I’ve developed an appreciation for the colour orange in recent adulthood. It had always been not just my least favourite colour, but the colour I’d avoid at all costs in the crayon box and on clothing racks. I suppose I figured why would you choose orange when you could have red? I never saw it as a stand alone colour but a diminished version of the stellar and lucious reds in the world.
Then, I don’t know what happened exactly except that I had this abstract print of a sunset from IKEA for a few years and I loved the colour scheme of it and after a difficult break up with a boyfriend, decided to paint the walls of my condo the colours in the print to try and rid myself of his imprint in my home and on my heart.
I can remember the first roller of orange on the walls and turning to face my friend Laura who had flown out from Winnipeg to High River to help me paint and gasping, “It’s pylon orange!”
It wasn’t. It was “melon” but after the walls having been what Laura affectionately referred to as “Red River Sludge” browny-grey, the orange was rather astonishingly bright. Whatever, one black dog turned orange and one orange wall turned black hairy dog later (Scout fell asleep against a wall) and the place was orange and I was a convert.
I now own orange clothing and last week while on vaca at my other close friend’s family farm, I started to realize there was a lot of orange on the property.
I had been deadheading her mother’s English gardens. Well, I don’t know what actually makes a garden English but she came from there originally and her gardens are supreme and peaceful and flowing and brilliant so I’ll just make THAT my definition of an English garden.
And anyway, I began to pay attention to detail and then I couldn’t help but take photos of every little thing I could find that was orange. Here you go! My Farm Photo Montage to Orange (say it with a French accent and it sounds better for rhyming)