The Things That Take Root
NAPERVILLE - WHEATON - GLEN ELLYN - ELMHURST - GENEVA - ST. CHARLES - BARRINGTON - BARTLETT PHOTOGRAPHER
Castle in the Sky by Alicia Staley Johnson
Happy Sunday my friend!
What a week it's been!
We're finally putting the finishing touches on phase two of our kitchen renovation, although we're now on the hunt for someone who can custom-build a farmhouse-style extension table for our island to give us some seating. Apparently, finding someone to make what I have envisioned is proving to be far more difficult than we anticipated!
The studio was a little bit of everything this week. I photographed two aspiring models for headshots—one a lovely friend of mine entering the world of silver modeling, and the other a 17-year-old just beginning his journey. Two people at very different stages of life, both with such exciting possibilities ahead of them. I have a feeling they'll both do wonderfully.
There was also an especially joyful newborn session for a family who, after years of trying to welcome their second child, finally had their beautiful baby through surrogacy. Moments like these remind me just how fortunate I am to do what I do. An engagement session with one of my former seniors, and a family session with the Hills, one of my all-time favorite families, rounded out the week. Somehow, photographing the Hills always brings me to tears. There's just something so beautiful about the love they share.
And then there was Friday.
After 34 years in business, I experienced what may have been one of the most difficult and patience-testing sessions of my career. It was long, stressful, and at times genuinely dangerous. I'm still gathering my thoughts about the whole experience, and I suspect there may be an essay in there somewhere. Let's just say that even after all these years, I'm still learning a thing or two about patience, boundaries, and the people we choose to work with.
Thankfully, the weekend arrived right on schedule.
And sometimes all it takes to turn a day around is a delicious dinner with your favorite person, a very dirty martini with blue cheese olives, and a reminder that tomorrow is another day.
Life is good again.
Wishing you a beautiful Sunday and a little time to enjoy whatever makes your heart happy.
Some BTS from this week.
Soft Focus: The Things That Take Root
What goes in early goes in deep.
I heard that saying years ago. I can't remember where or from whom, but lately, those words have been finding their way back to me.
Usually when I'm in the garden with my grandsons.
I've been taking them on little walks through the garden since they were only weeks old. Long before they could walk, before they could talk, before they had any idea what a dahlia was or why their Mimi was so excited about one.
I'd carry them in my arms, pointing out the flowers, brushing their tiny fingers against soft petals, telling them the names of things they couldn't possibly remember.
Roses. Zinnias. Dahlias.
I'd show them the butterflies and the bees, the vegetables growing in the kitchen garden, the birds gathering in the trees.
I'm quite certain they understood absolutely none of it.
But I kept talking anyway.
Now that they're growing, our walks have taken on a life of their own.
There are tomatoes to pick, flowers to water, and little discoveries waiting beneath leaves. A caterpillar making its way along a stem. A spider patiently building its web. A bee so busy with its work that it hardly notices us watching.
I try to teach them not to be afraid of these things. To be curious instead. To understand that every little creature has a purpose, even if we don't always know what that purpose is.
And then, of course, there are the squirrels.
Those little rascals have absolutely no appreciation for the hours I've spent planting bulbs or the money I've invested in making our garden beautiful. They dig wherever they please, rearrange things without permission, and occasionally help themselves to something I had very different plans for.
But when we're outside together, and one comes bounding across the lawn, I remind my grandsons that the squirrels live here, too.
Maybe they're hungry. Maybe they're gathering food for winter. Maybe they have little squirrel families waiting for them somewhere.
I suppose we all have to eat.
Now, I can't promise I'm always quite so understanding when I discover another freshly dug hole in my flower beds. But I do believe that everything has a place in this world, and that kindness should extend beyond the people we love to the creatures and living things we share it with.
Even the squirrels.
Especially when they're testing my patience.
My oldest grandson has been watching a sweet little show called Here We Are, about our planet and all the wonderful things that call it home.
Recently, he started pointing to pictures of Earth and proudly announcing,
"That's where I live!"
I love that.
Such a simple little sentence, spoken with the absolute certainty that only a child can have.
And every time he says it, I find myself hoping that these afternoons in the garden are helping him understand what that really means.
That this beautiful, extraordinary planet is his home.
But it isn't his alone.
It's home to the butterflies and the bees, the birds, the trees, the flowers, and yes, even those mischievous squirrels.
And that caring for the place where we live is one of the simplest ways we can show our gratitude for it.
I've been thinking about all of this lately, and somewhere along the way, my thoughts have wandered back to another garden.
One from a very long time ago.
I have old photographs of myself as a baby in my great-grandmother's garden.
She lived on a beautiful piece of property, much like the one Dan and I have now, and she loved her flowers. Zinnias and dahlias grew in abundance, filling her garden with color.
I have such lovely memories of that place.
The flowers. The warmth. The feeling of being surrounded by something that had been lovingly tended.
It's funny what stays with us.
I couldn't tell you what my great-grandmother said to me as we wandered through her garden. I don't remember her teaching me how to plant a seed or explaining why one flower needed more sunshine than another.
But I remember the garden.
And more than that, I remember how it made me feel.
There was something comforting about being there, something that made the world feel a little softer and more beautiful.
And now, all these years later, I find myself standing in my own garden, surrounded by many of those same flowers, with two little boys who are just beginning to discover the world.
Sometimes I wonder if my great-grandmother had any idea what she was planting in me.
Did she know that the little girl wandering through her flowers would someday grow gardens of her own?
That she would spend hours with her hands in the dirt, patiently waiting for the first signs of spring?
That flowers would become not only something she loved, but something she would spend much of her life photographing, arranging, and turning into art?
Did she know that her love of gardening might find its way through my mother, through me, and into the lives of children she would never have the chance to meet?
I doubt she gave it much thought.
She was simply living her life.
Tending her garden.
Doing something that brought her joy.
And perhaps that's how the most meaningful things are passed along.
Not through grand gestures or carefully chosen words, but through the quiet repetition of ordinary days.
Through the things we do because we love doing them.
Through the way we move through the world, often unaware that someone small is watching.
I think we sometimes underestimate how much children absorb simply by being near us.
We worry about teaching them the right lessons, giving them the right advice, preparing them for a world that can be both wonderful and terribly complicated.
But perhaps some of the things that shape us most deeply are never really taught.
They're felt.
In the warmth of a hand holding ours.
In the excitement of discovering the first ripe tomato of the season.
In the patience it takes to watch a seed become a flower.
In learning that a bee isn't something to fear, but something to appreciate.
Or in watching a squirrel run off with a freshly dug bulb and hearing someone say, "Well, I suppose he needed it."
Little moments.
So ordinary that we hardly notice them while they're happening.
And yet, years later, they have a way of finding us again.
Sometimes in the most unexpected places.
In a familiar scent of roses drifting through an open window.
In the sight of a flower we haven't seen since childhood.
In the simple pleasure of standing barefoot in the grass on a summer morning.
Suddenly, we're reminded of something we didn't even realize we'd carried with us.
I don't know whether my grandsons will grow up to love gardening.
Maybe they will.
Maybe someday they'll have gardens filled with roses and dahlias, and they'll know the particular joy of discovering a new bloom after a long winter.
Or maybe they'll live in the middle of a bustling city, without so much as a flowerpot on the windowsill.
And that's perfectly fine.
Because I don't think I'm really trying to raise gardeners.
I'm hoping to raise people who notice.
People who see beauty in ordinary things.
Who understand that the smallest creatures have a place in this world.
Who know that caring for something, whether it's a garden, an animal, another person, or the planet we call home, is always worth the effort.
People who are gentle when they can be.
Curious instead of fearful.
Kind, even when kindness isn't particularly convenient.
I suppose that's what I hope is taking root during all these little walks.
And perhaps, someday, when they're grown, one of them will pass a garden filled with dahlias and stop for just a moment.
Maybe the scent of the flowers will remind him of something.
Maybe he'll remember the warmth of the sunshine, the feel of the dirt between his fingers, or the sound of his Mimi talking endlessly about flowers.
Or maybe he won't remember any of those things at all.
Maybe he'll simply feel a quiet happiness he can't quite explain.
A sense of familiarity.
A feeling of being home.
And I think that would be enough.
Because I was once that little child, wandering through a garden someone else had planted.
I didn't know then that those flowers would become such an important part of my life.
I didn't know that decades later, I would be growing many of the same varieties, on my own little piece of Earth, sharing them with the next generation.
I certainly didn't know that the love my great-grandmother poured into her garden might still be growing all these years later.
But here we are.
And I find that rather extraordinary.
We spend so much of our lives wondering what we'll leave behind. What our children and grandchildren will remember. Whether the things we do will matter once we're no longer here to do them.
Perhaps the answer is simpler than we think.
Maybe it's in the way we loved.
The things we noticed.
The kindness we offered.
The beauty we took the time to create.
And the little pieces of ourselves we passed along without ever knowing we were doing it.
What goes in early goes in deep.
I don't know if that's always true.
But when I look at those old photographs of a little girl in her great-grandmother's garden, and then look at my grandsons wandering through mine, I can't help but think there must be something to it.
After all, some things take root so quietly that we don't even notice them growing.
Until one day, many years later, we find ourselves standing in a garden, surrounded by flowers, and realize they've been blooming inside us all along.
*This essay and more can be read on my Our Cozy Compound substack
WHAT I’M LOVING THIS WEEK
Inspiring Follow: @suzi_j
Sometimes the Instagram algorithm actually gets it right!
For months, Suzi (@suzi_j) kept popping up in my feed, and I kept saving her workouts, thinking one of these days I'm going to start doing these.
Well, apparently that day has arrived!
Suzi is 60 years old, recently featured in Women's Health, and shares her approach to staying strong and fit as we get older. What I love most is that she doesn't claim to be an expert. She simply shares what works for her, and she's incredibly inspiring!
After one too many conversations with myself about this stubborn menopause weight, I finally decided to stop saving the workouts and actually start doing them! I joined her Fit Over 40 Fall Challenge, and I'm officially on day three.
The program is surprisingly doable: 30 minutes of full-body weight training three days a week, along with 30-minute walks two to three days a week. We've actually been walking for an hour, so I figured I was already ahead of the game. Ha!
Am I sore? A little. Am I enjoying it? Maybe!
If you've been looking for a little motivation to get moving, especially in this chapter of life, Suzi is definitely worth a follow. Sometimes all we need is a little inspiration to finally begin.
What I’m Loving: A Country Style by Harriet Thistlethwayte
I've been following Harriet Thistlethwayte, better known as @yomargey on Instagram, for several years now, and I have to admit, I fell in love with her home long before I ever held her book in my hands.
Her beautiful, centuries-old property is everything I dream of, but it's her stunning brick greenhouse that truly has my heart. If I could wave a magic wand and create my dream greenhouse, it would look very much like hers. Of course, part of its magic comes from something you simply cannot recreate overnight—history, time, and generations of life lived within those walls.
Her beautiful book, A Country Style: Living and Creating with Nature Through the Seasons, is an extension of everything I've come to love about Harriet. Her creativity is rooted in nostalgia, a romance with vintage treasures, and a deep appreciation for nature and the changing seasons.
It's the kind of coffee table book you want to curl up with, slowly turn the pages, and get lost in for a while. Beautiful, inspiring, and wonderfully calming.
And what I love most is that nothing about Harriet's world feels manufactured or overly styled. It's simply her life, her creativity, and her genuine love for the things that surround her.
Pure authenticity.
And to me, that's what makes it so beautiful.
Local-ish: Hide + Seek
After 34 years in the photography business, I like to think I've developed a pretty impressive amount of patience. Well, yesterday that patience was tested in ways I didn't know were possible. I'll spare you the details for now (although there's a good chance they'll make their way into next week's essay), but let's just say that by the time I finished my shoot, there was only one thing I wanted.
A dirty martini. Extra dirty. With blue cheese olives, please.
So Dan and I headed to HIDE+SEEK in Chicago's West Loop, a restaurant we've visited several times and have never been disappointed by.
Located along Randolph Street's Restaurant Row, HIDE+SEEK has a wonderful atmosphere—stylish, a little moody, and just the right amount of sophistication without feeling stuffy. Their creative American menu draws inspiration from French, Italian, and Spanish cuisine, with delicious dishes designed for sharing and a cocktail menu that's equally impressive.
And once again, everything we ordered was wonderful. And can we talk about the tiramisu? Absolutely delicious. I would happily go back for that alone!
I'm happy to report that somewhere between that first sip of my martini, our delicious dinner, and the last bite of tiramisu, my mood improved considerably. Funny how a great meal, a good cocktail, and an evening with your favorite person can turn a day around.
If you're looking for a lovely spot for dinner or cocktails in Chicago, put this one on your list.
838 W. Randolph Street, Chicago, IL
Studio Happenings
A Classic Ralph Lauren Christmas Is Coming to the Studio!
We're sharing a little sneak peek at the inspiration behind this year's Holiday Home and Santa Experience sessions!
Our front room will be taking on a classic Ralph Lauren Christmas feel, beautifully designed by Mark Allen of Warehouse 55. Think rich tartans, deep forest greens, burgundy velvet, warm leather, and all those timeless details that make Christmas feel so nostalgic and inviting.
While this mood board isn't an exact representation of the finished set, it gives you a wonderful idea of the colors, textures, and overall look Mark is creating.
We know one of the biggest questions every year is, "What should we wear?" So, for those of you already booked, let this be your inspiration! Think cream, camel, navy, forest green, burgundy, and classic plaids. Cozy knits, beautiful textures, velvet, and timeless pieces will all look wonderful in this setting.
We can't wait to bring this one to life and welcome your families into a little bit of Christmas magic!
with love and light,
Alicia Staley Johnson
of Alicia’s Photography
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