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Why I Love Hippie Yard Things and You Should Too
It's more than just "stuff."
I didn't expect to become this person.
At 25, I am now someone who rifles through piles of weathered concrete planters and patinaed (or rusting, however you want to look at it) cantilevered chairs. My high school self would *die* knowing that I now covet my mother's plant-covered deck with mismatched pots lining the steps. Her worn-in wrought iron table sitting effortlessly in the yard, begging to host friends by candlelight on a humid summer night, is my definition of #yardgoals.
But how do you define this "style," this infatuation with quirky, old things that don't match? Well, I don't have an official answer for that, but you're welcome to call it hippie yard sh*t, as my husband and I lovingly do.
Our eclectic outdoor collection of antiques, trinkets and upcycled items make our yard feel homey and personal. We want our yard to be a comfortable, casual extension of our home. So, we fill it with things we love!
There are no rules when it comes to bringing our laid-back, hippie dreamscape to life.
Intimate seating options are scattered around under trees, in the garden and by the fire pit with wind chimes tinkling in the background. Empty wine bottles hang in a dogwood tree outside my kitchen window reminding me of our travels and nights-in at home. A Green Man face overlooks our plants (encouraging growth I hope!) Aloe vera spews out of a broken chimenea. A hammock sways in the wind luring me outside for an afternoon nap. When I see all of these elements from inside, I think to myself, "Why am I in here and not out there?!"
Hippie yard sh*t is more than quirky objects. It's a "vibe", an aesthetic that makes us feel at home and at ease. It's a reminder that nature is our original home, to be loved and appreciated. And if hanging a mustached face on a tree makes me notice said tree and revel in its beauty for a minute, then bring on all the tree faces.
Maybe I shouldn't be surprised that I love decorating my lawn with pink flamingos and bird houses. Maybe the bohemian, free-spirited soul was always within me just waiting to surface at the sight of a chipped paint sign reading "sprouts". But in the end, I think I truly got my love for hippie yard sh*t from my momma, the original Garden Goddess.
