Michelle Galler • May 7, 2015

The hobos feared the tramps and the tramps viewed the hobos as suckers for work. Hobos, wandering migrant workers, stopped in a place long enough to do a job and then moved on. Although tramps were traveling men, too, they rarely lifted a finger unless coerced. Yet, in the late 1800s, itinerants of both persuasions jumped the same trains, were locked up in the same jail cells and ate and slept in the same hobo “jungles.”

As they warmed themselves around the campfires and shared stories of their daily survival, the hobos whittled and the tramps carved intricate, and sometimes whimsical, objects that have come to be known as Tramp Art.

From the 1870s to the 1930s, this relatively little-known folk art blossomed. Although it may have originated with displaced individuals, many a farmer, factory worker and laborer turned out his own version of chip-carved and layered pieces in his own home-based workshops.

Actually, the name Tramp Art was applied to this art form in the 1950s. There were more than 40 ethnic groups creating this art in this country. There is even evidence of retired Civil War soldiers making tramp art in their later years.

Also known as chip art, tramp art shares its vocabulary with quilts, since both traditions use salvaged materials cut into geometric shapes and layered together to create utilitarian objects. Using recycled wood, primarily from the then-ubiquitous cigar boxes or produce crates, and with simple pocketknives as their primary tool, these unschooled artisans carved the discarded wood pieces into objects of every conceivable shape.

The art form was driven by the abundance of wooden cigar boxes and their availability to the artists. The wooden boxes were used for cigar sales in the 1850s, and – since revenue laws did not permit the boxes to be used a second time for cigars – enterprising souls found new uses for the boxes. Since the boxes were plentiful, free and easily carved, ornamenting them by chip carving became popular.

The technique consisted of notch-carving each piece of cigar-box wood with consecutive Vs around its edges. Then it was layered with another piece that had been notched similarly, each layer a bit smaller than the preceding one. The artist then had to assemble the individual pieces of carved wood into a recognizable object. Layer upon layer of decorated wood would become a decorative and, typically, functional item.

Another tramp art technique, called the “crown of thorns,” involved the interlocking of small, notched pieces of wood, much like a log cabin is built. The interlocking pieces were layered and formed a star effect.

Tramp art was an “everyman” craft, practiced by humble men who made objects for their own use or, sometimes, for barter: a picture frame for a daughter’s wedding; a jewelry box, festooned with hearts, for a beloved wife; a gift for a friend. These pieces spoke of devotion and love and the need for these workers to make things of beauty. The heart motif is a common one, as were stars and crucifixes.

Many dealers of folk art and antiques sell the myriad forms of tramp art, including boxes, picture frames, religious artifacts and even larger pieces of furniture. Some pieces were painted, and, these days, anything with the rich patina of old paint is sought-after. Many pieces were clear-coated to show the wood grain.

Prices for tramp art have increased significantly within the last decade, especially since American folk art has gained a huge following with collectors and decorators. Folk art – and tramp art, specifically – seems to attract many younger collectors, perhaps due to its whimsical nature.

The value of a piece reflects the intricacy of the object, the uniqueness of the form and the condition, but, generally, good quality examples can range from a couple hundred dollars for a box up to several thousand for an altar or a cabinet. The beauty of collecting this vintage art of hardscrabble origins is in appreciating how such humble materials have yielded such a tremendous breadth of very distinctive work.

Michelle Galler has been an antiques dealer for more than 25 years. Her shop is in Rare Finds, 211 Main Street, Washington, Virginia. She also consults from her 19th century-home in Washington. Reach her at antiques.and.whimsies@gmail.com.
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Michelle Galler • April 23, 2015

Distinctive bottles of many shapes and hues, displayed in the windows of medieval apothecaries, lured ailing customers to buy their contents. By the 18th century, England was producing more than 200 elixirs and serums, their secret formulas known only to their makers.

Called patent medicines, these “amazing cures” were manufactured under grants to those who provided medicine to the Royal family. Each medicine came in its uniquely colored, hand-blown bottle. By the late 1700s, these elixirs began to arrive in the United States with the first settlers.

After American independence, rising nationalistic feelings were exploited by U.S. manufacturers, who claimed that their potions were derived from plant products found exclusively in North America. Self-medication was alluring to early Americans, who often had limited access to medicines or doctors, and the patent-medicine business flourished. Remedies, often laced with alcohol, morphine, opium or cocaine, were virtually unregulated and available for every known ailment.

By the mid-19th century, doctors, tinsmiths and everyone in between promoted their “branded” concoctions, each with its unique bottle. Sold in retail stores and at traveling medicine shows, they relied on attractive bottles to promote their exotic ingredients. From the 19th to the mid-20th century, a variety of glass medicine vessels, numbering in the thousands, were manufactured to contain an equally prodigious number of brands.

The earliest of these bottles were made from natural sand, which gave them an opaque aquamarine color. In 18th- and 19th-century America, glass bottles were often hand-blown and misshapen or asymmetrical. Because they had to be detached from the blowpipe when finished, a round imprint on the bottom of the bottle – known as a pontil mark or scar – was created.

Early experimentation with additives in glass manufacturing resulted in green, amber or blue bottles. Colored, pontiled medicine bottles are scarce, and prices range from $100 to $20,000. These rarefied bottles are typically a color other than aqua or clear, with a pontil scar on the base. They are embossed with the name of the doctor or the type of “medicine,” as in “Cure,” “Bitters,” “Tonic” or “Sarsaparilla.” The more common aqua medicines with pontils sell for upwards of $20. (Clear glass was not perfected until the late 19th century; hence, a clear bottle is a later bottle.)

One of the clues for dating a bottle is the lip, as nearly all bottles made prior to 1870 had a hot piece of glass crudely applied to the lip. As a rule of thumb, bottles made from 1830 to 1850 have a flared or sheared lip and those made from 1840 to 1870 have applied round or squared lips. After 1870, a lipping tool was used to twist two pieces of glass clipped onto the sides of the bottle into a uniform shape. Bottles from the last part of the 19th century show evidence of this twisting motion.

One of the many popular patent products sold via elaborate traveling shows was Kickapoo Indian Sagwa. Featuring acrobats and Native American horse riders, the shows traveled the countryside, touting their cure-all as a blood, liver and stomach remedy. The richly embellished bottles claimed to contain special Native America herbal medicine, which was actually mostly alcohol, stale beer and a strong laxative. They did, in fact, contained a touch of herbs.

In 1906, the industry received its fatal blow when Congress passed the Pure Food and Drug Act. The U.S. government had finally stepped in to stop the sale of these “medicines,” the sellers of which made unproven, often outrageous claims about their curing everything from tuberculosis and colds to cancer.

Even so, a few patent medicines continued to be produced up through the 1950s. Some products continue to be sold even today, such as Father John’s Medicine. First produced by Father John O’Brien in Lowell, Massacheusetts, in 1855, its brown bottle still retains its familiar picture of Father John.

More than 10,000 types of patent medicine bottles were produced and distributed throughout the United States between approximately 1850 and 1906. Historians have estimated that more than 15,000 different medicines were available in these bottles.

In 1892, Owens Glass Company invented the semi-automatic bottle machine, which left a large ring, known as the Owens’ ring, on the bottle’s base. At around that time, the typical color of glass used for bottles changed from aqua to clear. Fewer bottles were embossed by the late 1930s and into the 1940s, and bottles lost their individuality as food manufacturers demanded more regular containers. The bubbles and the charming irregularities that collectors love disappeared as the 20th century progressed.

Michelle Galler has been an antiques dealer for more than 25 years. Her shop is in Rare Finds, 211 Main Street, Washington, Virginia. She also consults from her 19th-century home in Georgetown. Reach her at antiques.and.whimsies@gmail.com. [gallery ids="102039,134727" nav="thumbs"]

Michelle Galler • March 23, 2015

The earliest Americans lived in simple, one- or two-room structures where space was meager and life was rough. By the 18th century, prosperity brought towns and great cities and more comfortable homes, rivaling those in Europe. Yet, for country-dwellers, who were decades behind the trends in the cities, farming provided the basic provisions and farmers made the furniture. Benches, tables, chairs, boxes and chests were fashioned from local woods into versions of city furniture.

Well into the 1800s, as houses grew to be a bit more ample, rooms were few, still relatively small and set up to multitask. Consequently, each piece of furniture was made to serve multiple functions as well. People got as much out of a room as possible, since heating smaller rooms was more efficient and furniture scarce. It was common for beds to be set up in the parlor and for dining tables to be placed in the center of a room on sawhorse-like trestles, then tucked into a corner when not in use.

Chairs were a luxury, since they were a bit more complicated to make; most people made do with benches. If the family owned any carpets, they used them on tables, as fine rugs were – too valuable to be thrown on the floors. Storage space was at a tremendous premium and a variety of specialized chests were made to store everything from food to textiles and documents.

One of the oldest forms of furniture, the chest was relatively straightforward to make and could serve many functions for early Americans, storing food, clothing and valuables. Plus, a well-made chest was a safe place to keep critters from munching, or nesting in, precious items.

There was a blanket chest for holding clothes or linens and a sugar chest for storing that very precious commodity. The pie chest, typically called a pie safe (though neither a padlocked safe nor a true chest), is another important piece of early storage furniture.

The blanket chest, in its simplest form, was a large wooden box with a hinged lid that was popular from the 17th to the 19th century, since neither attics nor closets were typical in homes of this period. It served as a receptacle for linens and sundry storage, and also provided extra seating (since chairs were a luxury). In colonial America, blanket chests were commonly constructed of pine, walnut, pecan or cherry. Some had short bracket or bun feet. Wealthy folk used imported mahogany for more elaborate chests.

Painting furniture was a way to retard rodent or insect damage, so many early pieces show remnants of old paint washes. The Pennsylvania Dutch painted their chests with traditional decorative motifs.

Over the years, drawers were added and the height was increased. Many period chests will have a “till,” or candle storage drawer. Often, these chests took on the names of the items they safeguarded. They were many times known as dowry chests, or hope chests – since brides often brought their worldly goods with them to their husbands. They were also called mule chests, since they were the repositories of slippers – “mules,” as the early settlers called them. Since few homes had a source of heat in the bedroom, it was the blanket chest, generally found at the foot of the bed, that held the extra bedcovers for frosty winter nights.

In the early days of the rural south, supply shipments were scarce. In some places, people waited up to a year between deliveries. Sugar was a prized and valuable commodity that had to be shipped up river from New Orleans, usually in a loaf or cone form, then carted over land. During a time when a pound of sugar could cost more than an acre of land, families had to have a way to store large quantities of sugar for long periods of time and to guard it against humidity, insects and rodents. Hence, the sugar chest – a southern form found mostly in Kentucky or Tennessee –was a locked chest, often plain in decor, yet a symbol of the family’s social and economic standing. In their heyday, sugar chests were not relegated to a hidden pantry, but proudly displayed, along with their costly contents, right out there in the parlor.

Four boards of virgin timber, glued together to make all four sides, ensured that there were few gaps for insects and humidity to penetrate. Only virgin timber produced boards wide enough for an entire side or top to be made from one log. The chests were usually built on legs to further insulate the sugar from the moist floor. Sometimes different grades of sugar were separated into compartments. There could also be one for the ledger used to record when small bits of sugar were added or removed. Often there was a small drawer at the bottom or an inside compartment where the knife (or nipper) for cutting the sugar would be kept.

Sugar chests are not found as often as blanket chests. As a predominately southern form and a unique one, they command higher prices. Since both sugar chests and blanket chests are long and narrow, it is relatively easy for blanket chests to be reworked to look like original sugar chests. Both chests open from the top, but blanket chests were often constructed from a series of connected boards, not four-board constructed. Would-be buyers should be aware of this distinction to be sure they are buying a legitimate sugar chest.

The pie safe, also called a pie chest, meat chest or kitchen safe, was the predecessor of the icebox and an important piece of furniture in American households starting in the early 1700s. It was used to protect pies, of course, but also meat, bread and other perishables, from vermin.

The Pennsylvania Dutch probably introduced the concept of the pie safe to the U.S. It was typically tall and narrow. The interior would have shelves to hold food items. Kept as far from the stove as practical, on the farm it might be kept on the back porch to catch as much cool air as possible. Southern pieces were often made of pine with poplar interiors. Many times the interior wooden shelves would be perforated to aid in ventilation.

A pie safe normally would have two hinged doors on the front. Screening or pierced-tin panels on the doors and the sides also provided ventilation. The holes in the tin sides were often punched to produce an image such as a church scene, eagles or stars or a simple shape. The image often determines the value of a particular piece.

Although some old country pie safes made do with plain, screened panels, some have elaborate hand-punched designs. An early piece with unusual or elaborately designed tins could fetch thousands. Pie safes made after 1900 most often have machine–punched tins, and are less valuable. Unusual height, finely turned legs and original paint and hardware also add value for collectors.

Last August, a 19th-century Shenandoah Valley pie safe that had been commissioned in 1824 – not only to keep pies safe, but also to promote Andrew Jackson’s presidential campaign – sold for $102,500 at auction. Its date of origin was early for a pie safe, it had old blue paint (a color favored by collectors) and it featured a punched-tin portrait of Jackson and a panel that declared him Hero of Orleans. Whether Jackson ever saw it is anybody’s guess, but since the equivalent in 1824 dollars would have been around $2.5 million, he no doubt would have been flummoxed by the price.

An antiques dealer for more than 25 years, Michelle Galler owns Antiques, Whimsies & Curiosities, based in Georgetown and in Washington, Virginia. Contact her at antiques.and.whimsies@gmail.com to suggest a topic for a future column.

Michelle Galler • February 12, 2015

Governor Gooch had a secret.

Virginia Governor William Gooch had good reason to hide the truth in his 1732 annual report to the British Board of Trade. The colonies were forbidden to engage in manufacturing any products in direct competition with those imported from England, except for those that would benefit the mother country.

Yet, he and his government had long encouraged local entrepreneurs, including a Yorktown merchant known as William Rogers.

An enterprising brewer and businessman, Rogers’s pottery was one of Virginia’s most prosperous businesses, producing 23 types of redware and stoneware, which were shipped up and down the East Coast. Since the quality of Rogers’s vessels was comparable to anything imported from England, and clearly posed a conflict, Gooch maintained his deception until the end of the decade.

The most utilitarian pottery available, redware was one of the first necessities that the colonists made themselves. It’s no wonder Governor Gooch was covert about this flourishing industry. Redware pots were used like plastic is used today. They were comparably cheap, plentiful and locally crafted, using clay with high iron content (this is what gives redware its characteristic red or orange hue).

Redware jugs, jars, plates, bowls and tavern ware of various kinds were used throughout 17th- and 18th-century America. If the housewife needed it, the potter made it. Unfortunately, the potter, or anyone who regularly used redware vessels, commonly developed nervous disorders, like palsy and tremors, associated with lead poisoning.

There are multitudes of contemporary pieces on the market that are being advertised as antiques. Hence, collectors should educate themselves to be able to discern fakes.

Examine the back of the piece to see if it is blackened, which would indicate that it was used on the hearth and is likely an old piece. Since tallow or fat leaches into clay, smelling the piece for faint remnant odors of either can help determine whether it’s an older item. A glaze with a glassy quality is a sign of a modern piece.

Stoneware was developed due to the fear of poisoning from lead-glazed earthenware. Made of dense, blended clays, salt-glazed and then fired to vitrification, stoneware was imported to the colonies from England and Germany.

Early American redware potters rarely inscribed their names in the soft clay, but stoneware quite often bears the maker’s mark. Crocks, jugs, butter churns – chiefly utility items – were typically decorated with freehand cobalt decoration of flora, fauna and, occasionally, military motifs. An urn featuring Civil War soldiers recently sold at auction for $350,000.

The mellow, golden-colored ware is a type of stoneware made of fine yellow clay that was found along riverbanks in New Jersey and other Mid-Atlantic states. Since the yellow clay contains a lower level of iron, causing it to vitrify at higher temperatures than red clay, yellow ware items were much harder and more durable for kitchen use.

The collector can determine whether an older piece is American yellow ware by tapping it: American pieces will thud; English yellow ware will ring. It was a popular choice for kitchen use up until the 1940s, when homemakers began to be seduced by pieces made of modern materials.

The south has a wide and diverse 200-year history of pottery, covering multiple states. Southern redware and stoneware research has made significant strides in the last 25 years. Entire new schools of pottery have been discovered, uncovering new forms and traditions.

The pottery of the “Great Road” represents some newer discoveries of the southern pottery tradition. The Great Road, considered part of the “Great Wagon Road” initiating in Philadelphia, was the primary route from Roanoke, Va., to eastern Tennessee.

A wonderful piece of antique American folk pottery, whether it is redware, stoneware or yellow ware, has its own distinct past. A potter – who probably dug his own clay, mixed his own glaze recipe and fired his pieces in old wood-fired kilns – made each piece, and every piece tells its own unique story.

An antiques dealer for more than 25 years, Michelle Galler owns Antiques, Whimsies & Curiosities, based in Georgetown and in Washington, Va. Contact her at antiques.and.whimsies@gmail.com to suggest a topic for a future column. [gallery ids="101984,135444,135446" nav="thumbs"]

Michelle Galler • January 29, 2015

Early American hooked rugs were a craft of poverty. Prior to 1780, most floors in American homes were bare, especially among the poor. Painted floors or stenciled floor cloths were found in the homes of those who were slightly better off. Only the very wealthy had the means to import carpeting, since the American textile industry was in its infancy.

After 1830, as factories in America began making wool carpets for the rich, having a floor covering became a symbol of domestic and socioeconomic well-being. This was a period when Americans were looking beyond the bare necessities, trying to make their homes more livable.

As the fashion for floor coverings took hold, poorer women began ransacking their scrap bags for materials to employ in creating their own floor coverings. Their work was laborious and slow, hooking rag strips through tightly woven linen or hemp backings using a special tool adapted from the sailor’s marlinspike.

Then, after 1850, trade tariffs relaxed and coffee, grain and feed started to arrive wrapped in jute burlap sacks made in India. This free fabric was strong, but loosely woven enough to allow the rag scraps to be easily hooked through it into the characteristic loops.

The women who made the early rugs also designed them, borrowing many of the motifs from the Oriental rugs imported by the wealthy. A New England peddler noticed the rug-hooking trend and saw an opportunity. In 1876, he began stamping the best of the traditional designs onto burlap. His designs also included lions, tigers, leopards, dogs, cats, birds, deer and floral patterns.

From this point on, every woman could make her own colorful rugs from scraps of clothing. For the next 50 years, this essentially rural craft spread to the humblest households along the northeastern seaboard.

In the waning years of the 19th century, with the industrial revolution well underway, machine-made goods were seen as superior to homemade goods. Hooked rugs were viewed as “quaint” and lost their popularity.

By the 1920s, however, American cities were filling up with multitudes of immigrants. Many Americans reacted to these social changes by idealizing the colonial period as a time of noble virtues and high moral standards. There was a flurry of interest in hooked rugs and homemade quilts as “virtuous” colonial artifacts (though most had been produced long after the end of the colonial period).

In the 1930s and ’40s, antique dealers and interior designers recognized the beauty and historical value of this form of needlework, leading to a resurgence of rug hooking. In fact, the great majority of the rugs we find today sold as “antiques” were made between 1900 and 1960. Since they are less than 100 years old, they are more properly called “vintage.”

American country antique collecting was at its height in the mid-1960s. Armistead Peter 3rd (1896-1983) and his wife Caroline Ogden-Jones Peter (1896-1965), the last private owners of the venerable Georgetown estate Tudor Place, began to redecorate their stately home after Peter’s father passed away. They elected to purchase three hooked rugs for their bedrooms, and those boldly pattern rugs are still part of the collection.

Today, older hooked rugs have again regained popularity, due in part to their wonderfully colorful graphics. Also, like American primitive antiques in general, they show “the hand of man” and mix well with other styles, including transitional and the now-popular mid-century modern look.

Condition is very important when collecting older hooked rugs. Collectors should be sure to check the backing for signs of rot or for missing fabric. A restorer can patch the backing and restore missing rag, but a buyer should be ready to do some heavy negotiating for a damaged hooked rug.

These once purely utilitarian objects are now recognized as an art form that, in addition, traces the nation’s history from pre-industrial times. The good news is that wonderful examples can still be readily found and are reasonably affordable. They add a dash of color, whimsy and history to any well-decorated home.

An antiques dealer for more than 25 years, Michelle Galler owns Antiques, Whimsies & Curiosities, based in Georgetown and in Washington, Va. Contact her at antiques.and.whimsies@gmail.com to suggest a topic for a future column. [gallery ids="101977,135524" nav="thumbs"]

Michelle Galler • January 16, 2015

Here in Georgetown, we live in the mother lode of antiquities, an antique community where relics are everywhere we look. Since Georgetowners interact with history every day in our 18th- and 19th-century homes and on our cobblestoned streets, it’s easy to stop actually seeing the objects and places that inform our daily lives.

So it’s interesting to delve a bit into the what and why of the old things that surround us, everyday household items or fine rarities from a century or more ago: a colorful vase that a favorite aunt left, an old bottle found under a floorboard during renovations, yellow ware bowls, glorious old silver, colorful tins that once held everything from soup to opium.

A dealer in antiques for most of my adult life, I am drawn to old things and old places. I still like to imagine the people who lived in my early 19th-century home and how they lived in it. They loved, lost and raised their families within the quotidian realities of the age.

Just as certain smells can flood us with memories, antiques can provide a powerful connection to our own personal histories. A familiar object spotted at an antiques shop can be an emotional bridge with our past, a childhood moment or a loved one.
Many collectors’ fascination with the things of the past reflects a profound desire to connect to a time when life was more predictable. True collectors don’t buy to resell. They buy for that enduring link to the past, a sense of history, the thrill of the hunt or to furnish a home.

My penchant for collecting Staffordshire portrait figures (1837-1901) stems from all of the above. They are decorative and have a wonderful naïve charm. The figures were the Victorian version of People Magazine; made to communicate the “news of the day” to everyman, they had a broad appeal across social classes. Many a politico, murderer, actress, soldier and historic event of the time were portrayed in Staffordshire.

Victorian portrait figures are generally titled, but not always. The quality of the workmanship varies tremendously. Some were quite primitively rendered, making the characters impossible to recognize (likely the result of basing the portrait on a bad engraving in a periodical of the day). Yet all are historically interesting and, amassed, make up a visually pleasing and thought-provoking collection.

Prior to 1840, most figurines were made to imitate porcelain and finely worked. Starting in 1842, the “flat-back” design made them easier to reproduce in earthenware. The Crimean War (1854-1856) was the heyday of this form. There was intense popular interest in Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, the allied leaders and their war commanders, and a profusion of figures were made in the new style.

One of the chief attractions in collecting Staffordshire figures is the great number of variations within a type. Each potter created his own version of a well-known contemporary subject – a famous battle, performer, literary character or royal personage – hence the profusion of similar subjects that look extremely different from one another.

Some collectors specialize in certain themes, like Little Red Riding Hood (a popular subject). Others may collect circus figures, politicians, sporting figures or any of the hundreds of variations available.

By the start of the 1880s, the art was beginning to decline. Finally, with the death of Queen Victoria, fewer figures were produced. Although a few figures were made to commemorate World War I, they were in a different, more sophisticated style, lacking the former rustic charm.

For me, the fun is in buying whatever strikes my fancy. Since the figures are ubiquitous, I am almost always able to find company for the others in my collection.

An antiques dealer for more than 25 years, Michelle Galler owns Antiques, Whimsies & Curiosities, located in Georgetown and in Washington, Va. Contact her at antiques.and.whimsies@gmail.com to suggest a topic for a future column.

Michelle Galler • July 2, 2014

The mountains in the early summer light were luminescent. The wildflowers swayed in the morning breeze. And the sun cast languid shadows across Main Street in the charming, historic town of Washington, Va.

It was one of those perfect days in Rappahannock County that those who live here never seem to take for granted – the days that make visitors wonder why they never discovered the place or why it took them so long to return.

A smiling Buddha and the peaceful tinkling of flowing water welcome the lucky spa-goer as she enters Little Washington Wellness and Spa. One thinks, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” But – it did.

Soft greens, blues and lavenders – tones of the meadows, the rivers and the Blue Ridge Mountains outside – reflect the spa’s connection to the land, to naturopathic pursuits and spiritual harmony. The calming, candlelit treatment rooms, smelling of fresh linens, are a prelude to the repose and relaxation to come.

The spa’s approach is best described as a union of natural healing and serenity with a hefty dollop of luxury.

Spa founder Jackie Meuse wanted to create a retreat where patrons could restore the body as well as the spirit. She is constantly refining, making sure that all of the elements –talented technicians, the best organic products, a setting that is both pretty and restful – coalesce into an excellent spa experience.

After lots of searching for and testing green, nature-based products, she discovered Eminence Organic Skin Care, a Hungarian line that touts its products as being good enough to eat. I can attest to being tempted.

“Having traveled to special healing and wellness places in the States and in China and Thailand, I made it a point to notice all the extra touches that I appreciated in those spots,” said Meuse. “I was sure that I wanted to have a center of wellness that draws upon the positive energy from the mountains and from the people in this wonderful place that is Rappahannock County.”

Her team of experienced and friendly specialists offers a full menu of spa services and detox treatments, with an emphasis on the holistic approach. The massage menu includes hot stone massage, Thai massage and reflexology, plus romantic and relaxing couples massages. An array of facials and body and nail treatments – including microdermabrasion, waxing and brow tinting – is also available.

My Spa Wellness Massage, an hour’s worth of bliss, easily compared to great massages I have had in many a far-flung, exotic location. Massage therapist Dustin Pennington, a graduate of the Virginia School of Massage in Charlottesville, expertly “read” my muscles (including a tightly clenched jaw muscle, a consequence of city living) and vanquished all remnants of soreness and stress. The aromas of warmed herbal and fruit-based unguents and oils seeped into my consciousness as I surrendered to total stress relief.

The Signature Facial, deftly administered by esthetician Ciera Backe, gently dislodged exhausted skin cells and toxins with fragrant strawberry rhubarb dermafoliant and soothing chamomile tonic. Although I was drawn to many of the ambrosial sounding hydrating and skin-boosting masques and serums – including Pumpkin Latte Hydration, Apricot Masque, Lime Stimulating Serum and Key Lime Vanilla Cream, redolent of healthy smoothies – I was guided to the Firm Skin Acai Masque, which limbered up my normally very dry skin. My face felt rejuvenated, gleaming and fresh.

It is important to Meuse, a county resident with her husband, Joe, and mom to two young boys, Hunt and Bo (plus two dogs, three horses, a few dozen chickens and two baby ducks), to ensure that her business serves the community.

“I have always felt so honored to be living where I do,” she said. “I want my neighbors in the county to know that this is for everyone, not just tourists. And I want the talented wellness practitioners who live and work in the county to know that together we are creating a place where everybody can come to feel happy and balanced. In a tight-knit community like ours, you have old-timers and newcomers who want to know they are equally cherished.”

In addition to in-house services, her staff provides mobile spa services to county residents in their homes – including Washingtonians with homes in the county who crawl out through the traffic on weekends. Once they get here, in-home spa services are a very attractive alternative to leaving their country cocoons.

Acknowledging its location in one of the most stunning rural counties in the state, the spa offers guided hikes in the gorgeous Rappahannock County countryside and the Shenandoah National Park, located nearby in Sperryville. For those who just can’t bear to leave, there is even a lovely suite available for weekend stays.

There is a trove of outdoor activities in the county, notably hiking and horseback-riding, along with beautiful wineries, a local distillery of fine bourbon and rye, terrific restaurants and a number of distinctive galleries, antiques shops and boutiques, including the well-stocked spa shop.

Little Washington Wellness and Spa aligns location and setting, making it the perfect spot to unplug and recharge. Even better, there is no need for planes or trains: it’s a pleasant 90-minute drive from Big Washington.

261 Main Street, Washington, Va.
540-675-1031
littlewashingtonspa.com

Michelle Galler, a resident of both Georgetown and Rappahannock County, Va., is a realtor with TTR Sotheby’s and an antiques dealer. [gallery ids="101795,140748,140745" nav="thumbs"]

Michelle Galler • November 3, 2011

The owners had lived in Europe and loved old buildings, their secrets and surprises. They decided that Georgetown was the perfect place to find the right convergence of a period architecture, space with good “bones” and character that would be a suitable canvas for their creation. Together with their architect, Christian Zapatka, a champion of and expert in period Georgetown buildings, they pursued their quarry.

Their hunt took them through myriad clapboard row houses and brick Georgians until they happened upon their “crumbly cottage,” the dark, dowdy little 1810 Federal that they knew would unfurl into a spacious, light-filled beauty.

The potential lay, in great part, in its semi-detached orientation, with three exposures. Zapatka, an expert in keeping the period aspects of a house intact while giving it a fresh 21st-century makeover, gutted the entire house and then carefully put it back together, weaving together traditional crown molding and woodwork and reclaimed hardwood flooring, with updated lighting and modern space planning.

His greatest challenge was to create another entire level of livable space. Typically attics yield a treasure trove of reclaimable space, but in this case, it needed to be squeezed out from a four-foot earthen, windowless crawl space. His team dug deep, moving another five feet of earth, much of it by hand. Changing an earthen dungeon into a inviting living area is a challenge, and not every basement is a good candidate for finishing. Key considerations for conversion include controlling moisture, adding ventilation and light, and finding a way around hanging drain lines, ductwork and wiring. Added challenges stem from digging around what was once the original kitchen, judging from the huge masonry fireplace, of a 200-year-old building.

Although many finished basements in old houses are musty, dinghy affairs, proper planning, new products and architectural expertise yielded an additional 600 square feet of living space that includes a gourmet kitchen/family room, an office/guest room, a new full bath and a landscaped yard.

Walls of creamy curly maple cabinets hide a flat screen television and stereo equipment and provide plenty of storage. An open floor plan, a sparkling stainless steel mosaic backsplash, skylights, limestone floors and countertops and abundant high-efficiency windows make one forget that this was once a subterranean space.

Michelle Galler is a realtor with TTR/Sotheby’s International Realty, an interior designer and antiques dealer who resides in Georgetown’s West Village. If you have resolved a George¬town design challenge that would be of inter¬est to our readers, contact Ms. Galler in care of The Georgetowner.

Photographs by Amy Snyder Photography