Spring is here at last! Time to break out the spades, and break in those new gardening gloves. Time to ferret out that trowel from wherever you stashed it last fall. Yes, time’s a-wasting, and Mother Earth is waiting!

That is, she’s waiting if you actually have a place to plant a garden. Or if you have a green thumb. Preferably both. If not, there are remedies besides artificial greenery: indoor ceramic planters! Not just your traditional bowls and rectangles, these are figural planters, which came into their own in the 1940s and ‘50s. Guaranteed rays of decorative sunshine, figural planters turn any environment into a garden party.

Lifting non-green-thumbers out of their doldrums was probably not the first consideration of the artisans who created these planters. During the early years of the 20th century, America had relied on overseas imports for affordable decorative accents. World War II changed all that. Imports were unavailable for the duration, and inexpensive home décor items (for instance, planters) needed to be home-grown.

Ceramic designers of the World War II years could, quite literally, be called “designing women.” With much of the male population otherwise occupied overseas, female designers surged to the forefront. California alone saw the rise of such talents as Kaye (aka “Kaye of Hollywood”), Yona Lippin, Betty Lou Nichols, Florence Ward (Florence Ceramics), and Jimmie Lee Stewart of deLee Art. But when it came to figurines, the most prolific of them all was Hedi Schoop.

A Swiss émigré, Schoop successfully translated her early work with plaster dolls to the ceramic medium. Acclaimed as “very whimsical and smart,” her figurines won fans due to their flowing lines, eye-catching glazes, and “in-motion” poses. Schoop also served as an inspiration to other designers, including both Kaye and Yona, whose career paths began at her factory.

At first, stand-alone figurines took center stage. Peasant girls, wistful maidens, and courting couples by Hedi and her contemporaries transferred quickly from store shelves to home shelves, as consumers snapped them up. Buoyed by the response, designers expanded their inventory themes. Soon joining the ceramic throng were international characters, children, animals, and even fantasy and fairy tale figurines. The public devoured these too, but still wanted more. Designers once again obliged, and released accompanying pieces (candlesticks, soap dishes, bowls, ashtrays, et al), in colors and designs that complemented the original figurines. Most popular though, were figurals that did double duty, such as wall pockets and “lady head vases” with openings intended to hold a small spray of flowers. At the very top of the double-duty list: figural planters.

“Here Comes Peter Cottontail,
Hoppin’ down the bunny trail,
Hippity, hoppity, Easter’s on its way!”
(Steve Nelson & Jack Rollins, 1950)

That Gene Autry. First, the cowboy crooner set his sights on Christmas, giving us the lowdown on “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and offering the timely reminder, “Here Comes Santa Claus.” Then, Gene sidled on down the trail a-piece, until he found another holiday worth celebrating. The result: 1950’s bouncy “Here Comes Peter Cottontail.”

Holiday-happy Irving Berlin put all his eggs in one basket, too. “Easter Parade” started off as a song, then became the title of the 1948 Judy Garland/Fred Astaire movie smash. No bunnies, just a tuneful tribute to a beloved Easter Sunday tradition: folks decked out in bandbox finery, strolling down Fifth Avenue (Berlin was a master of re-invention. When an early composition “Smile, and Show Your Dimple” flopped, he put it away until 1933, when “Easter Parade”– the same tune with new lyrics – debuted).

Sprightly songs are one thing. But marshmallow Peeps? Be-ribboned bonnets? Frisky bunnies delivering candy-stuffed baskets? Just how did a major Christian holiday become teamed up with such unlikely springtime bedfellows? Well, blame it on that ancient Anglo-Saxon goddess “Eostre.” When Christianity arrived, it meant easing converts out of long-held pagan practices. Since the spring observance of Christ’s Resurrection roughly coincided with the timing of “Eostre’s” festival, a new celebration supplanted the old. The name remained (sort of); so did “Eostre’s” earthly symbol: the rabbit.

Lent was a period of penitence, “Mardi Gras” the final fling leading into it, Easter the grand celebration of its close. Gradually, Easter’s religious aspects were joined and complemented by secular traditions, celebrating spring as a season of rebirth and renewal. And, from the early 1900s onward, many of those traditions have enjoyed their greatest popularity in America:

Easter eggs
In medieval times, eggs, a symbol of new life, were not eaten during Lent. When Easter rolled around, exchanging Easter eggs seemed egg-zactly right. Back then, the wealthy wrapped theirs in gold leaf; the rest of the world settled for eggs color-stained with flower petals.

The Easter Bunny
In Germany, the “Oschter Haws” (“Easter Hare”) hides nests of brightly colored eggs. German immigrants brought the tradition to America in the 1700s (Incidentally, says the National Confectioner’s Association, 76% of Americans think chocolate bunnies should be eaten “ears first!”).

Easter cards
To boost sales, a printer in Victorian England spruced up generic spring greeting cards with bunnies. Today, while not leading the Easter parade, Easter cards follow Christmas, Valentines Day, and Mother’s Day cards in popularity.

Here’s when the Christmas season really gets underway: one wintry day, amongst the deluge of bills and ads, your daily mail coughs up something out of the ordinary. Maybe it’s an envelope dotted with stenciled snowflakes. Maybe there’s a grinning snowman on an address label. But you know, even before opening it, exactly what you’ve received. It’s your first Christmas card. Let the holidays begin!

Commercially-produced Christmas cards first came to us courtesy of Sir Henry Cole, director of London’s Victoria & Albert Museum.

Cole had a tradition of sending handwritten holiday greetings to family and friends, but by 1843 the list was lengthy. Inspiration struck: he commissioned John Calcott Horsley, a member of the Royal Academy, to create a card that could be lithographed and colored by hand. “Extras” in the initial printing of 1,000 were then made available for sale to the general public.

Horsley’s 3” x 5” card illustrated three scenes: A family enjoying a holiday toast filled the central panel; the side panels featured folks performing charitable acts. The cards were roundly condemned, however, because one figure shown sipping wine in the central panel was a child. They were quickly withdrawn from the market; today, only about a dozen remain.

Over the next several years, the custom of card exchange grew in popularity, although initially only the wealthy could afford them. Then, thanks to the use of less costly paper and the development of the steam printing press, production costs plummeted. And, thanks to England’s Postal Act of 1840, even mailing a Christmas card was extremely affordable: postage was just a penny to anywhere in the United Kingdom.

In the United States, those sending “season’s greetings” had to make do with imported cards until 1875. That’s when Louis Prang, the “Father of the American Christmas Card,” began to sell them domestically. Prang’s “chromos” utilized zinc plates, which proved much less expensive than previous methods of color printing. The Christmas card tradition caught on here just as quickly as it had overseas; by the 1880s, Prang produced nearly five million cards annually.

By the 1920s, the Christmas card thematic pattern had become well-established, offering up a unique blend of nostalgia, sentiment, and season-specific visuals. Holiday wishes became particularly poignant during World War II, as greetings were sent to those overseas, keeping morale high, both at home and abroad.