TREASURE GARDEN FURNITURE COVERS. FURNITURE COVERS

Treasure Garden Furniture Covers. Claw Furniture Feet. From Mor Furniture.

Treasure Garden Furniture Covers


treasure garden furniture covers
    garden furniture
  • Garden furniture, also called patio furniture and outdoor furniture, is a type of furniture specifically designed for outdoor use. It is typically made of weather resistant materials. The oldest surviving examples of garden furniture were found in the gardens of Pompeii.
    treasure
  • A person whom the speaker loves or who is valued for the assistance they can give
  • A very valuable object
  • accumulated wealth in the form of money or jewels etc.; "the pirates hid their treasure on a small island in the West Indies"
  • care for: be fond of; be attached to
  • prize: hold dear; "I prize these old photographs"
  • A quantity of precious metals, gems, or other valuable objects
    covers
  • Put something such as a cloth or lid on top of or in front of (something) in order to protect or conceal it
  • Envelop in a layer of something, esp. dirt
  • Scatter a layer of loose material over (a surface, esp. a floor), leaving it completely obscured
  • (cover) provide with a covering or cause to be covered; "cover her face with a handkerchief"; "cover the child with a blanket"; "cover the grave with flowers"
  • (cover) screen: a covering that serves to conceal or shelter something; "a screen of trees afforded privacy"; "under cover of darkness"; "the brush provided a covert for game"; "the simplest concealment is to match perfectly the color of the background"
  • (cover) blanket: bedding that keeps a person warm in bed; "he pulled the covers over his head and went to sleep"
treasure garden furniture covers - Challenger 54-InchRound
Challenger 54-InchRound Table/Chair Winter Cover
Challenger 54-InchRound Table/Chair Winter Cover
Super strong, lightweight and soft, protect your umbrella from rain, dirt, ice and snow. Tough, durable “Gator Weave” furniture covers are made from our exclusively designed fabric that are both durable and breathable, water resistant and will not crack or peel like vinyl. “Gator Weave” covers are also soft so they won’t scratch your furniture and features a spring-loaded cinch that locks to keep the covers snug on your furniture all winter long. Covers come in a neutral champagne color to attractively match your patio area. Each cover comes with its own storage pouch for easy spring storage. Has 6 Ties, hole for umbrella and velcro umbrella closure.

80% (19)
Peeking Out
Peeking Out
Light falls across furniture left in a otherwise empty room. I grew up in the Wild, Wild West of America; or at least what's left of it. Most days, I would saddle up my fiery, bay horse and we would gallop up and over the hill behind my house and spend the rest of the day exploring in the desert, literally not seeing a soul, road, house or sign of human life for hours and miles. The reality of farm life allowed me plenty of opportunity to develop a autonomous, confident self, who made things alone and if she failed, there was no one to blame but herself. I was an American girl, growing up without connection or perception of a past, only a present and a future of my choosing. We lived in a trailer for most of the childhood I can actually remember. It was a small trailer to begin, then one day we bought a bigger trailer and the old one was rolled away. We knew where our trailer was placed after it left our property. I recall driving by it every so often, my parents would point and chuckle as my sister and I pressed our face to the window glass, gazing at what was once our home. It sat on the side of a barren hill, looking tiny and opaque, giving up no hints about the lives it housed currently. The town I grew up in was incorporated in 1904, barely 80 years later I would be born. In history class we learned about the Indians that lived on the land for hundreds of years before Lewis and Clark arrived and after that, we shut our books and looked up to the current times. For me, my home and land were young, a near-white canvas that imagination and hard work would paint. From growing up in a house with wheels to living in a state with a mere 100 years of history, the thought of Europe, with all its recorded history, was an intriguing entity that called my name loud and clear for as long as I can remember. My huge obsession with Europe fueled my decision to live in Italy for a year. Living there I had one unrealistic experience after another. Vintage wine-filled afternoon with Counts in Palaces, rides through Mugello on a shiny red motorcycles, picking olives in the early Tuscan fog, horse rides through the woods and the one I am writing about today: a trip to a empty villa, complete with a Byzantine Silk factory. This day my friend and her boyfriend, knowing my passion for photo safari's took me out in the countryside near Pisa to visit a family estate. I hopped in the car as I did most of my mornings in Florence, a little confused as to where we were going or what we were doing (blame it on the Italian as a second language) but confident I would have the absolute best day of my life. And so it started, me staring wide-eyed, like a child out the window taking in the intricate beauty of Italy. We arrived late morning and parked in a gravel lot, walked across the street and unlocked a large gate. As we pushed the gate open it groaned a supernatural welcome into the interior silent paradise so layered with voices from centuries gone by, my ears were ringing in seconds and my imagination began to paint hypothetical situations in rapid iterations. When I enter dream-like real life scenarios I often hold my breath, but I also hold my breath when I am shooting. Needless to say I spent the next two hours intermittently gasping for air, sending blood shooting into my forehead, rocking me back and forth as I readjusted my eyes and stance. As my hosts coolly gave me the grand tour and answered my silly questions, I shot furiously, vowing to capture the unreal scene forever on film. The villa was situated next to a silk factory. The factory, now empty, with nature creeping from every angle, was Byzantine style architecture, which seemed to cut Italy's tender sky, so used to gentle arches and domes. Huge rooms, echoing in their emptiness, once held worms that produced fabric for the wealthy. Next to the factory were the servants quarters, long since over taken by trees and vines which filled the space once filled with countless generations of life. Behind the villa overgrown gardens twisted around ponds and sculptures leading to a cavernous "lemon storage" structure. Entering the domed building, the ceiling covered in terra-cotta tile, I snapped my way to the back where a dark passage pulled me in as far as I dared to move through the darkness. Next a proportional, but small, personal church stood ornately in the woods. Leaving me wondering about the loneliness inherit in these self-sustained enclosed communities of medieval Italy. Finally we were ready to enter the villa. While it was mostly empty in each room a small treasure and glimpse into the past sat serenely in the dim light, covered in a fine dust. Some rooms there were grand curtains, dingy and fading, still proudly doing their job of blocking out the world from pouring through the windows. Other rooms storm shutters were strewn across the floor, unable to withstand the storm of passing time. The main rooms seemed filled with life to me
Ball Room
Ball Room
Furniture moved into the corner of a grand room. I grew up in the Wild, Wild West of America; or at least what's left of it. Most days, I would saddle up my fiery, bay horse and we would gallop up and over the hill behind my house and spend the rest of the day exploring in the desert, literally not seeing a soul, road, house or sign of human life for hours and miles. The reality of farm life allowed me plenty of opportunity to develop a autonomous, confident self, who made things alone and if she failed, there was no one to blame but herself. I was an American girl, growing up without connection or perception of a past, only a present and a future of my choosing. We lived in a trailer for most of the childhood I can actually remember. It was a small trailer to begin, then one day we bought a bigger trailer and the old one was rolled away. We knew where our trailer was placed after it left our property. I recall driving by it every so often, my parents would point and chuckle as my sister and I pressed our face to the window glass, gazing at what was once our home. It sat on the side of a barren hill, looking tiny and opaque, giving up no hints about the lives it housed currently. The town I grew up in was incorporated in 1904, barely 80 years later I would be born. In history class we learned about the Indians that lived on the land for hundreds of years before Lewis and Clark arrived and after that, we shut our books and looked up to the current times. For me, my home and land were young, a near-white canvas that imagination and hard work would paint. From growing up in a house with wheels to living in a state with a mere 100 years of history, the thought of Europe, with all its recorded history, was an intriguing entity that called my name loud and clear for as long as I can remember. My huge obsession with Europe fueled my decision to live in Italy for a year. Living there I had one unrealistic experience after another. Vintage wine-filled afternoon with Counts in Palaces, rides through Mugello on a shiny red motorcycles, picking olives in the early Tuscan fog, horse rides through the woods and the one I am writing about today: a trip to a empty villa, complete with a Byzantine Silk factory. This day my friend and her boyfriend, knowing my passion for photo safari's took me out in the countryside near Pisa to visit a family estate. I hopped in the car as I did most of my mornings in Florence, a little confused as to where we were going or what we were doing (blame it on the Italian as a second language) but confident I would have the absolute best day of my life. And so it started, me staring wide-eyed, like a child out the window taking in the intricate beauty of Italy. We arrived late morning and parked in a gravel lot, walked across the street and unlocked a large gate. As we pushed the gate open it groaned a supernatural welcome into the interior silent paradise so layered with voices from centuries gone by, my ears were ringing in seconds and my imagination began to paint hypothetical situations in rapid iterations. When I enter dream-like real life scenarios I often hold my breath, but I also hold my breath when I am shooting. Needless to say I spent the next two hours intermittently gasping for air, sending blood shooting into my forehead, rocking me back and forth as I readjusted my eyes and stance. As my hosts coolly gave me the grand tour and answered my silly questions, I shot furiously, vowing to capture the unreal scene forever on film. The villa was situated next to a silk factory. The factory, now empty, with nature creeping from every angle, was Byzantine style architecture, which seemed to cut Italy's tender sky, so used to gentle arches and domes. Huge rooms, echoing in their emptiness, once held worms that produced fabric for the wealthy. Next to the factory were the servants quarters, long since over taken by trees and vines which filled the space once filled with countless generations of life. Behind the villa overgrown gardens twisted around ponds and sculptures leading to a cavernous "lemon storage" structure. Entering the domed building, the ceiling covered in terra-cotta tile, I snapped my way to the back where a dark passage pulled me in as far as I dared to move through the darkness. Next a proportional, but small, personal church stood ornately in the woods. Leaving me wondering about the loneliness inherit in these self-sustained enclosed communities of medieval Italy. Finally we were ready to enter the villa. While it was mostly empty in each room a small treasure and glimpse into the past sat serenely in the dim light, covered in a fine dust. Some rooms there were grand curtains, dingy and fading, still proudly doing their job of blocking out the world from pouring through the windows. Other rooms storm shutters were strewn across the floor, unable to withstand the storm of passing time. The main rooms seemed filled with life to me, layered w

treasure garden furniture covers
treasure garden furniture covers
Treasure Garden Love Seat Glider Cover
The Superior Outdoor Loveseat/Glider Cover. Unlike common plastic or vinyl covers that crack and peel, these high-grade, machine-washable, lightweight furniture covers are made of breathable woven polyester treated with polyeurethane that allows air to circulate, yet prevents water from permeating the fabric. Woven with superior strength thread, the oversized covers protect outdoor tables, chairs, and other furniture from harm caused by dirt, sun, and rain; they do not require UV inhibitors found in other materials. All are heat- and tear-resistant, and allow air circulation that prevents mold and mildew accumulation that results from warm air trapped by lesser plastic models. Drawstring closures are sewed into the bottoms of covers to ensure a precise, wind-resistant fit, and the BBQ and all seat covers have a snug, elasticized bottom edge. When not in use, all the covers can be folded into their integral pouches, which zip closed for convenient off-season storage. Champagne. Loveseat/Glider cover. 26" H x 50" W x 29" D.

Comments