Ever since I saw this drawing of a "well-placed birdbath" in one of my old garden books from the 40s, I've wanted one for myself. Trouble is, every time I find one I like, we're somewhere across the country, where shipping would cost a fortune.
Then our luck changed Sunday en route
from city to country, when I spotted this faux bois beauty at a junk shop in Pound Ridge. I slammed on the breaks, backing into the driveway. "Is this really necessary?" came his usual commentary. "It's pouring, you know."
At first, I coveted the one behind it—simple, with cleaner lines. But as the rain continued to fall, filling the hallows of the other and soaking my scalp like a sponge, I reconsidered. The basin is so much more unusual, I thought, with branches I could fill beautifully with moss. And even though one of the two is damaged, it's nothing a little chicken wire and cement can't fix.
"How much?" I asked.
When the response came, Jaithan and I looked at each other as though we'd just stumbled upon gold.
"49."
In the car it went, well-placed indeed, with a brighter future ahead...
