I first made the acquaintance of Alice Van Leer Carrick many years ago by way of a fat, red book of Christmas stories. Though delighted by most, I was completely enchanted with the one entitled simply Christmas in Our Town. In her treasured reminiscences of a New England holiday over eighty years ago I found echoes of my own personal nostalgia…indeed, it is hard for me at times to read it and remember that she lived and wrote so long before me. She seems like such a friend and peer. The whimsical turns of phrase and witty allusions, coupled with the sheer sentiment of the writing went straight to my heart, and I can hardly think of a Christmas since of which reading this dear old story over again has not been a part.
Wanting to know more of this already endeared author I did a search for her on the internet this year, turning up the fact that she wrote many books and articles in the early twentieth century and that she became a contributing editor to Antiques magazine in the 1930′s. She was also an expert on the art of silhouettes, and her collection–considered to be one of the four greatest American ones–which she describes so lovingly in many of her writings now resides in the Smithsonian.
I’ve already described the little gift I made to myself of four of her books from the Advanced Book Exchange, and no well-versed collector could be happier than I am with the smooth, bright covers and glossy pages amply supplied with black and white photographs. Three of them, in the ‘Collector’s Luck’ series, describe delightful journeys abroad with family and friends on antiquing expeditions. But the last–and most dearly anticipated–was a little volume entitled ‘The Next-to-Nothing House‘. It is the story of her very own home, the house whose walls I saw dancing with firelight and whose rooms rang with childish laughter in the precious account I first discovered. ‘A wonderfully warm story of old-home ownership’ ran a bookseller’s description, and I was sold. How we love our old farmhouse, and how much fun we have scouring junk shops and antique stores for tokens and treasures to make it even more of a home! I knew it would be delightful to read of someone else’s similar joys.
The house that Alice Van Leer Carrick occupied with her husband and three children in Hanover, New Hampshire is yet known as the ‘Webster Cottage’, owing it’s fame to the fact that Daniel Webster roomed there when he was a student at Dartmouth. When her husband became a French professor at neighboring Wellesley College, the tiny cottage was offered to them for rent. The Next-to-Nothing House chronicles the restoration and refurbishment of a late eighteenth century dwelling at a time when such was quite uncommon.
Alice–for I must call her by her first name, we are such friends–describes each room with the unaffected pleasure of a delighted homemaker inviting a new guest into her abode. She tells the stories of her acquisitions, and lists the prices she paid for the various ornaments and furniture. This was surely intended as an encouragement for the more timid lovers of old things in a day when the collecting of early American antiques was more of an oddity than not, but I must confess Philip and I found it rather depressing. Hand-woven rugs for twenty-five cents! Six circa 1815 stenciled chairs at a dollar a piece! An Empire secretary for forty-five!! Oh, dear. When I think that with all of our tramping cross-country and bargaining and haggling we’d be lucky to come across a find like that once in a lifetime–even counting on inflation–I feel a bit daunted. But I love my old furniture, just as she loved hers and made much of the artistry of a bygone day. It’s still worth it…
Here’s what she says of that dear patina of age that makes our old things so much more beautiful:
Time…to me isn’t a brusque, white-bearded man, with hourglass and terrifying scythe, but a mild and elderly lady, who brushes away the ugly newness from our possessions, who fades gaudy colors and folds memories away in rose-leaves and lavendar and lays them in prim old drawers.
Reading The Next-to-Nothing House has sparked my fervor to create a haven of beauty and taste within the walls of my home, to avoid the temptation of the cheaply-made and hastily-bought. To purchase wisely and well for my dear old house, to strive for an interior palate that won’t change with changing trends but will only ripen like a gracefully aging woman.
What a blessing from the Lord 
I wanted to show you a lovely present given to me by one of my dear girlfriends, and which has brightened my home through the holidays and beyond. Back in November she came up my front steps with a huge florist’s box all wrapped in craft paper and decorated with dried ferns. To my mystified gaze she only answered, "It’s an experiment," with an eager twinkle in her eyes. I lifted the lid and found, nestled amid generous sheets of tissue paper, the most exquisitely preserved ‘creeping ferns’–gorgeous long strands of them, coiled and couched tenderly on crisp white beds. I could hardly believe my eyes, and, well-aware that our first frost–though late this year–was still long past, I looked up at her, still puzzling. "Where did you get these?" I asked, dazedly.
My sister-in-law’s post on 
Is there any more delicious treat than a mailbox stuffed with a manilla envelope containing a much-awaited book? As a little Christmas present to myself this year I located four of the published volumes of a new favorite author, Alice Van Leer Carrick, and ordered them all from 
That’s what a friend’s grandmother calls this sad post-Christmas season. I couldn’t agree more. For the past several years I have looked forward to January as season of self-imposed quietness, of dormancy and rest. I have required little of myself, and indulged in gentle, thoughtful pursuits that allow me to enjoy the coziness of my own fireside. What joy, after a season of happy ‘doing’, to give myself the freedom to ‘be’. To read the book I’ve been casting a longing thought towards; to learn a new handcraft—one that requires bodily stillness and concentration; to nurture my desires for a peaceable life. When February comes, I’m always ready–refreshed and eager–for projects and productivity. But it is alright to be fallow from time to time, and I believe that we all need it. January teaches us that all seasons are not intended to be especially fruitful; its serene sleeping austerity is a necessary element of the blossoming spring and abundant harvest that follow.
