy whites and greens for a quiet garden palette, or combine it with deeper colors for a bold and colorful barn quilt design.

Beautiful Apart…and Even Better Together

Although Plum Pickin and Blue Belle each have their own personality, they are especially beautiful when used together. The rich purple of Plum Pickin gives Blue Belle depth, while Blue Belle brings a soft, peaceful balance to the pairing.

Try them with warm golds, botanical greens, faded pinks, and vintage creams to create a palette that feels as though it was gathered straight from an old farmhouse garden.

Both colors are making their debut in our new Blue Belle Blossom Barn Quilt, where their rich, garden-inspired tones come together in a design filled with color, warmth, and prairie charm.

I cannot wait to see what you create with Plum Pickin and Blue Belle. Whether you use them in a barn quilt, a floral painting, a well-loved piece of furniture, or a project all your own, I hope they inspire you to celebrate, dream, and create.

Plum Pickin and Blue Belle Prairie Paints are available now in the shop.

Others begin with a feeling.

The Prairie Compass was born from those quiet moments spent outdoors…walking through tall grasses, watching summer clouds drift over the mountains, and noticing how every season has its own palette. It isn’t simply a star. It’s a reminder that nature has always been our compass.

The warm ochres echo sunlit wheat fields ready for harvest. Mossy greens recall forest trails and hidden meadows. Weathered blues reflect mountain skies after a summer rain, while soft sage and earthy clay ground the design in the colors of the prairie itself.

These are the colors that have always called us home.

For generations, barn quilts have been symbols of craftsmanship, community, and welcome. Hanging proudly on barns, porches, and homesteads, they tell stories without saying a word. The Prairie Compass carries that same tradition while offering a fresh interpretation…one that feels equally at home on a farmhouse porch, a garden fence, or the walls of a cozy cottage.

What I love most about this design is its symbolism.

A compass doesn’t choose the journey for us. It simply reminds us where we are and helps us find our way when we need direction. In many ways, life is the same. We all have seasons of wandering, seasons of planting, and seasons of coming home to ourselves.

The Prairie Compass is a gentle reminder to stay rooted in what matters most while remaining open to wherever the next path may lead.

Every Prairie Compass is carefully hand painted using our signature Prairie Paint colors, allowing each brushstroke and every piece of wood to retain its own unique character. No two are exactly alike, and that’s part of their story.

I hope when you hang one in your home or garden, it becomes more than décor.

I hope it becomes a quiet reminder to slow down, look toward the horizon, and remember that home isn’t always a place—sometimes it’s simply the feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

Thank you for being part of this journey and for celebrating handmade craftsmanship with us.

The Prairie Compass will be arriving in the shop this week, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

With gratitude,

Abby
Wilde Roots | Tweetle Dee Design Co.

The venue was beautiful. The tables were filled with paint, brushes, rulers, and boards waiting to become something more. One by one, the students arrived, each carrying their own supplies, stories, and a little uncertainty.

Most had never painted a barn quilt before.

As they settled into their seats, I heard the familiar phrases.

“I’m not very artistic.”

“I hope I can do this.”

“I’ve never painted anything like this before.”

I always smile when I hear those words because after fifteen years of teaching creative workshops, I’ve learned something.

The people who say they aren’t creative almost always surprise themselves.

There is a moment in every class that I have come to love.

It happens somewhere between the first pencil lines and the second coat of paint.

At the beginning of the day, everyone is focused on their own project. Their own board. Their own mistakes. Their own worries about whether they are doing it right.

But somewhere along the way, something shifts.

A question is asked across the table.

Someone shares a paint color.

A story is told.

Laughter breaks out.

A neighbor helps hold a ruler.

Someone compliments another painter’s design.

And before you know it, a room full of strangers begins to feel like a gathering of old friends.

The barn quilts become almost secondary.

What is really being created is connection.

I watched it happen yesterday.

Women who had never met before leaning over each other’s boards, encouraging one another. Sharing stories about children, travels, dreams, and life. Celebrating each completed section as though it were their own.

By the end of the day, something remarkable had happened.

Every single person left with a beautiful barn quilt.

But they also left with something less tangible.

Confidence.

Not because they had mastered a new skill.

Because they had been willing to begin.

I think we often get that backward.

We wait for confidence before we start.

We tell ourselves we’ll try the new thing when we know more, have more experience, or feel more ready.

But creativity has taught me the opposite.

Confidence rarely comes first.

Confidence comes from making the first pencil line.

The first brushstroke.

The first stitch.

The first attempt.

The first imperfect beginning.

Yesterday was a reminder that most beautiful things begin with people who aren’t entirely sure they can do them.

A blank board.

A handful of paint.

A room full of beginners.

And the willingness to start.

By the end of the day, the boards were covered in color.

The painters were smiling.

And a room full of strangers felt a little more like a room full of friends.

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday.

Until next time,

Abby

The Creative Almanac

Mended Roads was designed as a celebration of that journey.

This barn quilt pattern is made of movement, connection, and quiet strength. Each line feels like a pathway crossing another, coming together piece by piece to form something whole. What may look like separate roads at first begins to reveal a larger design—a reminder that our lives are often the same way.

We don’t always see the full pattern while we’re traveling it.

But later, when we look back, we can see how the roads met. How the detours mattered. How the broken places became part of the beauty. How every turn helped create the artwork of a life being lived.

Painted in the warm, folk-inspired colors of the Tweetle Dee studio, Mended Roads is a meaningful design for homes, barns, gardens, creative spaces, and any place where a little reminder of hope belongs.

This barn quilt and all others are 20% off with code SummerSale in our shop.

May it remind you that no road is wasted.

Every path, every turn, every mended place can become part of something beautiful.

Growing from the top of an old pine stump was a wild strawberry plant.

Its leaves were bright green. Tiny white blossoms opened toward the sun. It looked completely at home there, as though it had always belonged.

I stopped and stood for a moment, surprised not by the strawberry, but by where it was growing.

The stump was all that remained of one of the old pines that once stood along the path to the pond.

When I was a little girl, those trees felt enormous.

I would run barefoot beneath them on summer mornings, racing toward the water without a thought in the world. The ground was soft with pine needles. The air smelled of sap and warm earth. The trees stood like quiet guardians along the shore, watching over generations of summers.

As children, we imagine that the places we love will always remain exactly as they are.

But time has other plans.

Storms come. Trees fall. Families change. People grow older. The landscape shifts in ways both large and small.

The pine tree that once towered above me is gone now.

And yet, there on its weathered stump, something new had taken root.

A wild strawberry.

It felt like a lesson from the land itself.

Not everything that appears finished is gone.

Sometimes life continues in forms we do not expect.

The old pine had become nourishment for something new. What once provided shade now provided a place for roots. What looked like an ending had quietly become the beginning of another story.

I have thought often about that strawberry plant since then.

The wild strawberry has long been associated with sweetness, abundance, and the rewards that come from patient tending. It grows close to the earth. It does not seek attention. It simply flowers when the season is right and offers its fruit to those willing to notice.

Perhaps that is why it felt so meaningful to find it there.

Not because it was rare.

But because it was ordinary.

A small act of renewal taking place without announcement.

The older I become, the more I see that life works this way.

We inherit more than houses and photographs. We inherit stories. Values. Traditions. Ways of seeing the world. We carry pieces of those who came before us, often without realizing it.

The places that shape us continue to shape us long after we leave them.

And sometimes, if we are paying attention, they offer reminders.

A blossom growing from a stump.

A memory returning on a spring morning.

A quiet reassurance that roots remember.

As I stitched the Wilde Strawberry embroidery design, I found myself thinking about that old pine and all the summers it witnessed. The laughter. The fishing poles. The family gatherings. The barefoot paths worn into the grass by children running toward the water.

The tree is gone.

The childhood summers are gone too.

But the story continues.

Perhaps that is what the strawberry came to teach me.

That life is always renewing itself.

That beauty often appears in unexpected places.

And that what once nourished us continues to nourish us still.

The old pine is gone.

But from its roots, sweetness remains.

With Love from the Studio,

Abby

xoxo

There is a phrase I’ve found myself returning to lately.

A sandwich and a chair.

Simple things.

Not grand gestures. Not complicated plans. Not fixing every problem or finding every answer. Just a sandwich and a chair.

A place at the table. A place to rest.
A reminder that someone thought to leave the light on for you.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve begun to suspect that much of what we call love looks a lot like this. Not fireworks, just simple hospitality.

A comfortable place to land when the road has been long.

This spring has been full of family.

We’ve been working on the cottage in New York - clearing rooms, making plans, dreaming about paint colors and wood floors, deciding what stays and what goes. There is still much to do, preparing rooms not lived in. But I’ve begun to wonder if much of life is exactly that.

Preparing rooms before we know who will walk through the door. Planting gardens before we see blossoms. Making beds before guests arrive. Creating a space for something we cannot yet see.

This past week, I had a dream about a woman I had never met.

She appeared as naturally as an old friend, she introduced herself by name. A first name I had not heard before, attached to a last name that was distantly familiar.

She looked like someone from the 1950’s…Her dark hair pinned back. Her paisley dress. The feeling of familiarity she carried. I asked my father if he knew someone by her name, and he did.

She had been a close friend of my grandmother many years ago. A woman who had shared meals, stories, and community with our family long before I arrived.

I spent days thinking about that and why she appeared in my dream to introduce herself, shake my hand and join a gathering at the lake.

I’ve wondered how many people helped prepare the rooms we now know?

How many hands planted trees whose shade they would never sit beneath?

How many women set tables, stitched quilts, hosted chicken dinners, built communities, carried stories, and held hope for futures they would never personally see?

Perhaps that is what ancestors do.

They prepare rooms.

And perhaps our job is not so different.

At Tweetle Dee, our motto has always been:

Celebrate. Dream. Create.

For years I thought of those as separate steps. Now I wonder if they are really one continuous circle.

Celebrate where you are.

Dream about what could be.

Create space for it to arrive.

Then begin again.

Celebrate.

Dream.

Create.

The cottage is teaching me this. Every board we repair. Every room we clear.
Every plan we make for a future visit. It is an act of faith.

Not because we know exactly what comes next. But because hope itself is a form of creation.

Life asks for patience.

It asks us to trust the work happening beneath the surface. To believe that clearing a room matters even when we don’t know who will occupy it. To trust that making a place welcoming has value even when we are still waiting.

In my dream my Dad was sitting in a chair, not speaking. Just smiling watching the activity with children at a bonfire, some on the dock watching the water and children coloring on the porch.

I told him that there would always be a sandwich and a comfortable chair waiting for him at the cottage.

I meant it literally. But I think I meant something more, too.

I think what I wanted him to know was this:

You belong here.

There is a place for you.

You do not have to earn your seat at the table.

And perhaps that is what all of us are longing to hear.

Perhaps that is what we are creating when we paint, garden, stitch, write, cook, build, and then love, extend forgiveness and patiently wait.

Just a sandwich and a chair.

A place where those we know and those we have not yet met, might someday arrive and find rest.

This week, I hope you take some time to celebrate.

I hope you make room for your dreams.

And I hope you continue creating the life that is quietly preparing itself around you.

The rooms you are tending today may become someone’s refuge tomorrow.

Including your own.

Ideas arrive faster than I can write them down. New designs seem to bloom overnight. The studio hums with possibility, and every project feels like an invitation.

And then there are seasons when life asks us to turn our attention elsewhere.

The past month has been one of those seasons for me.

Much of my time and energy has been focused on family, on traveling back and forth to New York, on caring for my father from afar, and on navigating all of the complicated emotions that come with loving someone whose journey is slowly changing. Some days have felt heavy. Others have felt unexpectedly tender.

In between it all, I’ve found myself drawn outside.

To the garden.

To the moon.

To quiet evening walks.

To places where I don’t have to solve anything.

Just witness.

Last night, the moon rose over the mountains, and I was reminded of something I’ve always loved about moonflowers.

Unlike most flowers, they do not bloom in the bright light of day.

They wait.

Patiently.

Quietly.

And then, when darkness arrives, they unfold.

There is a lesson in that.

We live in a world that celebrates constant growth, constant productivity, and constant visibility. Yet some of the most meaningful transformations happen when no one is watching.

Healing often happens in the dark.

Grief does.

Dreams do.

New beginnings do.

The Moonflower Embroidery design began as a simple sketch inspired by those thoughts. I wanted to create something that felt like a summer evening garden illuminated by moonlight—a reminder that beauty is not diminished simply because it blooms quietly.

As I stitched the vines and blossoms, I found myself thinking about timing.

About trust.

About allowing things to unfold when they are ready.

Perhaps that is the invitation of the moonflower.

Not to rush.

Not to force.

But to open in our own season.

The design is now available as both a pattern and a kit, and I hope it brings a little peace to your stitching basket this summer.

More than that, I hope it reminds you that growth isn’t always loud.

Sometimes it looks like a flower opening beneath the moon.

Journal Prompt

What is quietly blooming in your life right now, even if no one else can see it yet?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

This week, I plan to spend a few evenings stitching on the porch, watching the moon rise, and listening to the sounds of summer settle around us.

It feels good to be back.

With Love from the Studio,

Abby

Grasses bend in the wind, not resisting…
just moving with what comes.
The light stretches longer across the field,
and everything feels softened at the edges.

I’ve been thinking about movement lately,
not the hurried kind,
but the kind that feels guided.

The kind that doesn’t pull you away from yourself,
but gently returns you there.

This week, I finished a new design called
Wings Over the Meadow.

It came together slowly…
layer by layer, like feathers forming shape.
A star at its center,
with points that reach outward in quiet motion.

When I stepped back from it,
it didn’t feel like a pattern.

It felt like a moment.

Like watching birds pass overhead
without needing to follow…
just witnessing their path
and trusting your own.

✦ Field Note

Wings are often seen as symbols of guidance…
not always taking us somewhere new,
but reminding us that we are never without direction.

✦ A Gentle Prompt

Where in your life are you being asked to move…
not with urgency,
but with trust?

This design is now available in the shop
as a painted barn quilt with a pattern and kit to come soon…
created with the colors of the meadow and the quiet of open sky.

If you find yourself needing a moment of stillness this week,
step outside if you can.

Look up.
Let something pass overhead.
And remember…you don’t have to chase it
to know you’re on your way.

With Love from the Studio,
Abby

It happens low to the earth, beneath frost-touched mornings and the last long breaths of winter. The hellebore does not wait for warmth. It does not wait for permission.

It blooms in the quiet.

Field Notes

Name: Hellebore (Lenten Rose)
Season: Late Winter / Early Spring
Symbolism: Resilience, protection, quiet hope, renewal through stillness

Hellebore has long been a garden companion of the in-between, appearing when most of the world still feels asleep. Its petals bow downward, as if in prayer or protection, holding their beauty close.

From the Studio

This week, I found myself drawn to that same quiet.

To slower mornings.
To stitching instead of rushing.
To creating something soft and steady with my hands.

The Hellebore Garden Embroidery Kit grew from that space—a design shaped by stillness, by patience, and by the understanding that not all growth is meant to be seen right away.

A Gentle Practice

As you stitch this piece, consider:

What is quietly growing in your life right now?
What is taking root beneath the surface, unseen?

Not everything needs to bloom all at once.

The Hellebore Garden Embroidery Kit is now available in the shop
a small, stitched reminder of the beauty found in quiet seasons.

With Love from the Studio,
Abby

Not loud.
Not showy.
But steady…rooted…enduring.

A wild brightness that returns year after year, no matter the season that came before it.

This is the spirit behind Goldenrod Meadow.

A Field Remembered

This design began, as many do, with memory.

Goldenrod has always felt like a marker of time,
a gentle signal that summer is softening into something deeper.
That the work of growing is giving way to the work of gathering.

For me, it brings me back to New York…
to the cottage, where goldenrod grows wild and abundant all around us -
spilling into the fields, catching the light, and turning everything to gold in summer.

The yellow in this design was inspired directly by those fields…
by the goldenrod that surrounds our cottage,
a color pulled not from imagination, but from place.

There is something sacred in that…
to paint with a color that already belongs to the land.

The Design

Goldenrod Meadow is built from movement.

Small triangular pieces come together like scattered blooms
shifting, turning, gathering into something whole.

Set against a deep grounding background, the golden shapes feel alive,
like sunlight caught in motion.

Around the edges, a soft border of color echoes the wildness of a meadow
unexpected, varied, and beautifully imperfect.

This design is both structured and free…
a balance between tradition and the untamed.

Now Available

The Goldenrod Meadow design is now available in the shop as:

• Barn Quilt Pattern

• Barn Quilt Kit (includes your board, pattern, and Prairie Paints)

• Finished Painted Barn Quilt

• Goldenrod Prairie Paint – the color at the heart of it all

Each option is created to meet you where you are…
whether you want to paint from scratch, follow a guided kit, or bring home a finished piece.

Prairie Paint: Goldenrod

Goldenrod is more than a color.

It is warmth.
It is resilience.
It is the quiet glow of something that thrives in its own place.

This shade was created to reflect that exact feeling,
inspired by the goldenrod surrounding our New York cottage…
a true meadow gold with depth and richness, designed to carry beautifully across wood, fabric, and time.

Sealed with our Prairie Paint Finishing Wax, each piece is made to last…
indoors or out, aging gently, just like the fields that inspired it.

A Creative Invitation

Goldenrod Meadow is an invitation to slow down.

To paint in rhythm.
To notice color.
To create something with your hands that holds meaning beyond the making.

Whether you’re painting at your kitchen table,
in the studio,
or out under an open sky…

this piece is meant to bring you back to the quiet beauty of the season.

Field Note

Goldenrod (Solidago)
A symbol of encouragement, abundance, and quiet strength.
Often misunderstood, yet deeply medicinal and supportive
a reminder that what grows wild often carries the most wisdom.

A Closing Thought

May this design remind you—
that even at the edge of a season,
there is still so much beauty to gather.

Shop the Goldenrod Meadow Collection →

Use code SPRING20 for 20% off through the weekend.

With love from the studio,
Abby

Not learned…
not taught…
but remembered.

The Log Cabin is one of them.

It carries the feeling of stacked wood, warm light, and the quiet rhythm of hands building something meant to last. A structure formed piece by piece…layer by layer…holding both protection and belonging.

This week, I found myself returning to that pattern again
but this time, it came forward in three different ways.

The Barn Quilt

There is something grounding about painting a barn quilt.

The scale of it.
The weight of the wood.
The way the lines have to be steady and sure.

The Log Cabin Star Barn Quilt feels bold…anchored…like it belongs outside where the wind moves across it and the light changes throughout the day.

Framed in cedar, it holds that familiar structure of the Log Cabin—
but at the center, the star shifts everything.

It becomes not just shelter…
but direction.

Not just home…
but light.

The Pattern

Every design begins as a pattern.

A map of sorts.
A set of decisions.
A quiet blueprint that holds the possibility of something more.

The Log Cabin Star pattern carries both tradition and play…rooted in something old, but reimagined through color.

Each “log” wraps around the center, drawing your eye inward…
and then outward again.

A rhythm.
A return.

The Stitch

And then…there is the stitching.

The same design, but softened.

Slowed down.

Each painted line becomes a thread.
Each shape becomes something you build with your hands, one small stitch at a time.

Set against a black background, the star begins to glow…
like a lantern in the window at dusk.

This version feels quieter.
More intimate.

Less like something you look at…
and more like something you sit with.

What We Build

I keep thinking about how the same design can live in so many forms.

Wood.
Paper.
Thread.

And yet, the meaning stays the same.

We build.
We layer.
We return to center.

The Log Cabin has always been a symbol of home—
but the star reminds us that home is not just a place.

It’s something we carry.
Something we make.
Something we return to again and again.

A Small Invitation

If you feel drawn to this one…

Maybe it’s not just about the pattern.

Maybe it’s about the act of building something slowly.
Of placing one stitch…one brushstroke…one piece at a time.

Of remembering that even the simplest structures can hold light.

✨ The Log Cabin Star is now in the shop as a:
– a Barn Quilt
– a Cross-Stitch Kit
– and a Pattern to make your own

With Love from the Studio,
Abby

This week, I painted a Cathedral Window.

A large one - 55 inches wide - resting against the fence with storm clouds rolling in behind it, as if the sky itself was remembering too.

This design is part of the Moonbeams & Cabin Dreams Collection, a body of work rooted in the lives of my ancestors who left New York to homestead the prairie lands of Nebraska in the early 1900s.

They built lives out of wind and soil.
Out of faith.

The colors in this piece were not chosen at random.

They come from a stained glass window in the Howard Community Church in my hometown in New York - a window dedicated to my grandmother Mildred and my grandfather Alvaro.

As a child, I didn’t fully understand what it meant…
but I remember the way the light moved through it.

Soft reds. Deep greens. Golden warmth.
A kind of quiet reverence.

Their story is one of leaving and returning.

From New York…to Belle Prairie, Nebraska…
and then back again after the Great Depression to the land I now know so well.

There is something about that return that stays with me.
A circling back. A rooting deeper.

Reflection:

As I painted this piece, I felt her near.

Not in a loud or certain way…
but in the softness of choosing color,
in the stillness between brushstrokes.

As if memory itself was guiding the work.

Closing Blessing:

May we remember the windows that shaped us.
May we honor the light that came before us.
And may we carry it forward…in color, in story, in quiet devotion.

With Love from the Studio,
Abby

Today felt like that.

The light came in gently, not rushed.
The kind of light that doesn’t ask anything of you.
And without really planning to, I found myself reaching for apples.

Not for anything fancy.
Not for a new release or a photo or a launch.
Just…for something warm.

There is something about apples and cinnamon that lives deep in memory.
It feels like wood floors and quiet conversations.
Like something baking while life happens around it.

This Irish Apple Cake is like that.

Simple.
Humble.
The kind of recipe that doesn’t try too hard—
but somehow becomes the one you come back to again and again.

🍰 Irish Apple Cake with Cinnamon Streusel

A soft, tender cake layered with apples and topped with a buttery cinnamon crumble.

Ingredients

For the Cake

• ½ cup butter, softened

• ¾ cup brown sugar

• 2 eggs

• 1 tbsp vanilla

• 1¾ cups flour

• 1 tsp baking powder

• 1 tsp cinnamon

• Pinch of salt

• ⅓ cup heavy cream

• ⅓ cup milk

• 2–2½ cups apples, peeled, cored, and sliced

For the Streusel

• 3 tbsp cold butter

• 3 tbsp flour

• ¼ cup raw sugar

• ½ tsp cinnamon

🍂 Instructions

Preheat the oven to 350°.

Cream together the butter and brown sugar until soft and light.
Add the eggs, one at a time, then stir in the vanilla.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt.
Slowly add this to the batter, alternating with the milk and heavy cream.

Fold in the apples gently—the batter will be thick.

In a small bowl, work together the cold butter, flour, sugar, and cinnamon until crumbly.

Spread the batter into a prepared pan and scatter the streusel over the top.

Bake for about 45 minutes, until golden and set.

🌿 A Small Noticing

This cake doesn’t rush.

It asks you to slow down just enough—
to slice the apples,
to stir something by hand,
to wait while something warms the house.

And maybe that’s the real recipe.

Not just what we make—
but how we make it.

🌙 Creative Almanac Prompt

What is quietly nourishing you right now?
Not the big things.
Not the loud ones.
But the small, steady comforts you return to.

Write it down.
Notice it.
Honor it.

✨ Closing Blessing

May your kitchen be a place of return.
May what you make with your hands soften what you carry in your heart.
May there always be something warm waiting for you—
and someone to share it with when the time is right.

With Love from the Studio,
Abby 🌿

The sunshine found us again this week.

After a long stretch of winter, the garden finally called us back outside. I spent the early part of the week clearing the beds - cutting down last year’s perennials, brushing away the dry stems that protected the soil all winter, and letting the earth breathe again.

It always feels a little harsh at first, clearing away the old growth.

But underneath, the soil is waking.

New green tips are already pushing through.

Spring has begun.

We added five tiny chicks to the house on the mountain this week - soft little bundles of warmth and curiosity. Watching them peck around their new home felt like a quiet promise that the season is turning.

Inside the studio, the worktables were just as busy.

I spent a good part of the week photographing the Story Quilt collection that has lived quietly in my home for years. It felt good to finally bring them into the shop - pieces of history stitched by unknown hands, each quilt carrying its own story forward.

There was paint on the table most days as well.

A new Prairie Paint color was released this week - Green Tomato, a color that feels exactly like early garden days. That soft green that lives somewhere between hope and harvest.

Along with it came the Green Tomato Star Barn Quilt, a design that feels fresh and rooted all at once.

In between the painting and photographing and gardening, life asked me to hold a few heavier things too. Some care matters with my dad needed attention this week, and those moments always remind me how much love and patience this season has required.

And quietly, something new happened.

I did my first intuitive reading for someone I had never met before.

It was both humbling and beautiful - a reminder that sometimes the gifts we are learning to understand are meant to be shared gently.

I also spent time studying more deeply about working with angels and spiritual guidance, something that continues to unfold slowly in my life in ways I’m still learning to trust.

Creativity, healing, gardening, family - it all seems to weave together this time of year.

And today, I’m sitting in the sunshine feeling grateful and excited for the week ahead.

This coming week in the studio:

• A Garden Hex Barn Quilt will be releasing
• The Clover Embroidery is almost ready
• And the garden beds are waiting for their planting plans

There are seed packets on the table and sketches of flower beds beginning to form.

The work of spring is beginning.

And I’m very ready for it.

A Small Garden Blessing

May the soil warm beneath your hands.
May new green things rise where you thought winter had settled in.
May your work this week be steady and joyful.
And may the quiet beauty of small beginnings remind you
that growth is always happening — even when we cannot yet see it.

With Love from the Studio,
Abby

They are draped across chairs, folded at the end of beds, tucked into baskets, and sometimes pulled outside on warm afternoons to sit in the sun. I have always loved the softness of them, the colors, and the quiet beauty of the tiny stitches that run across the cloth like rows of handwriting.

Each one carries a story.

These hand-stitched quilts are traditionally known as Kantha quilts, made by layering cotton cloth and stitching the layers together with thousands of small running stitches. The stitching gives the quilts their beautiful rippled texture and turns simple pieces of cloth into something warm, useful, and lasting.

Over the years I began gathering them slowly, one here, one there, choosing the ones that spoke to me through color, pattern, and the life visible in the cloth.

Some are bright and playful.
Some are quiet and faded.
Some carry small patches or repairs that tell the story of the hands that cared for them before.

They have lived in my home for years, but recently I began thinking it might be time to share them.

So I decided to create a small Story Quilt Collection in the shop.

Each quilt is numbered as it enters the collection—Story Quilt No. 001, No. 002, No. 003, and so on—because no two are ever the same. Once a quilt finds its home, that story is complete.

These quilts are lightweight, soft, and wonderfully versatile. They can be folded at the end of a bed, draped over a chair, spread out for a picnic, or even hung as a piece of textile art.

But more than anything, they carry the quiet beauty of handwork.

Thousands of stitches placed slowly by hand.
Layers of cloth that have lived other lives.
Colors that have softened over time.

Cloth like this reminds me that everyday objects can hold meaning.

That simple things—like thread, fabric, and patient hands—can create something that lasts for generations.

I hope these quilts will find homes where they are used, loved, and lived with the way they always have been.

Because every stitch tells a story.

Closing

May the cloth in your home carry warmth.
May the stitches of the past continue their quiet work.
And may the stories we gather along the way be soft places to rest.

With love from the studio,
Abby

There is a moment in the garden that belongs entirely to spring and early summer.

The tomatoes are still green.

The vines stretch and twist upward, reaching for sun and warmth. Leaves brush against your hands as you walk between the rows. The fruit hangs quietly beneath the branches firm, bright, and full of promise.

Nothing is ready yet.

And yet, everything is growing.

That quiet moment in the garden inspired a new Prairie Paint color this week: Green Tomato.

It is the color of the garden before harvest.
The color of hope still forming on the vine.

A Color from the Garden

Green Tomato is a deep, lively green that reminds me of mornings checking the garden beds.

The air is cool.
The soil still holds the memory of last night’s dew.
And you pause at the tomato plants to see what has changed overnight.

Gardeners know this feeling well.

You look closely, knowing the first blush of red could appear at any time. But for now, the fruit remains green, strong, vibrant, and growing.

It is a color full of anticipation.

A Barn Quilt for the Kitchen Garden

To celebrate the new Prairie Paint color, I painted a new design called the Green Tomato Star Barn Quilt.

The pattern carries the spirit of old folk-art quilts that are simple shapes arranged into a bright star… but the palette is pure garden.

Green Tomato frames the quilt like a vine around the edges.
Bright tomato red accents appear in the star.
A soft farmhouse white keeps the design light and fresh.

Together the colors remind me of a kitchen garden at the height of the season.

A place where creativity grows alongside herbs and vegetables.

Barn quilts have always been a way to bring color and story to a home or farmstead. They hang on barns, sheds, studios, and porches as small pieces of art that celebrate everyday life.

This one belongs to the garden and is now available in the shop in four beautiful sizes.

Watching Things Grow

One of the reasons I love gardens so much is that they mirror the creative life.

We plant ideas the same way we plant seeds.

At first nothing seems to happen.
The soil looks quiet and unchanged.

But underneath the surface, something is stirring.

Growth is beginning.

The season of green tomatoes is a reminder that not everything must ripen right away. Sometimes the most beautiful stage is simply the one where things are still becoming.

Still reaching.
Still unfolding.

Still green.

A Garden Blessing for Spring

(from the Creative Almanac)

May the garden wake gently this season.
May the soil soften beneath your hands.

May the seeds you plant take root in good earth,
and may the rain come when it is needed.

May the vines climb strong toward the sun,
and may every green tomato carry the promise of what is yet to come.

And as the garden grows,
may your own creative work grow beside it —
quietly, patiently, and in its own perfect season.

With love from the studio,
Abby

PS - Be sure to use code Spring20 on all order this week to save 20%. This includes all barn quilts, kits, patterns, classes and embroidery. xo

This week it was our Barn Quilt Garden Angel.

She came together from weathered wood, rusted metal wings, and a small barn quilt star resting at her heart - the kind of star that has long been painted on barns across the countryside as a symbol of guidance, home, and protection.

When we finished her, we set her outside for a moment in the mountain sun.

Behind her the snow still rested on the peaks, but the air carried that early promise of spring - the quiet sense that the earth is waking again.

It felt like the perfect place for her.

Because gardens, in their own way, are sacred spaces.

They are where we plant hope in the soil.
Where we tend small things and watch them grow.
Where the seasons remind us that life is always beginning again.

This angel was made to stand in those places, near a fence, on a porch, beside a garden gate - watching gently over the spaces we love.

A small guardian of handmade things.

If she speaks to you, she has just arrived in the shop.

And this week feels like a good moment to welcome something new for the garden.

Our Spring Sale is also happening now -
✨ 20% off all orders with code SPRING20

Wherever you are today, I hope the season is beginning to soften and bloom around you.

With love from the studio,
Abby

Spring still feels far away here in the mountains, but beneath the soil something quiet is already happening. The bulbs are waking, the light is returning, and the first tulips will soon push their way up through the cold earth.

Tulips have always felt like the bravest flowers to me.

They spend the long winter hidden in darkness, gathering the strength to bloom when the days grow longer. They remind us that growth often begins long before we can see it.

That quiet promise of spring inspired this new Tulip Garden Embroidery Kit.

Stitched on black fabric so the colors glow like flowers against the night sky, this simple folk-style design features soft peach petals, a deep red tulip center, sage green leaves, and tiny prairie blue stars. A golden running stitch surrounds the garden like a small ring of sunlight.

It’s a peaceful project, perfect for a quiet afternoon of stitching while we wait for the seasons to turn.

Hand embroidery has always felt a little like gardening to me.
Each stitch is slow and intentional, and little by little something beautiful begins to grow beneath your hands.

Whether you’re new to embroidery or have stitched for years, this design is meant to be simple, relaxing, and joyful to create.

The finished hoop measures approximately 6 inches, making it a lovely piece to hang in your studio, gift to a friend, or tuck into a cozy corner of your home as a reminder that spring is always on its way.

Spring Sale 🌷

To celebrate the changing season, we’re also hosting a Spring Sale in the shop.

Enjoy 20% off your order with the code:

SPRING20

It’s a wonderful time to gather a few creative projects for the weeks ahead—barn quilt kits, embroidery designs, Prairie Paints, and more.

As the snow falls outside today, I’m grateful for these small creative rituals that help carry us from winter into spring.

Sometimes the smallest garden can grow right in our hands.

With love from the studio,

Abby

Not real ones though I wish they were , but rows of bright folk-art tulips painted along the edges of a new barn quilt I’ve been working on. As the colors came together, a little blackbird found his place in the meadow below the garden, and the design slowly revealed its story.

I’ve named it Blackbird Garden.

There is something about blackbirds in early spring that always catches my attention. They appear quietly, hopping through the grass or sitting along a fence line as if they have been watching the fields all winter long. Their songs carry through the cool air of morning and feel like the first true sign that the seasons are shifting again.

In folk traditions, blackbirds are often seen as watchful messengers , small guardians of the garden and the land.

Surrounding the bird in this design are rows of bright tulips. Tulips have long symbolized renewal and joy, and they are one of the earliest flowers to return to the garden each year. Their simple shapes have been painted and stitched into folk art for generations, appearing in Scandinavian painting, Pennsylvania Dutch motifs, and early American quilts.

Above the garden rows, colorful stars stretch across the sky , a little reminder of the long tradition of barn quilts that inspired this piece.

Painting this design felt joyful from beginning to end. The colors were lively, the shapes playful, and the little blackbird gave the piece a quiet personality of its own.

It felt like painting a small garden story.

As we move toward the brighter days of spring, I love the reminder that the earth always knows how to begin again. A bird returns. A flower opens. A little patch of color appears where winter once rested.

Sometimes that is all it takes to know the season has changed.

May your own gardens, whether they grow in soil, paint, or thread … begin to bloom again too.

With love from the studio,
Abby

The light is changing here in the studio. The afternoons are stretching longer. Paint jars are open. Linen is waiting in hoops. New barn quilts are stacked against the wall.

And to celebrate the shift in season, the Spring Sale is officially here.

For a limited time, enjoy 20% off your entire order with code SPRING20.

And yes - that truly means everything.

All barn quilt kits.
All embroidery and cross stitch kits.
All PDF patterns.
All Prairie Paint colors.
And even classes.

If you’ve been waiting for the right time to:

• Start that star quilt you saved
• Try a new Prairie Paint palette
• Stitch something hopeful
• Sign up for a class
• Restock your favorite supplies

This is your moment.

No exclusions. No tiers. Just 20% off storewide.

Spring is the season of beginning again. Of planting seeds. Of making something beautiful with your hands.

I would love to see your studios filling with fresh projects and new color in the days ahead.

Use code SPRING20 at checkout.

Let’s welcome the season by creating.

With love from the studio,
Abby 💛