The Giant Teapot

I remember dreaming on the couch with my knight in shining armour at the Laverock apartment in Port Elgin. We were mulling over plans of restoration for our new home together in Paisley. Mark focused on the reality of the huge project. The drywall, the plaster repairs, the cleaning of the wood trim, and refinishing the floors would be a daunting task. There was some major construction to be done in the attic as well as painting and wallpapering. All of this work would accommodate living and sleeping quarters for our five children as well as ourselves and it all had to be done before opening the tearoom.

My mind wandered off to the garden in the front. I couldn't wait to see what would bloom in the spring. We knew that we would have to improve the front walkway eventually as the concrete was cracked and heaved. We were certain that the lawn consisted mostly of weeds as well. Neither one of us was all that fond of grass anyway with a preference for various plants and trees as opposed to an immaculate carpet of green. I thought a pond would be nice. Not a big one, just a small one with rocks and water lilies.

A new image popped into my head and I sat up straight, Could we maybe rig up a teapot pouring into some teacups and have the water all running over the rims into the pond? That would be neat. I've always wanted to do something like that.

Mark was silent and pondered this sudden outburst of energy carefully. What about a giant teapot? We could use it as a sign for the tearoom.

I could tell by his deliberately level tone that he was already figuring out how he would go about building one. I reminded him that I wanted it to pour. He assured me that wouldn't be a problem and that we would figure it all out when the time came. We had to move and get the house ready for our family before anything else could be done.

Moving day came with speculations and rumours flying around the small village of Paisley. One individual told us that we couldn't be the new people at the Hay House because the people who were moving in there were old and had a bunch of grandchildren. It didn't take long for the rumour to be updated and before long the friendly folks of Paisley were saying hello to us at the grocery store and waving to us while we worked outside in the yard.

Summer was quickly approaching and we needed to get things looking presentable outside. The signpost went up first. It was a tall pressure treated 8x8 with an extended arm. One passerby remarked that hangings were no longer permitted in Bruce County as the signpost did look remarkably like a gallows. Not too long after that the building inspector popped by for a surprise visit. Apparently, a concerned citizen had reported that a neon sign was going in at 338 Queen, and he needed to put a stop to it. We assured the inspector that neon was the last thing we would hang up in front of our Victorian Tea Room. We then took him to the back room and showed him the teapot in progress. We had laughed about a village being a rumour mill. The building inspector happily went on his way and said he would make a phone call to the neighbour ensuring our good intentions.

Soon after the gallows were erected we were ready to build the garden around our signpost. After accessing the abundant plants available in the yard and a quick trip to the local garden centre we were armed and ready to transform the patchy grass into a quaint sprawling garden and pond. My Dad had dropped off the required topsoil earlier that day and we had been collecting rocks for a while so we had a good pile of them ready. Joannie and Rita were closing up their clothing shop beside us for the night when we put the shovels to the ground.

After digging out a hole large enough for the old cast iron bathtub my Dad found at a yard sale for us, we plunked it in the ground and began to dump rich, black, soil by the barrow full into the garden. Once we were happy with the topsoil mound, we placed rocks and plants strategically around the signpost. By nightfall we had it looking like it had been there all along with its maturing lilies and irises all encircled by my favourite ground cover, periwinkle. We decided to plant some English Ivy as well to go with the name: The Ivy Tea Room. By 10 pm it was complete. Exhausted, we finally called it a day and went to bed only to dream of the next day's projects and hard work ahead.

Work hard we did. We shuffled boxes from one room to the next as we pressed forward toward the goal of getting the tearoom ready. We scraped wallpaper and painted while the teapot sign dried in the other room. At this point, it was layers of Styrofoam and glue drying under the pressure of bricks and rocks brought in from outside. All this happened in the centre of our parlour floor. Finally, the day came to move it. While I was mudding cracks in one room and painting in the other, Mark headed out to the backyard with the gigantic mass of pink Styrofoam. Moments later he passed through the house again juggling various tools in his hands and a handsaw in the crook of his arm.

Time passed and my curiosity welled. I put down my putty knife and grabbed the camera. I had to see what he was doing. I pushed open the door to the backyard and couldn't believe my eyes. Surrounded in bits and chunks of pink foam, Mark had the basic shape of a teapot cut out on the picnic table. He was putting the finishing touches on the sign when I startled him with shrieks of delight and clapped my hands.

You are amazing! I can't believe you did that with a hand saw! I snapped the picture and gave him a big bear hug and a kiss. Pools formed on the rims of my eyes and my cheeks ached from smiling. Happily, I skipped through the door and got back to work.

Later in the afternoon, Mark brought the teapot; with a handle and spout attached, into the mudroom. We propped it on one of the café tables we purchased at an auction and began mixing a flour and water paste for the first coat of paper mache. After four coats of paper mache and lots of drying time, it was ready to be gutted, fitted with a hose and painted a lovely recreational white in Tremclad gloss.

Did you really have to dig out that much of the Styrofoam? I asked. I was horrified at the sight. My one true knight standing in a sea of pink bits with some clinging to his hair and tattered T-Shirt.

How else am I going to do this? It has to come out or it will be too heavy for the gallows and I won't be able to get the hoses in so that it will pour. He said wearing a grimace that pressed his lips tight showing his teeth. His patience was wearing thin from a tedious job. I decided to go back to painting on the second floor.

The next day was sunny and the teapot and its creator headed outdoors to the backyard. The fumes from the next coat of enamel paint would be less toxic out there and would also dry faster. Four coats later it was my turn and the teapot was brought back inside for its lettering and finishing touches. For fun, we added a wooden handle to a plastic planter and painted it to look like a teacup.

A few days later it was all shiny and alive with colour, ready to be hung up on the gallows post. Our good friends; the Langes, came over to help set it up and celebrate. While the boys hooked up the hose and plugged in the water pump, we girls poured the champagne. We added frozen strawberries to sweetened the flavour of the bubbly which encouraged another pour.

Painting and improvements continued over the next few months and the teapot continued to pour. Visitors graced the parlour with glee watching the seasons change around the teapot through the big picture window. Winter came and went and the teapot continued to pour. The paper mache held at least six months longer than we had anticipated, but after two years it needed repair. With it's peeling paint and softening spout we knew it would have to be replaced.

Fibreglass! That will work. I will cover what we have and then dig out the old teapot from inside. Mark said.

We can't keep the old one? I protested.

The master of the teapot assured me that this was the only logical way to go. It would be fast and we could have the teapot pouring again in time for spring. It would also be a good time to make some changes. Perhaps a change of colour would be good? It was difficult to bring the teapot back indoors. We had to shave down the sides to get it in the basement for reconstruction. A week later the fibreglass was complete and it was ready to paint. Purple was the choice this time with lots of gold to make it look like chintz. Roses were added and the name freehanded for a speedy re-hanging. The goal was to have it stand out more with light lettering on a dark background. Surely that would entice more traffic to want to stop and come in and taste our wares.

I hate it! I said to Mark when he came to check on my painting progress.

He nodded and added It's done now and it's time to hang it back up. You've put too much time into it already to redo it. We can change it again later.

It looks more chintzy than like chintz. It isn't classy like I'd hoped. I said with my arms folded across my chest and my lip sticking out far enough for a grackle to land on. Eventually, I unfolded my arms and helped lift the teapot up the stairs.

Maybe we can put fish in the teapot pond this year? Mark offered, hoping to improve my mood.

I could feel my heart lighten with the thought. We really enjoyed having a big pond in the backyard. The fish were very entertaining. We made our way through the front entranceway without scratching the paint and passed through the front door and out into the fresh spring air. There were still some piles of snow in the garden as we straddled the bathtub pond to centre the teapot on its chains.

We also need to do something about this, I said, pointing at the chains that held the giant teapot over the bathtub pond below.

Seeing them reminded me of the windy days and swinging action of the teapot as it poured water all around the pond. It often missed the giant teacup that had been strategically balanced on a flagstone that was a good four feet below the spout. Mark agreed, adding that we would have to change the tub around by 90 degrees so it faced North and South. The weather warmed and we set to digging again. We moved plants around and added more varieties of bulbs and shrubs. We dug the hole wider to accommodate the pendulum motion of the purple chintzy teapot. Unfortunately, the teapot continued to swing and miss the pond. Mark finally decided to cut the post down to half its size and mount the teapot on it. With the swinging halted and the distance the water had to travel to the teacup reduced, the constant concern of the pond running dry was alleviated (unless of course, it was really windy).

When spring visited again in 2004, the teapot was returned to its splendid recreational white with professional looking lettering and hand-painted ivy detail. We also decided that it was time to replace the old concrete stairs with pressure-treated wood. Turned spindles replaced the steel pipe hand railings. The ladies all agreed that the new stairs were much easier to navigate than the old ones. With the help of my brother, we laid red brick patio stones over a built-up ramp of stone dust. That gave the front walkway a welcoming, runway appeal. The gardens were all brought up to the walkway and a pathway of flagstone was placed around the outside edge of the oval garden we had put in two years before.

We hoped that this new look would also stop the heavy rains from pooling and running into the basement under the stairs. During our first winter (mid-January during a thaw) we had gale force winds and torrential rains that not only pooled water around the house but created a geyser sending volumes spouting from under the stairs and into the workshop. It didn't take long for the water level in the basement to reach ankle-deep due to a plugged floor drain. I suddenly remembered a wish I had made years ago in high school. I had drawn a picture of a house with high ceilings, nestled on a slope with a waterfall running through the living room. In despair; with nothing more to do other than pray the rain would stop, we carried on with the evening's plans and joined our good friends in Southampton for a belated Christmas dinner. They served duck complete with stuffing (lovingly referred to as wet dressing), riced potatoes, and vegetables from their back yard garden. We shared our flood story with our friends, and I concluded that a person should be careful what she wishes for.

It seems odd looking out the parlour window now. The morning sun still peaks through the neighbour's trees that gradually stretch toward the sky. The sun makes the stained glass windows sparkle. Irises still bloom in great abundance with the narrow flagstone path still encircling a great patch of daylilies, myrtle, and various other plants that hide amongst the twining tendrils of the English Ivy. The sunken bathtub still holds water and some cement leaves have water pouring over them but it's not the same as when the sign was there. The sound of water pouring from the giant teapot out front used to babble and splash catching the morning sunlight and the attention of passers-by. I remember the sound of screeching tires as drivers realized that there was a giant teapot in the front lawn. I will never forget the people walking by and snapping photos of their friends and family comfortably posing on the bench while the teapot poured. Often cyclists would stop, thinking it was an artesian well of some kind in hopes of filling their water bottles. I would run out to intervene, of course. Children loved to look for the fish swimming in the wee pond. I wonder: will we have the same reaction to the front garden for summers to come? Will the cottagers and day-trippers notice that the beloved pouring teapot has vanished? Odder still is the fact that some people will pass by never knowing that the giant teapot was there at all.