Blue Willow

Blue Willow China has always been part of my life. From my girlhood, I remember my grandmother's sisters bustling around the Farm kitchen and dining room, preparing a meal for our extended family, slapping large bowl-shaped plates on the long table, each one a magical world of BLUE.

My grandmother, Eva, on the right.

Two of her sisters, Nina and Myrtle.

Taken at the Farm in the 50s.

I remember how my Dad disliked those plates with their complicated pattern. Old world. He was of the New World, thank you very much, a rising young architect in post-World War II Michigan, aspiring to follow the example of Frank Lloyd Wright. He bought the plain flat "modern china" of Russell Wright for our modern home.


Maybe that's why I automatically LOVED the Blue Willow. I was my father's daughter, after all, rebel, maverick, independent thinker.

I started a Blue Willow collection of my own later in life, all the family china long gone, lost to unscrupulous antique dealers who used to visit the Farm and sweet-talk Aunt Nina out of something for a bit of cash. Old Junk, in her opinion. Priceless family heirloom, I now know, I think I knew then, too.

My Blue Willow collection took a different turn in the 80s as I started collecting windmill China. Anything with windmills, Dutch windmills. I was raised in Dutch Reformed Grand Rapids--visited the Holland Tulip Festival ever spring as a girl--had friends and teachers with names like Vander Hoosen and Vander Veen.

The last Christmas present my mother ever gave me was a blue flow mustard server with spoon. Notice the Blue Phoenix on each piece.


I still have her note, explaining that this belonged to my Grandmother Knapp. Both the note from my mother and the mustard server are precious to me.

Eva Louise Weeks Knapp