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Saturday 10 AM - 12 PM
or by appointment
Trivets
"A recipe has no soul. You, as the cook, must bring soul to the recipe."
~ Thomas Keller
triv·et
-
a small plate placed under a hot serving dish to protect a table.
These custom-made decorative trivets are exclusively produced by hand at the P Buckley Moss Mathews, VA Distribution Center and provide a unique opportunity for collectors to add beauty to their homes. While they are ceramic with cork backing and can be used in the kitchen or on the table, they also offer the versatility of being used elsewhere in the home especially those hard to decorate areas.
art by
Click art images below for information on each piece.
The Art of Enjoyment
Cooking I do, for those I love;
hours in the kitchen, inspired by One above . . .
Each ingredient chosen to nourish the body;
a table set to present our bounty . . .
​
I may seem a trivial gesture;
one from which I get such great pleasure . . .
A dash of salt and sprinkle of pepper,
a pinch of my thyme makes it all the better . . .
​
A glorious table to greet my guests;
sharing a harmony of flavors put to the test . . .
Watch out! That dish is oh so hot;
No worries, for Pat's ceramic tiles of art protect the spot!
The chill of the season
fills the air as horse and
sleigh move right along;
Hear the chickadee sing
his "Winter Bliss" song . . .
4-1/4" X 4-1/4" square
The Snowbird's Song
by F. C. Woodworth
The ground was all covered with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snowbird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.
​
He had not been singing that tune very long
Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song;
"O sister, look out of the window!" said she;
"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee.
​
"Poor fellow! he walks in the snow and the sleet,
And has neither stockings nor shoes on his feet:
I wonder what makes him so full of his glee;
He's all the time singing his chick-a-de-dee.
​
"If I were a barefooted snowbird, I know,
I would not stay out in the cold and the snow;
I pity him so! oh, how cold he must be!
And yet he keeps singing his chick-a-de-dee.
​
"O mother; do get him some stockings, and shoes,
And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose:
I wish he'd come into the parlor, and see
How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-dee!"
​
The bird had flown down for some sweet crumbs of bread,
And heard every word little Emily said:
"What a figure I'd make in that dress" thought he,
And laughed as he warbled his chick-a-de-dee.
​
"I am grateful," said he, "for the wish you express,
But have no occasion for such a fine dress;
I rather remain with my little limbs free,
Than to hobble about, singing chick-a-de-dee.
​
"There is One, my dear child, though I can not tell who,
Has clothed me already, and warm enough, too.
Good morning! Oh, who are so happy as we?"
And away he flew, singing his chick-a-de-dee.
The "Quiet Marsh" is
where my mind wanders,
Where fiery orange and gold
touch turquoise splendors . . .
​
4-1/4" X 4-1/4" square
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could.
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh.
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I ~
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
"Where the Wild Rose Grows"
the charms of nature are displayed;
Goldfinches light in airy dogwoods
of sweet pink and jade . . .
​
4" X 4" square
Hope is the Thing with Feathers
by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I 've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
The "Promise of Spring"
upon my table I enjoy every day;
For the growing season
is not far away . . .
​
4" X 4" square
Beauty of a Cardinal
by Joseph T. Renaldi
​
I saw a Cardinal in an evergreen tree,
An aesthetic sight that dazzled me.
A red bird seeking shelter from the snow
Causing my heart to immediately glow.
The Cardinal stood out like a picture fair
As snowflakes struck its body there
Upon a branch of the evergreen tree,
Nestled among the needles proud and free.
By the Almighty's mysterious design,
A picture is created that I claim is mine,
For one brief moment, then the bird is gone,
But the beauty of the Cardinal will linger on.
"Shades of Pink"
fill my soul . . .
to my garden I must go;
I enter my quiet world of
peace and joy ~
and sip tea amidst a
flurry of wings,
visits from dragonfly beings.
6" X 6" square
The Dragonfly
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
​
Today I saw the dragonfly
Come from the wells where he did lie.
An inner impulse rent the veil
Of his old husk: from head to tail
Came out clear plates of sapphire mail.
He dried his wings: like gauze they grew;
Thro’ crofts and pastures wet with dew
A living flash of light he flew.
