Last October, in a strange and wonderful twist of events, some friends of the family purchased the farm where my grandma used to come swimming when she was a girl. I've blogged about the farm once before. You can read it here.
Before the estate was cleared of any remaining contents, my mom and I were invited to come check it out. I'd never been here before. I'd never driven down the laneway with the two fields as front lawn. I'd never stepped inside the small house with the river gushing behind it, or crossed the bridge you need to cross in order to reach the barns. In an instant, I was charmed.
Dishes we dug out from the dirt floor.
Enamel sink I'm still dreaming about.
We rescued this antique dresser, as well as a midcentury coffee table, beautiful old dishes and tools, and lots of photographs and other ephemera.
I know this handwritten phone list is no longer tacked to the wall, but I wasn't about to be the person to take it down. The farm as I saw it on that day is the only way I'll ever see it—a little cluttered, a little quirky, but more than that. Loved many times.