I pass this logging operation with some degree of regularity. I always want to stop and take photographs, but I tell myself that I’ll do it next time. This happens to me a lot. Well, I finally drove by the other day and then promptly turned around and parked in the dusty lot. One of the owners lumbered (pardon the pun) out to inquire about my presence. A strange woman taking pictures of your recently felled logs is not necessarily a welcome sight in these parts, so I told him I was a designer working on a project about patterns. And would he mind if I snapped a few quick ones. He looked at me as if I were crazy, but then flashed a warm smile and gave me the a-okay. I enjoy the way the timbers are all marked on the ends. But when I see the bigger trees it makes me a little sad. Does anyone know what the notations mean?

Hansel and Gretel immediately come to mind. Or, perhaps a dacha in Russia, after the Bolshevik Revolution. So does Tiny, A Story About Living Small. This house is magical, set back among the white pines. The color scheme is obviously not for everyone, including myself, but it catches me off guard every time I pass it by. It’s the insulation (called “chinking”) between the logs that ultimately draws me in. The bold white lines appeal to my graphic self. Yesterday, as we sped by and I let out my now predictable gasp, P. kindly turned around and pulled off the road so I could traipse onto the property for a few close-ups.

Just what it says: a few signs to liven up a hot humid Monday.