Native weaving courtesy of my daddy, Art Deco nightstand courtesy of the street. Not to be forgotten is my growing collection of beads that fall out of my daughters slime creations and onto the floor.
This native weaving hung in my childhood home. I remember it very vividly, and see it pop up in old photos occasionally. My mom took it down after my parents split, but she saved it and gave it to me years later.
I've been a collector and vintage hunter for most of my life. My grandparents dragged me to estate sales and old barns most of my younger years. I can recall road trips from Oregon and all over California that involved hauling trailers full of antiques. When they built their home with their own hands, I got to see those finds brought to life. I spent a good amount of time with both my parents hunting treasures, making things and fixing things too precious to throw away. I was lucky to be raised by people that appreciated the handmade, saw life in the second hand and taught me the joys of making things with my own hands. Life is busy and I don't get to make things as much as I'd like, but small reminders around my little cottage make me happy. A good book and a candle from my man's sweet mama are icing on the cake.