There’s just something special about making a home your own. Putting your own personal flair in a room, leaving your proverbial fingerprints all over your home. Not literal fingerprints, mind you – just the proverbial ones. As of this May, Jim and I will celebrate 3 years of marriage (hoorah!). And since we married back in 2015, we’ve moved from Virginia to Georgia, and Georgia to Mississippi. Our Lynchburg apartment was very temporary, a quaint, cozy living space on the third floor of a house. Then came Atlanta, a small duplex on the edge of Midtown, close to Georgia Tech’s campus. A love-hate relationship with city living and 700 sq feet of living space, we made this apartment home for Jim’s final year at Georgia tech. Then came our beloved loft in Laurel. After packing our belongings the same weekend of Jim’s graduation, we headed down I-59 to a small, Southern town to the spacious loft owned by our now dear friends, Dawn and Michael Trest. Shortly after our move, we couldn’t see ourselves leaving The City Beautiful anytime soon. We had grown to love this small town and the folks who inhabit it. And this brings us to the present – our 1924 Craftsman, our very first home sweet home.
We realize no one expects us to have our home completely furnished at the ripe ages of 24. It takes time to find pieces you love, or even pieces you’re not sure you even like but you really want a chair for when you have company over so they have somewhere to sit. Exhibit A: the floor filler:
I’ve been advised by many to not purchase a piece unless I absolutely love it. But I’ve come to realize I often can’t afford the pieces I absolutely love, nor do I have the patience or discipline to visit all of the estate sales, flea markets, and vintage storefronts until I find the perfect piece. Now I know this is going to ruffle some feathers for those of you who have advised me otherwise, and I don’t do this for every piece, but there are a couple of items in our home that I’ve found to be necessities where I’m willing to compromise necessity over preference. The ironic thing is that I wasn’t over the moon about the pieces when I purchased them, but have quickly grown to love them. It wasn’t love at first sight, but as they became a part of our home, they became a part of our story. It’s somewhat changed my perspective on the whole matter. It’s made me rethink why I love what I love, and to appreciate decor in a different way. There’s so much more than style and aesthetic – I care about the substance and story, too. My Mama told me “buy what you can afford. It may not be what you want now, but you need more seating and this is within your budget.” What’s more, my tastes seem to change, becoming more eclectic with every passing year. Will I love what I did last year as much as I do this year? I blame this on my mother. She’s the cool, hip, woman I hope to be when I’m older, and her design game is strong – a little midcentury modern, but strong. Obviously, I think style matters and plays a part, but I’m learning something else does, too: a piece’s story.
When we moved into our home back in October, we acquired a room we’ve never had to furnish before: the dining room. We hadn’t even thought about a dining table, chairs, rugs, none of it. Here a glimpse of what our dining room currently looks like looking in from the kitchen:
A couple months back, Jim’s mama contacted us about a table in Tennessee, her grandfather’s worktable. It has potential, but even better: it has a history, a story. It was used her grandfather’s, and now it will be repurposed by her son and remain in the Hurt family. I don’t know about y’all, but it just gives me chills to think about a piece of furniture being passed down from generation to generation, used in different capacities depending on the family’s need. We have yet to drive up to Tennessee to retrieve Jim’s great grandfather’s work table because we lack a vehicle large enough to transport it, and haven’t made plans accordingly. But we will, and I think this piece will be one of those most special pieces in our home. But until then, our dining room remains table-less. But I’m ok with it. My table-less dining room can wait another month. The worktable is worth the wait.
P.S. I realize I talk about every piece of furniture in terms of endearment. “Love at first sight, finding their way into my heart, grown to love them, worth the wait.” But you know what? I’m totally ok with that fact.