Rustic at Heart and Home – Aged Weathered Patina


There is beauty in many things lying around or discarded like this rusty treadle sewing machine base by Wortheim now converted into a little table for outside use.



We spend a lot of time outdoors up here in our sort of rustic al fresco setting under gum trees where smaller, durable outdoor tables like this work well.



In her quintessential Burmese style Edith is inquisitive, talkative and incessantly companionable, never one to miss out.



And the stone slab is heavy enough not to need bolting to the base.



What you see here is the 1876 Wortheim logo or trade mark of the gnome or dwarf with hammer (of German fable) perfectly aged and weathered to a lovely duck egg blue and green/grey patina, a sort of faded vert de gris or verdigris.


In December 1876 Joseph Wertheim of Bornheim Germany, registered two trade marks in Victoria for sewing machines (Class 6). Number 28 for the special and distinctive word “Wertheim”, and number 29 for the dwarf or gnome of German fable. Trademarks State Library Victoria



This original trademark of gnome was eventually replaced by the Star of David.


Remember the Hugo Wortheim pianos?

Here’s a brief look at the German Wertheim Sewing Machine Company and a little more here.


Mum had the Hugo Wertheim treadle when we lived at Leasingham.  Indeed, I learned to sew on that machine. Never missed a beat and sew, sew, sew we did, a real workhorse it was for our large family.







Cast moulding.



The stone slab doesn’t require attaching or bolting to the base.




The ornate casting in the treadle.



There are various styles of treadle sewing machine bases around but the Wortheim always wins for me. Not as plain as some with its ornate, intricate scroll work.



Edith P chatting away, commenting.  If she was human she’d be from the chattering chatting classes.




More chatting.




No more chatting and chattering. Conked out.




Hi Mum, I’m awake now” More chatting.



These shots were taken last autumn (fall).


The lazy autumn sun is sinking in the west casting long golden shadows on the veranda and over some lazy cats on the miners couch.


The pinky red dry leaves are from the climbing grape vines as they start shedding in readiness for the winter months.




Such is Angaston in this beautiful Barossa Valley, the ‘mother’ of all wine country, the dirt mother in fact.

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