June 17, 2026 - And So It Begins.
As many of you know, I've been out of work on medical leave for the past month. While I certainly haven't mastered the art of sitting still, the unexpected gift of time has allowed me to focus on two things: figuring out my health and spending more time building Clucking Hill.
Something unexpected happened along the way. Quite by accident, my paintings and things started telling stories. The bronze rabbit I brought home because I thought he would add a little whimsy to the house somehow developed a personality of his own. Since he's clearly a distinguished gentleman, I named him Alfred. (To Joe's mild embarrassment, Alfred also has a proper nameplate befitting a debonair rabbit of his stature.) Alfred is an observer. Not in a creepy peering-through-the-curtains sort of way, but in the way that some people seem born to notice things. He remembers. He records. He keeps track of train schedules, weather patterns, blooming flowers, and the daily comings and goings of chickens, dogs, and various other residents of Clucking Hill—including one dog who may or may not actually be a shape-shifter.
Somewhere along the way, Alfred began narrating. (it's not the meds, I swear) And then, before I knew it, there was a book in my head.
So I suppose the big news is this: I think I'm writing and illustrating a book about life on Clucking Hill. It'll be a collection of stories about resilience and waiting. About hope, peace, and belonging. About family, friendship, creativity, and finally finding your way home after a long journey. Alfred, naturally, will be serving as narrator because that simply feels right. And have no fear, there will be a measure of ridiculousness throughout because well... I am who I am.
With all of that in mind, I thought this might be a good time to start a monthly newsletter via this blog
I'll share upcoming classes and events, what's blooming in the garden, what the chickens are getting into, what's currently on the easel, and frequent dispatches from Alfred himself - in fact, his first note is below. Over time, I'll introduce you to the growing cast of characters who seem determined to make themselves at home in this little world. You can also meet some of them on the “The Stories” page of this website. Thank you for being here.
xoxo Diana
Observations, Paint, Chickens, and Other Important Matters
A Note from Alfred
Good morning.
For those who are new to Clucking Hill, my name is Alfred. I am a bronze rabbit of distinguished character, part-time naturalist, full-time gentleman, and the unofficial keeper of notes regarding life on the hill. My duties include observing the garden, monitoring the chickens, documenting artistic endeavors, and occasionally recording events that others may overlook. I have found that the world is full of remarkable things if one takes the time to notice them.
Each month, I shall provide a brief report regarding what is blooming, what is being painted, what is being cooked, and what nonsense the residents of Clucking Hill have managed to create for themselves.
Now then. Let us begin.
Upcoming Classes & Events
July 11 - Tidal Dreams: Watercolor Whales
August 8 - The First Annual Clucking Hill Muumuus, Merriment, & Mid-Century Modern Event
Register now on the Classes page! For this event, you can expect:
Mid-century modern inspired artwork
Ridiculous (but comfortable) muumuus (Attendance in proper colorful, retro muumuu or caftan attire is strongly encouraged. There are plenty of muumuu shopping days until then!)
Excessive costume jewelry (can you top what the artist has planned to wear?)
Retro snacks and serveware
Beverages beginning with the letter M
What’s Blooming on the Hill
Summer has arrived with enthusiasm. The portulaca have become excessively cheerful and continue to bloom in brilliant shades of pink, apparently determined to brighten everyone’s day whether they asked for it or not.
The daylilies are putting on a splendid display throughout the garden, while lavender, bee balm, daisies, cosmos, milkweed, goldenrod, Joe Pye weed, and agastache are all contributing to the growing pollinator beds.
The deer, meanwhile, remain committed to their unauthorized gardening program. Several new roses were sampled before protective measures could be enacted. Fortunately, two blooms survived and are currently receiving the sort of attention usually reserved for royalty.
We also have enough mint for the entire Commonwealth of Virginia. If anyone needs some, please let us know.
What’s on the Easel:
Several projects are currently occupying the studio:
Blackwater Benediction
A stained-glass-inspired watercolor of the Fredericksburg bridge, reflecting across still water beneath moody summer skies. The piece explores light, reflection, and the quiet beauty of familiar places.
A Local Business Donation
A special painting is underway for a local business, blending architecture, history, and a bit of Clucking Hill whimsy.
The Beetlethorpes
Reginald and Annaliese continue to make themselves known, despite varying opinions regarding proper behavior, travel habits, and decorative accessories.
Native Wildflowers
Studies are underway featuring some of Virginia’s beautiful native plants, many of which can already be found growing throughout Clucking Hill.
What Else is Going On?
This week brings exciting developments. Work continues with Frog and Mantis Printing as we prepare a small collection of hand-embellished fine art prints. There is still much to learn about editions, paper, gold embellishment, and the mysterious world of professional printing, but progress is being made one step at a time.
Creature Report
After a brief flirtation with broodiness, Caroline and Teriyaki have both decided that motherhood sounds like considerably more work than originally advertised. As a result, all residents have returned to general population and are currently clucking about the jail yard in good spirits. Today’s bird gourmet menu includes leftover stir fry and fruit salad. Morale remains high.
As for my fellow four-legged friends, Petey spent much of the month conducting important research into the quality of various sunbeams throughout the house and yard. His findings suggest that all sunbeams are excellent, though afternoon varieties are particularly suitable for napping.
Rosie continues to patrol the property for suspicious toads, reckless lizards, and other creatures minding their own business. The Artist disapproves of these activities, while Rosie maintains that she is simply performing her civic duty.
Fenwick remains an object of considerable scientific interest. Known to some readers as Cocoa, he has elected to use a nom de plume for literary purposes. I have been assured this is standard practice and not, as originally suspected, the result of witness protection. He continues to divide opinion among local observers. Though commonly described as a dog, recent reports from the Ring camera have alternatively identified him as a fox, a turkey, and a bobcat. At present, no definitive conclusion has been reached. Fenwick himself has declined to comment on the matter. He’s busy.
What’s Cooking
Last weekend&’s Monstera classes were fueled by vegetarian green chile quiche and fresh garden salsa. The salsa proved unexpectedly popular and generated multiple recipe requests. The recipe has been posted on Facebook, though I suspect the success of the dish may have had as much to do with good company as the ingredients themselves.
Until Next Month - From all of us here at Clucking Hill—thank you for painting with us, visiting the garden, encouraging the artwork, and sharing in this strange and wonderful little corner of the world.
We’ll see you next month.
— Alfred
(Part-Time Naturalist, Full-Time Gentleman)
July 17, 2026 - The Slow Work of Becoming
Hi, friends! Happy mid-July!
The older I get, the more I realize that the most meaningful things in life are rarely built all at once. Gardens don't bloom overnight. Paintings begin with masking fluid and awkward first washes that don't look like much of anything. Friendships deepen through ordinary conversations. Businesses are built one class, one student, one painting, one idea at a time.
This month has been full of that sort of quiet work.
From the outside, it probably looks like Clucking Hill has simply gained a website, a few new paintings, and a handful of upcoming events. Behind the scenes, though, it's been filled with learning. Learning about printing, taxes, websites, business licenses, marketing, and the hundreds of little things that somehow become part of building a dream.
The future Clucking Hill studio still exists mostly in my imagination. At the moment, it's a basement full of boxes waiting patiently for walls, electricity, and a bathroom. Yet somehow I can already picture watercolor classes, coffee shared with friends, laughter around the paint tables, and quiet afternoons spent reading by the windows. I suppose that's part of building something beautiful—you have to believe in it long before anyone else can see it.
Next week I return to my day job after several weeks away on medical leave. While I wish my neck had healed more quickly, this unexpected season gave me something I didn't realize I needed: time. Time to paint. Time to dream. Time to build Clucking Hill one careful step at a time. For that, I'll always be grateful.
Thank you for following along on this adventure. Your encouragement has meant more than you know.
With love,
Diana
Upcoming Classes & Events
August 8 The First Annual Clucking Hill Muumuus, Merriment & Mid-Century Modern Gathering
Preparations are well underway. The vintage green glass collection continues to grow, the costume jewelry has become delightfully excessive, retro refreshments are being planned, and I have every reason to believe this may be the only art class where wearing an outrageous muumuu is considered entirely appropriate.
If you've been waiting for permission to dress colorfully, laugh loudly, and spend a day making art with kind people... This is it.
Additional fall classes, holiday workshops, and several vendor events continue to fill the calendar, and I cannot wait to share them with you.
What's Blooming on the Hill
The zinnias have collectively decided that subtlety is overrated. Together with the coneflowers, they have completely stolen the show, filling the gardens with color and welcoming bees, butterflies, and every passing pollinator.
Perhaps the biggest surprise, however, has been the return of several balloon flowers that I was convinced had disappeared two years ago. Apparently they had other plans and quietly decided they still belonged here after all. Nature has a remarkable way of reminding us that hope occasionally arrives exactly where we least expect it.
What's on the Easel
Today belongs to the paintbrush. After several weeks spent teaching classes, preparing templates, organizing prints, building a website, and learning the business side of Clucking Hill, I'm looking forward to spending the day painting.
The fireflies are waiting. Several holiday paintings are beginning to take shape.
And somewhere nearby, Tallulah (you’ll officially meet her in August) is undoubtedly preparing to supervise the entire operation.
Observations, Paint, Chickens, and Other Important Matters - A Note from Alfred
Good morning.
I have recently completed a formal inspection of the future Clucking Hill studio. Current conditions remain... optimistic.
The Artist insists that the stacks of boxes represent "potential." She points enthusiastically toward unfinished walls while describing classrooms, cozy reading corners, cheerful gatherings, and coffee that has not yet been brewed. I confess that, at first glance, I found this difficult to understand. However, I have also observed that gardens begin as bare soil, paintings begin as blank paper, and friendships begin with strangers.
Perhaps studios are much the same. They all appear to begin in the same way. Someone believes in them long before anyone else can see what they are becoming. The balloon flowers, I suspect, understood this long ago.
Until next month, I remain,
Alfred R. Hareington
Part-Time Naturalist, Full-Time Gentleman
August 28, 2026 — The Things That Carry Us
Hi, friends.
August did not go quite the way I expected.
Actually, if I'm being fair, very little about this summer has gone quite the way I expected. There have been plans changed, things postponed, and days when I've had to accept that I simply can't do as much as I'd like. I'm still learning how to move a little more slowly, how to leave some things unfinished, and how to be okay with that.
But August also reminded me of something important. Sometimes, when life gets smaller for a while, you notice more clearly the things that make it feel big.
This month, that looked like a home full of people wearing wildly inappropriate amounts of polyester and costume jewelry. It looked like paintbrushes in water jars, food on the table, laughter coming from every corner of the house, and people who were perfectly willing to show up on a Saturday dressed like someone's fabulous great-aunt from Boca Raton.
It looked like planning another class and realizing I was excited about it.
It looked like seeing familiar names pop up on registrations and knowing I'd get to sit around a table with those people again.
And it looked like realizing that this strange little thing called Clucking Hill has become much more than I imagined when I started it.
I've always said that creativity is about permission—the permission to make something without worrying whether it's good enough, useful enough, or important enough. I'm beginning to think community works a little like that, too. Sometimes you don't realize how much it's holding you up until you need it.
To everyone who has painted with me, laughed with me, visited Clucking Hill, stopped at my table, bought something I made, shared something I've posted, or simply followed along from wherever you are: thank you. You have given me more to look forward to this summer than you could possibly know.
And there is still so much good stuff ahead.
With love,
Diana
Muumuus, Merriment & Mid-Century Modern
Well. This happened. And it was GLORIOUS.
On August 8, Clucking Hill was temporarily overtaken by muumuus, costume jewelry, vintage glassware, questionable fashion choices, very good food, and some truly spectacular people.
We painted. We ate. We laughed. We admired one another's outfits. We proved conclusively that there is almost no occasion that cannot be improved by a dramatic caftan.
There is, however, one tiny piece of unfinished business. I never awarded Best Dressed. Not because there weren't worthy candidates - because I couldn't find the flippin' prize.
I have now found it, which means YOU get to choose our winner. 1-5 in the photo below (#2 is ineligible because that’s me. Ha!)
Vote for your favorite by text, email, or Facebook Messenger, and I promise the winner will actually receive the prize this time.
Probably.
What's Blooming on the Hill
Honestly, I haven't been able to get out to the gardens much this month. It's either too hot, or my body simply says, “No, thank you.” From the windows, though, I can see that, as usual, August is the month when the garden stops pretending anyone is in charge.
The zinnias are still doing whatever they please. The weeds have become increasingly confident. Everything is slightly overgrown, and honestly, I'm beginning to respect the commitment.
The goldfinches have found the Black-Eyed Susans again and have been aggressively deflowering them one by one. The hummingbirds continue to zoom past me when I sit on the porch, or hover in the deck windows to let me know that the day’s refreshments are substandard or depleted. My swamp milkweed has gone to seed, so the cottony poofs are floating around, and I am hoping that some monarchs managed to find the plants again this year.
The annual sunpatiens are huge, so those will be a yearly tradition – and the hollyhock seeds I put in too late have grown into large squash looking leafy plants – I have high hopes that next year, we’ll see them bloom.
What's on the Easel
Fall has started appearing on the paint table.
There are owls and autumn leaves, fireflies and horses—and, inexplicably but inevitably, a chicken wearing a Santa hat. Because apparently that's where we are now.
I'm also working on a small new series that I'm particularly excited about, and the holiday paintings are slowly beginning to make their way into the world. There may be a cat tangled in holiday lights, a festive bird, tracks in the snow…
Some things are taking longer than I originally planned, but I'm learning that longer doesn't necessarily mean worse.
Sometimes it just means still becoming.
A Note from Alfred
Good morning.
August has been educational. I have learned, among other things, that humans will willingly gather in groups while wearing enormous floral garments and then congratulate one another on their appearance. I had previously believed rabbits held the advantage in matters of sensible attire.
I stand corrected.
The Artist has also spent considerable time discussing autumn. There are paintings of leaves, owls, horses, and—most troublingly—a chicken dressed as Father Christmas.
I have elected not to ask questions.
What I have noticed, however, is that people keep coming back. They arrive carrying food. They sit around tables. They paint things. They laugh rather loudly. They leave with pictures they did not know how to paint several hours earlier.
The Artist seems particularly happy when this happens. I believe there may be something important in that.
Perhaps a place does not need perfect plans to become what it was meant to be. Perhaps it simply needs people who are glad to be there.
Until next month, I remain,
Alfred R. Hareington
Part-Time Naturalist, Full-Time Gentleman
