Some years ago, we bought an old, tumble-down farmhouse out here in the country as a week-end home. We could not afford to furnish it and my mom pitched in with extra pieces of furniture stored for years in her basement.
We bargain hunted at yard sales, estate sales and auctions and in a few months, the place was habitable. Some might call it shabby chic. Others might not be as kind. In any case, it was fun.
But perhaps the most fun was my mother’s nightly fantasy decorating for the house. She said she went to sleep many a night, mentally moving this painting to that wall . . . then this wall . . . then moving the couch in front of the window . . . trying it next to the fireplace. What pleasure she took in her decorating dreams.
I invited her to come out and help us turn it into reality. For all the years she was my mom, I think those first few years in the old farmhouse were our happiest together.
We laughed and shared and put up with the inconveniences that seemed endemic to country living. We got up early to hear the birds and stayed up late to see the stars and marvel at the quiet. We watched the deer at twilight.
Such happy times to remember doing not much of anything exciting or expensive – just joyful and memorable creating a country nest full of love.