Lately, we’ve had to grab time on the porch in the morning or not at all. It is too darn hot the rest of the day. Yesterday, like an idiot, I decide to clear out an overgrown area of the back forty in the peak heat hours. What was I thinking? To be honest, I was a mite irritated that this area I had so painstakingly cleared out before I left for California had not been attended to. The guilty party shall remain nameless. It wasn’t Scout or Riley, although they look like they’ve been put in the slammer in these photos.
This table, as well as several benches that live on the porch were a lucky find by my husband. We walk the dogs just down the way on a quiet little road. One day he was walking along and saw all the furniture by the side of the road. He asked about the price. $25.00 for all of it, if we transported it ourselves. Deal.
The bittersweet part of this story and what makes the furniture doubly dear to us is that the former owner of the furniture was this man’s mother-in-law, who had recently moved in with them. I’d seen her walking around their property. A few months after we bought the furniture, there was a terrible car accident just across the road from us. An elderly woman lost control of her car and it plunged down an embankment. She didn’t survive the crash. It wasn’t until later that we realized that she was the same woman who sold us this furniture. You can see why it means so much to us. We spoke to her daughter one day and expressed our sympathy, offering to return the furniture if she wanted it back. She graciously told us to keep it and that she was happy to know it was a part of our little cottage just down the road.
Everything has a story. It has been loved by someone. Usually, we buy something vintage or weathered and wonder about its story. Who owned it? Where did it live before we found it? What stories can it tell? Thankfully, we know a bit of this story. And we are grateful.